Although Catch-22 is written mostly from the perspective of a third-person narrator who describes what each of the characters is thinking, we hear mostly what is happening in Yossarian’s mind, and many of the observations about the absurdity of the war seem to be his own. So, despite the fact that each chapter of Catch-22 bears the name of a character described in that chapter, the narrative generally returns to Yossarian. A significant departure from this organizational method occurs in the chapter entitled “Bologna,” however: instead of operating as a largely humorous description of the nature and history of one of the novel’s characters, this chapter remains almost entirely in the present of the story, and Yossarian is forced to confront his desire to live at the expense of everything else. The chapter title itself—a place name rather than a person’s name—marks a shift from a satirical and humorous focus on the unwitting characters engaged in the war to a serious focus on the present reali-ties of the war.
The fragmented chronology functions as an instrument for building suspense. The lengthy digression about the Great Loyalty Oath Crusade interrupts the tense build-up to the Bologna mission, which occurs shortly before the scene at the beginning of the novel, when the number of required missions is still thirty-five. The Great Loyalty Oath Crusade story is ironic and funny; the Bologna mission is a dismal story told in terms of endless rain and growing worry. By breaking off the Bologna story in the middle to tell the exaggerated parable of the Loyalty Oath Crusade, Heller heightens the sense of uncertainty and anticipation surrounding the outcome of the Bologna mission. During the description of the actual bombing run to Bologna, however, Heller devotes a chapter almost entirely to a single event, without his usual digressions. This very detailed, vivid account of the attack makes time appear to move more slowly, trapping the reader in the same drawn-out terror as the characters. The earnest, straightforward manner in which the Bologna story is told is a signal that we are meant to take this episode seriously—that there is nothing funny about this aspect of war.
This chapter is also different from the rest of the story because it is the first time that the ethics of Yossarian's philosophy comes into questioning. He feels guilty about abandoning his friends, whom he actually cares for. He has no qualms about abandoning the mission in pursuit of self preservation, but he worries while waiting for their return from said mission. His entire goal in life has been to live, and caring for others seems about to destroy his life, because not abandoning them means flying missions. For Yossarian, flying missions = one more chance for everyone to kill him. (553)
http://www.jstor.org/stable/view/1345211?seq=1
http://www.jstor.org/action/showArticle?doi=10.2307/440667&Search=yes&term=
joseph&term=heller&term=catch-&item=3&returnArticleService=showArticle&ttl=
74&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoAdvancedSearch%3Fq0%3DCatch-22%26f0%3Dall%26c0%3
DAND%26q1%3DJoseph%2BHeller%26f1%3Dall%26c1%3DAND%26q2%3D%26f2%3Dall%26c2%3
DAND%26q3%3D%26f3%3Dall%26Search%3DSearch%26ar%3Don%26sd%3D1961%26ed%3D2008%
26la%3Deng%26jo%3D%26dc.Language%2526amp%253BLiterature%3DLanguage%2B%2526amp
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26dc.PublicPolicy%2526amp%253BAdministration%3DPublic%2BPolicy%2B%2526amp%253B
%2BAdministration
http://www.jstor.org/action/showArticle?doi=10.2307/1769440&Search=yes&term=
joseph&term=heller&term=catch-&item=10&returnArticleService=showArticle&ttl=
74&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoAdvancedSearch%3Fq0%3DCatch-22%26f0%3Dall%26c0%3
DAND%26q1%3DJoseph%2BHeller%26f1%3Dall%26c1%3DAND%26q2%3D%26f2%3Dall%26c2%3
DAND%26q3%3D%26f3%3Dall%26Search%3DSearch%26ar%3Don%26sd%3D1961%26ed%3D2008%
26la%3Deng%26jo%3D%26dc.Language%2526amp%253BLiterature%3DLanguage%2B%2526amp
%253B%2BLiterature%26dc.Philosophy%3DPhilosophy%26dc.Psychology%3DPsychology%
26dc.PublicPolicy%2526amp%253BAdministration%3DPublic%2BPolicy%2B%2526amp%253B
%2BAdministration
http://www.jstor.org/action/showArticle?doi=10.2307/440542&Search=yes&term=
joseph&term=heller&term=catch-&item=9&returnArticleService=showArticle&ttl=
74&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoAdvancedSearch%3Fq0%3DCatch-22%26f0%3Dall%26c0%3
DAND%26q1%3DJoseph%2BHeller%26f1%3Dall%26c1%3DAND%26q2%3D%26f2%3Dall%26c2%3
DAND%26q3%3D%26f3%3Dall%26Search%3DSearch%26ar%3Don%26sd%3D1961%26ed%3D2008%
26la%3Deng%26jo%3D%26dc.Language%2526amp%253BLiterature%3DLanguage%2B%2526amp%
253B%2BLiterature%26dc.Philosophy%3DPhilosophy%26dc.Psychology%3DPsychology%26dc.
