Saturday, March 12, 2016

The Ghost of Hamlet's Father

"If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul’s Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son’s weak mind." -- Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

I have this theory, you see, that Hamlet is not dead, he's just the old dad and no one has listened to him for so long that he just wanders around at night in his boxer shorts.

It's something... when no one listens to you, no one wants to hear, they just go right on.

What a feeling, when no one listens.

This week in Georgia, the legislature passed a campus carry gun law even though teachers, students, parents, police, campus security, 29 college and university presidents, and the Chancellor of the Board of Regents opposed it and said please don't.  They may as well have wandered around the capitol in their boxer shorts in the breezy nights.

I wonder if they can hear ballots and voting machines when those are operating?

I don't expect deaths or flag draped coffin funerals, no, but there is a terrible feeling of being dead... in that feeling of not being heard... in not being listened to...