Hamlet [Boston, MA]

A Story by Abishai100

A modernized cultural adaptation of the timeless Shakespearean tale of a pensive prince who must discover heroics in conditions of 'incomplete' hell.

A very cool/fun Boston/modern adaptation of the timeless tale of the tragic/heroic prince, Hamlet (Shakespeare). Hope you like it,

----

====

Hamlet did live in New England, a Bostonian of great respects (now) and reflected back upon the greatness of deeds despite the hardness of times and hesitancy in spirit that would've almost removed him from the social-media culture 'flowery' of conversational praises among today's intelligentsia and students of paternalism-transcendence, and yet he's (now) drawing comments from many a Bostonian (of respects). Follow along!

PRINCE HAMLET: "My father's death, that brooding creature of darkness, brought me (now) to this stranger art-pensive state of personalized vanities, and I'm to 'dwell' in the house of my mother, married my uncle, removed from my Self, and forces me to contemplate the right-path to self-determined honors and fortune's little 'reach' hand, but will this art (of mine) in all irony/desperation, keep me from the 'greater' image of this American 'dream' of wrought personalized 'hubris' (oh)?"

The pensive-prince did indeed think to reach deep into that frowned-upon heady hesitancy (now) linked to his 'peculiar' artistic thoughts concerning futuristic-art, social-media culture flowery, and various 'modern' American Homeland 'troubles' like terrorism, immigration, and blood-diamond heist chess journal-indulgence(s), but he (equally?) would think upon the new art hung in his mother's den, gifted by his uncle-now-stepdad, as the prince (Hamlet) contemplated how he'd transcend the borders of 'prison' to emerge as a man of successes in Boston (MA) and (perhaps now) create/construct his own Indian-heritage 'art' examination (or vision!) of 'incomplete' handshakes (for all!).

HAMLET: Were I to play my (deceased) father in chess-play and derive a special stalemate in thought/action, I'd think how great is a man's Selfie-image of his own 'wrought' sense of superior vanities, if only to derive a greater courage that goes beyond this Ivy-League grad's frivolous 'play-time/spaces' with chess-clubs and fencing-societies...all for revenge (or transcendence of paternalism's hellmouth of New England 'hospitality').

Yes, friends, Hamlet our prince of great depression and challenge, did have much to brood about and think-over in this 'chess-game' of developing maturity as he wrangled with this Homeland challenge to surpass the ghost-image of his dead-dad and find his own honor(s) and thereby escape this new bloody-hand created by his re-wed mother who (arguably) assisted Hamlet's uncle to murder Hamlet's dad and thereby force the Prince (Hamlet) to think how his Bostonian 'Selfie' would shoo-away even the loveliest of creatures (wow).

HAMLET: I've done it (finally); found that great 'piece' of fortune's hand in New England, and it is this --- an Irish pot of toy-gold, perhaps for Halloween or St. Patrick's Day, if I should remain a Bostonian, perhaps to wed my lovely girlfriend from Dartmouth (Ophelia) and thereby achieve an artistic view of self-made happiness that knows no boundaries of 'debt' to dead-dad or dancing-mom and thereby 'depart' from that 'dark/hateful' company of my once-uncle, now-stepdad (ha)...it's the Luck-of-the-Irish for this man of Indian art-heavens (wow).

Hamlet was right; he was right to put all his 'proverbial eggs' in this art-basket of a typical Irish pot-of-gold to cast himself as a fortune-storywriter on a cyber-forum as a reflection of this social-media culture flowery/toast for all that become capitalism's special superstitious 'face' of demands for creativity in this modern 'sea' of assets/treasures/securities/heists/hopes. Surely, he'd make the 'secret' annals of the museums of 'religious' museum-like imagery in this wrought 'defiance' of all that had become simply a 'game' of inheritance for the prince (hmm).

OPHELIA: I don this saree of magic you've gifted but lack your hand-heart, prince.

HAMLET: When I dine with wine for pleasure, it shall be with someone (like you).

OPHELIA: I shall commit myself to death whilst in-wait for such a 'moment' in Boston.

HAMLET: You under-value my 'Crusade' for artistic independence, fair Ophelia.

OPHELIA: Perhaps this will not be a tragedy (for us), Hamlet --- if you win.

HAMLET: Perhaps I should make a cyber-mosaic of saree-fashion in your honor!

Ophelia never waited 'around' for the prince-antihero to find his vision of independence from this hellish conditions in New England and took those 'nasty' sleeping-pills; all the while, Hamlet plotted his cyber-revenge for self-made honors with 'lovely' college-athletics image-cards and 'diamonds' for social-media Selfie-complementary manhood vanities-presentations and would not even hear of Ophelia's horrifying demise till it was late...too late.

HAMLET: "Now I have only these gems and gold 'arts' to find any image of Boston-heroism (now)!"

Of course Boston would heed this superstitious-tale of self-made honors. Hamlet would indeed turn the 'shades' of Selfie-transformations as he came into older age-brackets and Bostonians waited (patiently), but a gentleman who was in love with Ophelia (equally) denounced the tragic prince-hero (on social media) for his 'obsessive eye' for the American Dream...but perhaps Boston Park would offer a shadow-light for what Hamlet did (indeed/ironically) achieve for all of us --- a 'cool' image of New England hubris (maybe).

HAMLET: Now, achieved in all my dark dreams of great scope (nevertheless), I think of Ophelia (my loss only) and my inspiration to become free and unfettered by Boston's 'troubles' compounded by my family troubles, and ha, having gained a 'personal view' of what makes my personal/private dream one of objective heroics -- a sort of 'extension' of my once proud skills at fencing/chess which mutated into cyber-writing/arts/sculpture for liberty --- that an American may 'reach' a competitive 'hand' for perfect highness (for all).