PublicPolicy%2526amp%253BAdministration%3DPublic%2BPolicy%2B%2526amp%253B%2B
Administration
These are my sources, I think.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Catch-22 Part 1
After reading the first few chapters of Joseph Heller's Catch-22, I find myself eagerly awaiting the finish of this blog so I can continue reading the novel. Really, I didn't know what to expect when I chose the novel, but I certainly didn't expect a story that would actually entertain me.
It is a war novel, so to speak, but it deviates from the normal standards set forth by other great war stories, popular conceptions, and by association Hollywood. There is no great honor here. There are no heroes. And there is nothing worth fighting this war for. This lattermost fact is perhaps one of if not the central facet of the novel at this stage. All that matters to the generals controlling the troops is getting a promotion; all that matters to the troops is staying alive long enough to go home. Nobody is worried about the larger political or noble goals of the war. This grand irony is shown in a number of small ways, namely through Yossarian's self-defeating, paradoxical actions, which in the big picture have little or no meaning whatsoever. In the hospital, for example, Yossarian and his companions hate the Texan because he is so likable, and Yossarian makes a fool of the chaplain even though he senselessly loves him. Furthermore, wielded with wickedly satirical intent, the banter between characters is full of paradoxes as impossible as Catch-22 itself.
The characters all seem to realize this point about themselves, and also realize the complete lack of control that they have over their own fates. Their futures lie in the hands of bureaucrats who's agendas do not include the well-being of common soldiers. Yossarian and the others strike out against this by embracing the paradoxes of their situation, pursuing irrelevancy, meaninglessness, and nonsense as though they are real values in a world where relevancy, meaning, and sense are impossible. This is further emphasizes by the impersonal increase in mission number requirements by Colonel Cathcart.
In the face of these paradoxes, I find myself sympathizing with Yossarian. He's a man who does not necessarily hate or love the war, but just wants out of it. The only real reason he argues against the way the war is being prosecuted is because he doesn't want the dumb-donkey bureaucrats who have their heads up their butts and are more used to checkers than running an army to get him killed. Frankly, this seems fairly reasonable to me. (478)
It is a war novel, so to speak, but it deviates from the normal standards set forth by other great war stories, popular conceptions, and by association Hollywood. There is no great honor here. There are no heroes. And there is nothing worth fighting this war for. This lattermost fact is perhaps one of if not the central facet of the novel at this stage. All that matters to the generals controlling the troops is getting a promotion; all that matters to the troops is staying alive long enough to go home. Nobody is worried about the larger political or noble goals of the war. This grand irony is shown in a number of small ways, namely through Yossarian's self-defeating, paradoxical actions, which in the big picture have little or no meaning whatsoever. In the hospital, for example, Yossarian and his companions hate the Texan because he is so likable, and Yossarian makes a fool of the chaplain even though he senselessly loves him. Furthermore, wielded with wickedly satirical intent, the banter between characters is full of paradoxes as impossible as Catch-22 itself.
The characters all seem to realize this point about themselves, and also realize the complete lack of control that they have over their own fates. Their futures lie in the hands of bureaucrats who's agendas do not include the well-being of common soldiers. Yossarian and the others strike out against this by embracing the paradoxes of their situation, pursuing irrelevancy, meaninglessness, and nonsense as though they are real values in a world where relevancy, meaning, and sense are impossible. This is further emphasizes by the impersonal increase in mission number requirements by Colonel Cathcart.
In the face of these paradoxes, I find myself sympathizing with Yossarian. He's a man who does not necessarily hate or love the war, but just wants out of it. The only real reason he argues against the way the war is being prosecuted is because he doesn't want the dumb-donkey bureaucrats who have their heads up their butts and are more used to checkers than running an army to get him killed. Frankly, this seems fairly reasonable to me. (478)
Chaos in Form
"One Art" is the means by which Elizabeth Bishop attempts to cast an illusion of authority over that which is ultimately beyond control: loss. The speaker tries to reassure herself and the reader that loss is something that can be mastered. By embracing loss, by creating a layer of comfort over an underlying self-pity, she hopes to master the inexorable losses which she has suffered.
