Year: 2025

Memorial Day is always so complicated for me. I both love, respect, and miss the family I have (and lost) who have served. I also can see, as a firsthand, how their sacrifices led to a better world for the future of their children, and, in turn me, the children of their children.

I can also attest that the world I lived in, which was riotous and confusing compared to the world they came from, as well as how I was shaped by that world (ending up very very far from where they were, on almost every major axiom aside, perhaps from ethics and belief in the core tenets of democracy) led to great divides. My grandmother’s lasting legacy was showing me how love can supersede even the diametric opposition of viewpoints.

As a parent, I am left with this pit of anger and grief. I don’t believe the world my children will inherit and inhabit will be better off than mine, which seemed unlikely two decades ago, but almost a certainty now.

The republic’s founding covenant—life purchased through voluntary sacrifice for collective liberty—faces systematic dissolution through institutional capture and societal atomization. Memorial Day’s commemorative function exposes this degradation: the dead secured constitutional governance while contemporary power structures operate through regulatory complexity, financial extraction, and democratic theater.

The American Dream’s death manifests in structural terms: median wage stagnation against asset inflation, regulatory barriers to entrepreneurship, and credentialing systems that substitute institutional loyalty for productive capacity. These mechanisms concentrate wealth while distributing debt, creating permanent economic subjugation disguised as meritocracy.

Technological capability now exists to eliminate material scarcity through automation, distributed manufacturing, and information systems. However, implementation requires constitutional restoration and economic restructuring away from rent-seeking toward value creation. Current institutions profit from artificial scarcity and will resist technological disruption of their revenue models.

The pathway forward demands jurisprudential enforcement of constitutional constraints alongside popular recognition that individual prosperity depends on collective institutional health. This requires abandoning the false choice between capitalism and socialism for a third path: constitutional republicanism with technological abundance, and universal rights and privileges for all the citizenry. This is not a failing, it is an aspiration, and, frankly, should be the lowest bar.

The critical transition involves citizens understanding that their individual economic security depends on dismantling systems designed to extract value from productive activity. Technology becomes liberating only when deployed within governance structures that prevent its capture by existing power concentrations.

The fallen died for constitutional principles that can still govern technological implementation. Their sacrifice becomes meaningful through institutional restoration, not merely through memorial observance.

Can enough of the populace get through the “me” generation thinking to change it?

This is why I never sleep anymore.

At its core, Two Princes dramatizes a rivalry between two suitors vying for the affections of a single woman. The speaker—one of the two contenders—positions himself as the better choice, contrasting his sincerity and love with the material wealth of the other. This dramatic tension mirrors the romantic dilemmas found in Shakespeare’s comedies and tragedies alike, as well as in Pyramus and Thisbe, a tale of forbidden love that Shakespeare adapts into A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Shakespearean drama often foregrounds romantic competition, particularly in plays like A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, and Twelfth Night. Two Princes employs a similar structure, where love is not merely a matter of individual choice but is complicated by external pressures—specifically, the dichotomy between wealth and genuine affection. The song’s speaker, much like Shakespearean lovers such as Orlando (As You Like It) or Bassanio (The Merchant of Venice), argues that his love should be valued over material prosperity. The song’s line “If you want to call me baby, just go ahead now” evokes the kind of direct appeals often found in Shakespeare’s romantic dialogues, in which lovers entreat their beloveds to choose passion over pragmatic concerns (Shakespeare, Much Ado 2.1.180-190).

Ovidian Tragedy and the Problem of Status

The contrast between the two suitors also recalls the class-based barriers in Pyramus and Thisbe, a tale recounted in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. In Ovid’s narrative, the lovers are separated by their parents, who disapprove of their union. Although the song does not explicitly mention parental interference, it implicitly invokes societal pressures through the opposition of the rich prince versus the sincere but impoverished lover. The speaker’s plea suggests an awareness that love is often dictated by social constraints—a theme pervasive in both Pyramus and Thisbe and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, which directly adapts the Ovidian source material (Romeo and Juliet 1.5.92-109).

Furthermore, Pyramus and Thisbe is famously adapted as a play-within-a-play in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where its exaggerated tragedy is used to satirize the conventions of dramatic romance. In this light, Two Princes can be read as similarly playful; it employs hyperbolic romantic rhetoric but ultimately resists tragic resolution. Instead of death, as in Pyramus and Thisbe, the stakes in Two Princes remain within the realm of emotional rather than existential drama, aligning it more with Shakespeare’s comedies than his tragedies.

Repetition and Theatrical Persuasion

A notable feature of Two Princes is its repetitive lyrical structure, particularly the refrain “Just go ahead now”, which functions as a rhetorical strategy akin to persuasive monologues in Shakespearean drama. The speaker’s insistence and direct address to the woman resemble the way Shakespeare’s characters, particularly in soliloquies, attempt to assert control over their fate through language. In Richard III, for example, Richard woos Lady Anne despite having killed her husband, employing relentless verbal manipulation (Richard III 1.2.225-250). Similarly, in Two Princes, the repeated invitation for the woman to choose mirrors these rhetorical strategies.

The lyrics also contain an almost comic self-awareness, akin to Benedick and Beatrice’s witty repartee in Much Ado About Nothing (Much Ado 5.2.35-50). The speaker’s awareness that he is competing with a wealthy rival but still framing himself as the ideal choice adds a dramatic irony reminiscent of Shakespeare’s more comedic love scenes.

1. “One, two princes kneel before you” – This lyric establishes the competing suitors, reminiscent of Helena and Hermia’s rival lovers in A Midsummer Night’s Dream (2.2.125-135), where Lysander and Demetrius both suddenly proclaim their devotion to Helena.
2. “That ain’t what I said now” – This phrase echoes misunderstandings and comedic miscommunication often found in Shakespearean dialogue, particularly in Twelfth Night (2.2.20-35), where Viola (as Cesario) protests her unintended wooing of Olivia.
3. “Marry him or marry me” – The direct appeal resembles Orlando’s passionate declarations in As You Like It (3.2.320-330), where he inscribes poetry to Rosalind and insists on his unwavering devotion.
4. “I know what a prince and lover ought to be” – This statement encapsulates the speaker’s belief in romantic idealism, similar to Bassanio’s reasoning in The Merchant of Venice (3.2.10-24), where he gambles everything for Portia’s love.

Subversion of the Love Triangle

In both Shakespearean and Ovidian traditions, love triangles frequently result in either comedic resolution (as in Much Ado About Nothing) or tragic demise (as in Romeo and Juliet). Two Princes, however, refuses to provide a resolution. The song ends without revealing whether the woman chooses either suitor, leaving the question of love open-ended. This ambiguity subverts traditional romantic narratives, in which love is either consummated or doomed, and instead offers a modern, postmodern meditation on choice, agency, and the performance of romantic appeal.

Ultimately, Two Princes serves as an unintentional but rich intertextual dialogue with the history of romantic storytelling. By engaging with tropes of wealth versus sincerity, persuasion through repetition, and the love-triangle structure, the song taps into a literary lineage stretching from Ovid to Shakespeare, repackaged within the idiom of 1990s alternative rock.

Works Cited

Ovid. Metamorphoses. Translated by A.D. Melville, Oxford UP, 1986.

Shakespeare, William. Much Ado About Nothing. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by Claire McEachern, Bloomsbury, 2016.

Shakespeare, William. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by Harold F. Brooks, Bloomsbury, 2007.

Shakespeare, William. Romeo and Juliet. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by René Weis, Bloomsbury, 2012.

Shakespeare, William. Richard III. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by James R. Siemon, Bloomsbury, 2009.