Monologue - Banquo

I hear her wails, Hark! Banquo! Oh Banquo! Precious Scotland. How she weeps tears of darkest soot, attainted by the very basilisk itself. Caked heart, eyes alight with malice; insanity sharpening the curve of its smile, offering the beauty of promising pain. Basta! Thou will not tolerate its scheming, manipulative ways. Drawn from Scotland's very source, her allicholy cries accited by its harrowing catch; slowly, ever so slowly, stealing her essence and will. *Sigh* As pure as a bearing cloth no longer. *Pause* Would not be for Lady Macbeths seed planting, butchering of the mind by blades most foul, loyal Macbeth would have remained within the realms of nature’s purity, on her merciless quest for power and class. Appeach Lady Macbeth, for thou art guilty. * Pause here* Lady? Ha. Dearest Bawcock. A Cacodemon deserves no name, for it deserves no life.
How insanity cracks the mask she bears. True nature of thee barbason made public. Lady Macbeth, the bodkin held high within her mitts; contorting the mind of Macbeth. Immoral by book, her bladed tongue and barren spirit seek and crush all wills. The seed of wrongly gained ambition planted deep within his psyche. Thee trusted gentlewoman speaks me the night’s events. "As thou art in desire?" sneered thou snake toward Macbeth. Wily Bawcock; played most sinful on man’s natural desire of more. Planted seed, fuelling the growth by most careful gardening, Lady Macbeth doth say "He that’s coming must be provided for". Macbeth thy contend under bombard of malign; his conscience pierced by thee fangs, licked clean by thee forked tongue of dearest lady. Morality fleeting. Thee evil played most befoul doth not end at this planting of seed. Thee abusive toward matrimony sees thee diffuse and manipulate poor Macbeth.
Poor Macbeth, vulnerable was he against the wills of her bale. Adorned words broached the very burgonet atop his head, leaving a defenceless mind; malleable to the desires of such a serpent. "Art thou afeared" Lady Macbeth crooned. Thy artful words disguised in loving manor. Playing on Macbeth’s masculinity, the undoing of all men. To be seen as coward is to be seen as not man. Cunning, ever so cunning. Guffaw! "Consider it not so deeply" she speaks. Lord! Tis treasonous murder of which she talks! Which way thus be taken? Light of heart? Thee think not. Macbeth doth seen rapid decent, clipping the arms of insanity; resulted by the brainwashing and subconscious manipulation that is his dearest Lady.
Why? Why doth thy demon bring forth such terror to ye land? Power. Lady Macbeth wishes to rule; enforce law by violet terms. To hold power is to hold freedom is to hold life.

A birth child to her position, Lady Macbeth be not happy with still such little power. Queen, such a pretentious title, befitting of herself, she doth think. "Shall to all our nights and days to come give solely sovereign sway and masterdom" she speaks to Macbeth in charged tones of avarice and fervour. Fair Duncan laid slain for means of access to power. Power. Such translucent in medium yet tangible within the stained mind. Lady Macbeth not rest until the deed was done, and doth still not rest until covered and free. Power. Thy happy in power yet? Evil spirit by warned, nature is coming hence forth, and all will be righted.

Aroint thee! The natural order behests thee. A Cacodemon rules which land we live. Must ye atone or precious Scotland shall never see the golden lights of freedom once more. Would not be for Lady Macbeth the seed of unwanted desire not be planted within Macbeth. Would it not be the seed and careful gardening of manipulation and removal of will, thy serpent of Scotland, would not have achieved power. Power over me. Power over us all. Backare, evil spirit, to once which you came!

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 10.11.2012

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