The poem is written in the form of a villanelle, a very strict form of poetry using both repetition and rhyme to emphasize the chosen topic. In using this rigid form Bishop attempts creates the illusion of mastery, and would succeed but for the deviation from the standard form. The villanelle is so obsessive about form that even the slightest deviation from the predetermined rhyme and repetition calls attention to the idea that disaster cannot be controlled. In this way Bishop demonstrates that no matter the constraints one places on loss, there is always the chance that it will appear in the distance. In addition, the attempt and failure at mastery in the poem shows that mastering ones emotions during a crisis of loss is very difficult.
With regard to the choice of words, the order, and repetition of those words, everything is geared towards comforting and reassuring the speaker. In the first line, "The art of losing isn't hard to master. . . ." the use of the word "art" connotes a skill that has been mastered, as anyone who has developed a special skill refers to that skill as an "art" or "art form." It is a powerful way to begin a poem about loss. The alternation of the words "master" and "disaster" serve as interesting opposites, one connoting order and the other chaos. Yet it seems that disaster dominates control throughout the poem. This is partly because disaster always appears at the end of a stanza, reinforcing the idea that after all is mastered, still only disaster is left. In addition, the words themselves harbor strong meanings and associations. "Master" possesses the ideas of God, religion, government, slavery, control, order, stability, and leaves one feeling both the master and mastered in one fell swoop. Disaster, on the other hand, leaves one only helpless, unable to resist the tides of war, nature, and chance. Against such odds there is no hope for control, and in addition to these semi-tangible concepts, the chaotic realm of the unknown plagues our thoughts, cajoling with our worst fears and reaping the seeds of our terror.
The buildup of losses the reader speaks of, starting from things "filled with the intent to be lost" to things lost every day to things lost in huge natural disasters, serves to demonstrate the slow and painful process by which the speaker experiences these losses. She speaks of losing family things with personal value: her mother's watch, and loved houses, losses that inflict a very personal pain. Then she speaks about the loss of cities and continents and rivers, painful losses whose experience is akin to the losses felt when Katrina ravaged New Orleans or when they dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. To help mask these losses, the speaker recites the mantra denying disaster, showing that the repetition helps to console the reader when her emotions begin to run out of control, falling back on the rigid villanelle for comfort almost as one turns to God in search of sanctuary from the chaos that dominates life.
The phrase "Write it!" shows a brief yet complete loss of control emotions by the speaker, an abrupt interjection demonstrating the chaos behind the screen of composure. This interruption, thus, helps the reader grasp the idea that while repetition may make an impression, the underlying lack of order eventually shows a great deal of repressed emotion. Considering that this most recent loss is a person, not something small, not something natural, but a loved person, it is not unexpected. This last part personalizes the loss, awakening the reader to the harsh reality previously shrouded by a curtain of order.
Bishop uses the villanelle as a means to underscore the undulating chaos of disaster roaring beneath the surface of our lives, and emphasizes the realities and half-truths that we create so that we can cope with unrelenting and intransigent god that is loss. (728)
The poem is written in the form of a villanelle, a very strict form of poetry using both repetition and rhyme to emphasize the chosen topic. In using this rigid form Bishop attempts creates the illusion of mastery, and would succeed but for the deviation from the standard form. The villanelle is so obsessive about form that even the slightest deviation from the predetermined rhyme and repetition calls attention to the idea that disaster cannot be controlled. In this way Bishop demonstrates that no matter the constraints one places on loss, there is always the chance that it will appear in the distance. In addition, the attempt and failure at mastery in the poem shows that mastering ones emotions during a crisis of loss is very difficult.
With regard to the choice of words, the order, and repetition of those words, everything is geared towards comforting and reassuring the speaker. In the first line, "The art of losing isn't hard to master. . . ." the use of the word "art" connotes a skill that has been mastered, as anyone who has developed a special skill refers to that skill as an "art" or "art form." It is a powerful way to begin a poem about loss. The alternation of the words "master" and "disaster" serve as interesting opposites, one connoting order and the other chaos. Yet it seems that disaster dominates control throughout the poem. This is partly because disaster always appears at the end of a stanza, reinforcing the idea that after all is mastered, still only disaster is left. In addition, the words themselves harbor strong meanings and associations. "Master" possesses the ideas of God, religion, government, slavery, control, order, stability, and leaves one feeling both the master and mastered in one fell swoop. Disaster, on the other hand, leaves one only helpless, unable to resist the tides of war, nature, and chance. Against such odds there is no hope for control, and in addition to these semi-tangible concepts, the chaotic realm of the unknown plagues our thoughts, cajoling with our worst fears and reaping the seeds of our terror.
