Intentionally Blank
So I'm writing my thesis and editing this shit out, but some of this is too good.
“What’s in a name?” crooned Shakepeare. Under the gilded night, two astral lovers twixt by fate derail the parallel dichotomy of social comportment, to strike and find in the silhouetted air their mutual correspondence to night—a love sworn unto death, did unite the houses and countenance their petty idolatry. “What’s in a name?” Certainly not the language of love, which is the language of death. A name is a security against the vulnerable self, sundered by the unity of love. Found only in the blankness of eternality, love does not explain itself by names, does not request verification from human authority, but addresses a higher justice beyond the crass rivalries of a political system. What’s in a name? A once unnamed nothing—a scream from beyond—heard, labeled and covered in signs disguised