Start somewhere

Must have a new housemate, the door is open across the hall, now there will be six of us to the one bathroom.

Just got home from the Nile Project concert. (A project that brings musicians from countries along the Nile river together to have conversations, find common ground-on things such as water issues and human rights among others - and create music together.)  Had thought I was working at it, it was on my calendar, so I showed up at 6:30 pm, but no one was there.  There was a reception, at 9 pm, and I wasn't working it, but they asked if I wanted to stay and see the show, so I said, "Yes."  I guess they hold a few tickets even when they are sold out.  It was great.  But again, it was a bit trance-like and I fell asleep for short bits, as did the woman next to me, and at intermission, two other women were commenting on that.  The woman next to me pointed out that I had dozed off.  I later asked how she knew (did I fall on her?  did I say something?  do something odd?)  She said she looked over and saw me.  Kinda' a relief, though I wish it didn't happen all the time.

They were all fantastic musicians, but the singer from Egypt, Dina El Wedidi, gave me chills every time she sang.  Amazing.

When I walked out to the bus after, it was 11 pm, hardly seemed like that could have been three hours, even with the short intermission.

It's cold and pea-soup foggy out now.  Have to get up early, have a gig as an extra in the morning, if I can find something to wear for it.  Not sure if I do, my clothes are odd, I never "go out."

Starting somewhere.  And as for the writing, I could use it with editing, if I wanted to.  I don't know if I want to, but it's a relief to realize I can come up with things that work.

Cheers.

Wednesday, sunny

It feels like magic, only it's the accumulation of doing the work that feels rote and everyday, nothing much special, and then out-of-the blue something coherent comes together.  Not what I thought I was gonna write, and could use refinement, but happy to have written something.  One week survived.  Again, the fear of "being wrong" keeping me from a bolder decision.  Saying or thinking about doing something and acting on it are different, obviously.  Still, I need to have more faith that doing the background work will get me closer to where I want to go.  Led by people who have been there before.

Took off of work, woke up with a splitting headache, I still have it, but I need to go to class.  Found a million ways to procrastinate this particular page of writing (the one for class.)  Something about it being publicly shared, everyone used such colorful language last week, mine more pedestrian, though it works for me most of the time.  Still it's intimidating, it raises the bar, even if I need to have my own voice, not trying to impress someone else with language that isn't mine.

Went for a walk to take some dvd's back to the library, the scenic route.  Sun shining blindingly in my eyes off of the water's surface.  The geese swimming, haven't seen them in a while, not on the water.  They were making grumbling noises as they floated around.  I moved closer to look at them.  They swam over to me, grumbling.  I didn't feed them.  They splashed water around for a while with their beaks, and then swam away, grumbling.  An explosion of birds hit the water all at once, splash and flutter.  Wigeons.  The boy sitting to my left pulled out his phone surreptitiously to snap a shot of the chaos, then went back to his book.  I smiled.  I woulda' done the same, but wasn't carrying one.

Almost five and still light out.  I guess it's time to go.

Wide awake and rambling

Can't sleep.  Overwhelmed.  Not writing much lately for the same reason.

The gist of my day was wandering aimlessly looking for a sports-related happening, that I didn't find, though I did end up eating tacos in a place whose smell took me back to Central America or maybe my grandmother's house; stumbling into a random hidden bar where I drank tequila with chocolate bitters and Amara, and told the bartender about the clown thing (and consequently fell off of my last wagon, really, though I'm not drinking coffee anymore); and then while finally waiting to catch a bus, having a homeless woman tell me to hug her and look her in the eye (both of which I did) before handing her a pitiful amount of loose change because my bus had just pulled up, and I was suddenly cold, and needing to go home.

The day itself was fine.  And yet all of my life feels like it's up in the air, which can be good, but at the moment, it's stressful.  Feel the need, the desire, to nail something down, though as soon as I do, something else crops up.  I spend my time putting out fires, and never moving forward.  Distractions.  Things I need to take care of, and things being pulled away from me when I'm not looking that I feel the need to defend, that I wasn't ready to let go of.  That I wasn't asked first.  That people made choices for me, without my knowing about it.  Disrespect?  I do exist.  Tired of having to have my guard up all the time.  Would like to trust.  Would really like to be able to trust, instead of feeling like I was just played.