The buildup of losses the reader speaks of, starting from things "filled with the intent to be lost" to things lost every day to things lost in huge natural disasters, serves to demonstrate the slow and painful process by which the speaker experiences these losses. She speaks of losing family things with personal value: her mother's watch, and loved houses, losses that inflict a very personal pain. Then she speaks about the loss of cities and continents and rivers, painful losses whose experience is akin to the losses felt when Katrina ravaged New Orleans or when they dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. To help mask these losses, the speaker recites the mantra denying disaster, showing that the repetition helps to console the reader when her emotions begin to run out of control, falling back on the rigid villanelle for comfort almost as one turns to God in search of sanctuary from the chaos that dominates life.
The phrase "Write it!" shows a brief yet complete loss of control emotions by the speaker, an abrupt interjection demonstrating the chaos behind the screen of composure. This interruption, thus, helps the reader grasp the idea that while repetition may make an impression, the underlying lack of order eventually shows a great deal of repressed emotion. Considering that this most recent loss is a person, not something small, not something natural, but a loved person, it is not unexpected. This last part personalizes the loss, awakening the reader to the harsh reality previously shrouded by a curtain of order.
Bishop uses the villanelle as a means to underscore the undulating chaos of disaster roaring beneath the surface of our lives, and emphasizes the realities and half-truths that we create so that we can cope with unrelenting and intransigent god that is loss. (728)
Friday, March 7, 2008
Mrs. Lind: Good Samaritan, or Spiteful Witch with bad spelling?
We debated in class a little while ago about the nature of Mrs. Linde's so-called "help" to Nora. Basically one side believes that Mrs. Linde is just a friend who wants what is best for her old friend, while the other believes she is a jealous and spiteful witch who doesn't want anyone to enjoy the kind of happiness that she was never given: a happy family.
Actually, I've really got nothing more to say. But I guess I have to (darn it).
The title of the play, "A Doll's House," comes from the idea that Nora is living a sheltered and make believe life, in which her ideal happy family is merely an illusion. Mrs. Linde even suggests that Nora has never known hardship, nor ever had to depend on herself. When Nora reveals to Mrs. Linde the actions she has taken, Mrs. Linde realizes what Nora has not: that she is living a doll's existence. Seeing this, she attempts to become the hand that removes Nora from the doll house and put her into the real world (Gary Gold's metaphor). She merely wants what's best for her old friend, and any hardships that Nora experiences will be outshone by her newfound independence and freedom.
This is one side of the coin.
The other holds that Mrs. Linde does not hold Nora's best interests at heart. She sees Nora's happiness and great homelife, and is overcome with jealousy. She cannot stand to see anyone have the happiness that was so denied to her. She feels that she must ruin it. She exploits Nora's secret and uses it to drive a wedge in between Nora and Torvald, creating a rift that cannot be crossed. She tricks Nora into believing that her life is really a lie, and that she must go out on her own. On her own into the cruel and ruthless life which was forced upon Mrs. Linde.
I have a few problems with this latter argument.
The first is that I have a hard time believing that Mrs. Linde is capable of convincing Nora--or anyone for that matter--that she is unhappy when she is actually happy. The seed of doubt was already in Nora's mind. Mrs. Linde just helped it to grow. Nora's been trying to make herself believe that Torvald would sacrifice himself in the name of love because she knows it isn't true. (I also have something a problem with this. What Torvald chose to do was the logical thing to do which had the fewest repercussions for everybody, preventing a massive upheaval of the family's life. Just like a woman to have unrealistic expectations of men =) [don't really believe that last part])
The second problem I have is that I can't read any malicious intent in Mrs. Linde's actions. For the whole play, she has been supportive of Nora, offering to talk to Krogstad to see if things can't be resolved. It is at this point that she realizes that this might be for the best. I also don't believe she planned for Nora to leave Torvald. She just wanted things to be out in the open so they could have a genuine relationship. The fact that Nora did leave him was an unforeseeable consequence. (544)
On a separate note, I've been thinking about posting some stories I've written as blog entries, but the can be sort of violent and coarse in nature (nothing sexual, I haven't deviated THAT far into the realm of inappropriate). Just wondering how you would feel about that.
Thanks. (592)
Actually, I've really got nothing more to say. But I guess I have to (darn it).
