To morrow

To morrow
Digital print on aluminum
40" x 24"

She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle,

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by and idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

This sounds like the sort of thing a Scottish king from long ago would say who’s just been told his wife is dead and is having issues with a forest moving towards his castle while some guy who was untimely ripped from his mother’s womb wants to kill him. In fact, pretty much everyone in Scotland wants to kill him. No wonder he’s talkin’ crazy. But, crazy or not, those Scottish king guys sure are eloquent.