Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
The Coin-Flipping Philosophers of Elsinore's Margins
Heads or tails? Heads. Heads. Heads. Always heads.
Guildenstern here—or is it Rosencrantz?—and honestly, does it matter? We’ve been flipping coins since before breakfast, and the metaphysics of it all is getting to us. Hamlet’s being cryptic again, the Players are rehearsing tragedies we’d rather not star in, and someone keeps sending us letters we’re not supposed to read. If you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to be a plot device, pull up a chair. Just don’t ask about the ending.
What I'm Into: coin tosses that defy statistics, accidental identity swaps, the Player’s manifesto on deathbed theatrics, the absurdity of being named third and fourth leads, that one letter we’re definitely not opening
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