The title of the play, "A Doll's House," comes from the idea that Nora is living a sheltered and make believe life, in which her ideal happy family is merely an illusion. Mrs. Linde even suggests that Nora has never known hardship, nor ever had to depend on herself. When Nora reveals to Mrs. Linde the actions she has taken, Mrs. Linde realizes what Nora has not: that she is living a doll's existence. Seeing this, she attempts to become the hand that removes Nora from the doll house and put her into the real world (Gary Gold's metaphor). She merely wants what's best for her old friend, and any hardships that Nora experiences will be outshone by her newfound independence and freedom.
This is one side of the coin.
The other holds that Mrs. Linde does not hold Nora's best interests at heart. She sees Nora's happiness and great homelife, and is overcome with jealousy. She cannot stand to see anyone have the happiness that was so denied to her. She feels that she must ruin it. She exploits Nora's secret and uses it to drive a wedge in between Nora and Torvald, creating a rift that cannot be crossed. She tricks Nora into believing that her life is really a lie, and that she must go out on her own. On her own into the cruel and ruthless life which was forced upon Mrs. Linde.
I have a few problems with this latter argument.
The first is that I have a hard time believing that Mrs. Linde is capable of convincing Nora--or anyone for that matter--that she is unhappy when she is actually happy. The seed of doubt was already in Nora's mind. Mrs. Linde just helped it to grow. Nora's been trying to make herself believe that Torvald would sacrifice himself in the name of love because she knows it isn't true. (I also have something a problem with this. What Torvald chose to do was the logical thing to do which had the fewest repercussions for everybody, preventing a massive upheaval of the family's life. Just like a woman to have unrealistic expectations of men =) [don't really believe that last part])
The second problem I have is that I can't read any malicious intent in Mrs. Linde's actions. For the whole play, she has been supportive of Nora, offering to talk to Krogstad to see if things can't be resolved. It is at this point that she realizes that this might be for the best. I also don't believe she planned for Nora to leave Torvald. She just wanted things to be out in the open so they could have a genuine relationship. The fact that Nora did leave him was an unforeseeable consequence. (544)
On a separate note, I've been thinking about posting some stories I've written as blog entries, but the can be sort of violent and coarse in nature (nothing sexual, I haven't deviated THAT far into the realm of inappropriate). Just wondering how you would feel about that.
Thanks. (592)
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Annihilation
This is done in complete iambic pentameter. Look it up on iTunes to be sure of this if you like.
A Perfect Circle- "Annihilation"
From dehumanization to arms production,
For the benefit of the nation or its destruction
Power, power, the law of the land,
Those living for death will die by their own hand,
Life's no ordeal if you come to terms,
Reject the system dictating the norms
From dehumanization to arms production,
To hasten the nation towards its destruction
Power, power, the law of the land,
Those living for death will die by their own hand,
Life's no ordeal if you come to terms,
Reject the system dictating the norms
From dehumanization to arms production,
To hasten this nation towards its destruction,
It's your choice, your choice, your choice, your choice,
Peace or annihilation
A Perfect Circle- "Annihilation"
From dehumanization to arms production,
For the benefit of the nation or its destruction
Power, power, the law of the land,
Those living for death will die by their own hand,
Life's no ordeal if you come to terms,
Reject the system dictating the norms
From dehumanization to arms production,
To hasten the nation towards its destruction
Power, power, the law of the land,
Those living for death will die by their own hand,
Life's no ordeal if you come to terms,
Reject the system dictating the norms
From dehumanization to arms production,
To hasten this nation towards its destruction,
It's your choice, your choice, your choice, your choice,
Peace or annihilation
Friday, February 22, 2008
Subtext
SCENE IV. The Queen's closet.
Enter QUEEN MARGARET and POLONIUS
LORD POLONIUS
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
Quietly stern, as if telling her for the second time.
HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,
Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
Reassuring. Don’t worry.
POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Acting all innocent.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Well YOU’VE offended my real father.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Reprehending. You speak foolishness.
HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Glaring. You speak lies.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
HAMLET
What's the matter now?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
Taken aback.
HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
Cruelly and with a vindictive tone, staring down at her with something akin to contempt in his eyes.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
Moving away from him, as if to leave the room.
HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Scary, quiet tone. Moving towards her slowly, directing her to a chair of some kind.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
Recoiling, panicking, backing up slowly away from Hamlet.
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Shouting with outrage and anger. The last words screamed with a mixture of triumph and hate.
