|"A spoonful of eyeball makes the medicine go down." 2009. Acrylic on canvas. 6"X12". Uban.|
My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
--Shakespeare, Sonnet 147
I remember practicing this for the Shakespeare Monologue Competition in high school. The moderator ended up quitting... I think reciting Shakespeare was making us all emo. Happy Valentine's Day?