Makes a pass through the arras
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
Does anyone actually say this? Done dramatically.
Falls and dies
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?
Horror, shock.
HAMLET
Nay, I know not:
Is it the king?
Looking at his bloody blade, as if seeing it for the first time. Quiet, as if surprised at himself.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
What have you done??!
HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Nothing so bad as you have done, dearest mother. Pointed tone, accusing.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!
Confused. Her horror at the deed currently forgotten.
HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Yeah, you heard me.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
Surprised, but not too remorseful. Starting with pity, then progressing to contempt.
Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff,
If damned custom have not brass'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Turning to his mother. Be at ease! Let us speak as if nothing happened.
That is, unless you’ve lost all ability feel.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
Distressed, uncomprehending. She sits down hard in the chair, her hands clasped together tightly, with tears welling up in her eyes.
HAMLET
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths:
Pacing in front of her, Hamlet does not look at her. Fists clenching and unclenching, gesticulating at her every now and then. His tone becomes more and more emotional as he continues.
O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:
At “soul,” Hamlet leans in toward Gertrude and motions with his hand, as if grasping something intangible with his fingers. Whispers from “The very soul.”
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.
Moving back, Hamlet’s voice resumes a more normal pitch and is again pointed and sharp.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
What have I done??!
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
Takes up to drawings and shows them to her.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
Holding up one higher than the other, his tone kind and affectionate.
This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother.
Holding the other higher now, glaring at the picture, his fist tightening on it, crumpling it a little.
Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
Would you really fall in love with this man after such a better one was in your life?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this?
How does this make any sense at all? Incredulous. At this point he casts aside the paintings, the one of Claudius torn and wrinkled from Hamlet’s grip.
Sense, sure, you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference.
Pacing in front of her again, but this time looking at her and gesturing at her. His choler is rising, his words coming faster and a little more wildly.
What devil was't
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.
He gives a little laugh while speaking “devil.” Exasperated tone that demands no answer.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
And reason panders will.
Accusing. You justified your lechery with reason, ignoring the virtue of the heart.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
Pleading. Please, no more! Clutching the sides of her head, covering her ears, shaking her head, denying.
HAMLET
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,--
Disgusted, standing very strait, staring down at her from narrowed eyes.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
Please, no more!!
HAMLET
A murderer and a villain;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket!
Similar to Gladiator, “Husband to a murdered wife, father to a murdered son…”
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No more!
HAMLET
A king of shreds and patches,--
Enter Ghost
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
Looking upward, beseeching the heavens/ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, he's mad!
To herself, eyes wide, recoiling in her chair.
HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Slightly worried tone, crying up to the ghost, arms spread wide.
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul:
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:
Speak to her, Hamlet.
The ghost is gesturing to Gertrude, both the ghost and Hamlet turn to look at her.
HAMLET
How is it with you, lady?
Hamlet walks towards her, smiling slightly.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
Very concerned, leaning forward towards Hamlet. Beseechingly.
HAMLET
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
Excitedly, gesturing wildly at the ghost, looking back and forth between his mother and the ghost, desiring her to see him as Hamlet does.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
To whom do you speak this?
Confused, looking at the empty space that Hamlet is gesturing towards.
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
Incredulous, still pointing at the ghost. Right there, right there!
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET
Nor did you nothing hear?
Not necessarily disappointed, but slightly crestfallen, his hand falling to his side.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
Insisting, pointing at the ghost, desperately wanting her to see him.
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
She’s standing now, and rests her hand on his shoulder. Her tone at once both concerned and pitying.
HAMLET
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;
For in the fatness of these pursy times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
He takes her by the shoulders, looking at her in the eyes, trying to show her that he is not mad. While he is still angry with her, he desperately wants her to know that he is not mad, and indeed a good person.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
HAMLET
O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
His voice is almost pleading, leaning forward, entreating.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you.
His speaking increases, and whenever he references his uncle, he throws his arm out in his general direction, and his voice becomes slightly angry.
For this same lord,
Pointing to POLONIUS
Points to Polonius. His voice becomes slightly sad.
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,
To punish me with this and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him. So, again, good night.
I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
One word more, good lady.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
HAMLET
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despite of sense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,
To try conclusions, in the basket creep,
And break your own neck down.
His voice is serious, and he has approached her and placed his arms on her shoulders.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
Backing away from Hamlet’s touch, shaking her head slightly, her voice quiet and ironic.
Enter QUEEN MARGARET and POLONIUS
LORD POLONIUS
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
Quietly stern, as if telling her for the second time.
HAMLET
[Within] Mother, mother, mother!
QUEEN GERTRUDE
I'll warrant you,
Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
Reassuring. Don’t worry.
POLONIUS hides behind the arras
Enter HAMLET
HAMLET
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Acting all innocent.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Well YOU’VE offended my real father.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Reprehending. You speak foolishness.
HAMLET
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Glaring. You speak lies.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why, how now, Hamlet!
HAMLET
What's the matter now?
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Have you forgot me?
Taken aback.
HAMLET
No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
Cruelly and with a vindictive tone, staring down at her with something akin to contempt in his eyes.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
Moving away from him, as if to leave the room.
HAMLET
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Scary, quiet tone. Moving towards her slowly, directing her to a chair of some kind.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
Recoiling, panicking, backing up slowly away from Hamlet.
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
HAMLET
[Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Shouting with outrage and anger. The last words screamed with a mixture of triumph and hate.
Makes a pass through the arras
LORD POLONIUS
[Behind] O, I am slain!
Does anyone actually say this? Done dramatically.
Falls and dies
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O me, what hast thou done?
Horror, shock.
HAMLET
Nay, I know not:
Is it the king?
Looking at his bloody blade, as if seeing it for the first time. Quiet, as if surprised at himself.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
What have you done??!
HAMLET
A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Nothing so bad as you have done, dearest mother. Pointed tone, accusing.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
As kill a king!
Confused. Her horror at the deed currently forgotten.
HAMLET
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Yeah, you heard me.
Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
Surprised, but not too remorseful. Starting with pity, then progressing to contempt.
Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff,
If damned custom have not brass'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Turning to his mother. Be at ease! Let us speak as if nothing happened.
That is, unless you’ve lost all ability feel.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
Distressed, uncomprehending. She sits down hard in the chair, her hands clasped together tightly, with tears welling up in her eyes.
HAMLET
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths:
Pacing in front of her, Hamlet does not look at her. Fists clenching and unclenching, gesticulating at her every now and then. His tone becomes more and more emotional as he continues.
O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:
At “soul,” Hamlet leans in toward Gertrude and motions with his hand, as if grasping something intangible with his fingers. Whispers from “The very soul.”
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.
Moving back, Hamlet’s voice resumes a more normal pitch and is again pointed and sharp.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
What have I done??!
HAMLET
Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
Takes up to drawings and shows them to her.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
Holding up one higher than the other, his tone kind and affectionate.
This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother.
Holding the other higher now, glaring at the picture, his fist tightening on it, crumpling it a little.
Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
Would you really fall in love with this man after such a better one was in your life?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this?
How does this make any sense at all? Incredulous. At this point he casts aside the paintings, the one of Claudius torn and wrinkled from Hamlet’s grip.
Sense, sure, you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference.
Pacing in front of her again, but this time looking at her and gesturing at her. His choler is rising, his words coming faster and a little more wildly.
What devil was't
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.
He gives a little laugh while speaking “devil.” Exasperated tone that demands no answer.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
And reason panders will.
Accusing. You justified your lechery with reason, ignoring the virtue of the heart.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
Pleading. Please, no more! Clutching the sides of her head, covering her ears, shaking her head, denying.
HAMLET
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,--
Disgusted, standing very strait, staring down at her from narrowed eyes.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
Please, no more!!
HAMLET
A murderer and a villain;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket!
Similar to Gladiator, “Husband to a murdered wife, father to a murdered son…”
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No more!
HAMLET
A king of shreds and patches,--
Enter Ghost
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
Looking upward, beseeching the heavens/ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, he's mad!
To herself, eyes wide, recoiling in her chair.
HAMLET
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Slightly worried tone, crying up to the ghost, arms spread wide.
Ghost
Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul:
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:
Speak to her, Hamlet.
The ghost is gesturing to Gertrude, both the ghost and Hamlet turn to look at her.
HAMLET
How is it with you, lady?
Hamlet walks towards her, smiling slightly.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
Very concerned, leaning forward towards Hamlet. Beseechingly.
HAMLET
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
Excitedly, gesturing wildly at the ghost, looking back and forth between his mother and the ghost, desiring her to see him as Hamlet does.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
To whom do you speak this?
Confused, looking at the empty space that Hamlet is gesturing towards.
HAMLET
Do you see nothing there?
Incredulous, still pointing at the ghost. Right there, right there!
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET
Nor did you nothing hear?
Not necessarily disappointed, but slightly crestfallen, his hand falling to his side.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
Insisting, pointing at the ghost, desperately wanting her to see him.
Exit Ghost
QUEEN GERTRUDE
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
She’s standing now, and rests her hand on his shoulder. Her tone at once both concerned and pitying.
HAMLET
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;
For in the fatness of these pursy times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
He takes her by the shoulders, looking at her in the eyes, trying to show her that he is not mad. While he is still angry with her, he desperately wants her to know that he is not mad, and indeed a good person.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
HAMLET
O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
His voice is almost pleading, leaning forward, entreating.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you.
His speaking increases, and whenever he references his uncle, he throws his arm out in his general direction, and his voice becomes slightly angry.
For this same lord,
Pointing to POLONIUS
Points to Polonius. His voice becomes slightly sad.
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,
To punish me with this and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him. So, again, good night.
I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
One word more, good lady.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
What shall I do?
HAMLET
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despite of sense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,
To try conclusions, in the basket creep,
And break your own neck down.
His voice is serious, and he has approached her and placed his arms on her shoulders.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
Backing away from Hamlet’s touch, shaking her head slightly, her voice quiet and ironic.
Monday, January 28, 2008
ICKY
Incest, is...gross. I mean, Jesus H. Christ, why did Sophacles feel the need to write about it? No one likes hearing about it, watching it, or even thinking about it. It gives us a queasy feeling inside, a feeling which is altogether unpleasant. The line about "depositing his seed in the womb of the one who [ejected] him," or something like that, gave me a cosmic gross-out of epic proportions. I mean, i can appreciate the tagedy of Oedipus, and how ironic it was that his own investigation for the sake of his people utterly brought about his own downfall, but it is totally eclipsed by the fact that Oedipus did the nasty with his mom and produced offspring which will likely have problems later on in their lives.
Dude, it's just not right. Think about the bible. "Honor thy mother and father." HONOR, not HAVE SEX WITH. Notice the key difference between the number of words/letters and the completely different meanings behind the words.
"But couldn't having sex with something be a form of honoring someone?"
No. No it isn't. It's a form of physical pleasuring that should stay OUT of the family, for your information.
If the ick factor wasn't enough to dissuade you, think about the consequences. A common consequence of sexual activity: children. A common consequence if incest: mutants. The combination of similar genes creates oddness in the offspring, and they end up having two heads or one nipple. Weird.
Besides that, you get to have the pleasure of being the brother of your daughter, or whatever. Those dual tiles shall be with you forever. On your epitaph it'll say, "He was a son/husband and a brother/father. Seriously. Messed up." It'll say that. I'l make sure of it personally. You go in to a job interview, guy will ask, "What's your family life like?" While you hesitate, trying to not show how depraved you really are, I'll jump in outa nowhere and say, "HE *%$@ED HIS MOMMA AND MADE LITTLE BABIE BROTHERS/SISTERS!!!" Watch your back.
MILFs are cool. I like them quite a bit. They give me hope for the future. But it shouldn't be YOUR mom. Why? Because it's fricking weird. If everyone went around banging their parents and making new families within families, eventually we'd run out people to procreate with. (412)
Dude, it's just not right. Think about the bible. "Honor thy mother and father." HONOR, not HAVE SEX WITH. Notice the key difference between the number of words/letters and the completely different meanings behind the words.
"But couldn't having sex with something be a form of honoring someone?"
No. No it isn't. It's a form of physical pleasuring that should stay OUT of the family, for your information.
If the ick factor wasn't enough to dissuade you, think about the consequences. A common consequence of sexual activity: children. A common consequence if incest: mutants. The combination of similar genes creates oddness in the offspring, and they end up having two heads or one nipple. Weird.
Besides that, you get to have the pleasure of being the brother of your daughter, or whatever. Those dual tiles shall be with you forever. On your epitaph it'll say, "He was a son/husband and a brother/father. Seriously. Messed up." It'll say that. I'l make sure of it personally. You go in to a job interview, guy will ask, "What's your family life like?" While you hesitate, trying to not show how depraved you really are, I'll jump in outa nowhere and say, "HE *%$@ED HIS MOMMA AND MADE LITTLE BABIE BROTHERS/SISTERS!!!" Watch your back.
MILFs are cool. I like them quite a bit. They give me hope for the future. But it shouldn't be YOUR mom. Why? Because it's fricking weird. If everyone went around banging their parents and making new families within families, eventually we'd run out people to procreate with. (412)
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