Detachment.

And maybe it's all just the middle of the night talking, because I can't do anything about it right now.

Finished another Chekhov play (Wild Honey, translated/edited for story by Michael Frayn) in this state of insomnia.  Wrote, too.  Perhaps I should just keep writing, have yet to find a thread I want to follow.

And then there's the clown thing.

And it's just about 3 am.

Morning

The morning remains soft and still, even the sound of the cars feels muffled and far off.

Last night: a strong, yet soft, wind blowing.  The air smelling like spicy, white flowers, blooming just a little early.  The evening still light, reaching in inches further north as the days progress toward spring.  Writing in Joe Bar, the smoky scent of popcorn rising into the loft, preparations for a party, auctioning off remnants from the Harvard Exit.  I ran to catch a bus downtown before the festivities began, but the crowds and rumble of voices grew with each passing minute. 

Went and saw the Seagull Project's "The Three Sisters."  Loved the set, lighting, staging (Jennifer Zeyl, Robert J. Aguilar, John Langs, Dir.)  Didn't understand the female costumes, didn't seem to be set in any particular time, and that lack of specificity distracted me from the overall story, what was the setting, then?  Favorite character in this production was Irina (Sydney Andrews), favorite in the Cornish production had been Olga (Jenna Vershen), I think it was the choice of translations, stage time, and the former Olga was played as more of a heroine in her own life, than in this one.  (In Act III, in the confrontation with Natasha over Anfisa, the Cornish Olga dominated, and in this production, Natasha (Hannah Victoria Franklin) did.)  And in the Cornish production, I felt a greater sense of dreams diminishing more and more as each Act followed the next, 'til I arrived at the end with the sense that the dream of Moscow was laid to rest, but life would go on.  The sisters would face reality, and go on. I had a stronger sense of what story (out of many) was being told by that director (Paul Budraitis), everything leading to one conclusion, a "driving action" if you will.  (And that concept of storytelling is becoming more clear for me as I see it.  The concept drilled in by my audition teacher.)  In this version, though they faithfully told Chekhov's story, I wasn't sure what the "driving action" was, where was it all going?  And last night the audience laughed in odd places, during what seemed like serious confessions, though maybe there was a choice made to play them more melodramatically, and so they were playing for a laugh, i.e., the scene in Act IV, where Masha (Alexandra Tavares) is saying good-bye to Vershinin (David Quicksall), and is wailing and not wanting to let go, even before the point where Olga (Julie Briskman) was trying to drag her away, and she was still hanging on, people were laughing.  Was that supposed to be funny?  When the one thing in life that brought you happiness is leaving, is that funny?  I don't know.  It's possible I read somewhere that Chekhov's plays were comedies,(according to Chekhov) but I can't remember now.  I think my favorite actor in the show was Noah Duffy as Rode, (and CT Doescher as Tusenbach), I just enjoyed his time on the stage.   But overall, there were characters on stage who moved in bubbles.  Most of those characters distinct, actors making interesting choices, but not connecting with the others.  Finding small details and missing the bigger picture (again, driving action.) Perhaps they needed more time in ensemble.  Or perhaps, that's a conscious Chekhovian choice, to talk but never connect, to want to be heard but not to listen, as we often do in life.  (I had the same response to the Cornish production, they connected more, but didn't have the text that night I saw it, though both productions got more solid after intermission.)

The overall feeling of the production worked for me.  I found the play and characters running in the background of my mind after, even when I thought I was thinking about something else.

Time for the day to start.

After class

Last summer, in the same space, I felt like I no longer belonged there, like returning to an elementary school you once attended.  A week-and-a-half ago, same space, it was home again.  It's mine, I've freed and bared my soul between those walls.  I've earned that.

Tonight, spontaneous five-minute story of your life from birth until this moment.  Feedback.  Vulnerability.  I want to know everyone.  And walking down the block with a classmate after, we both thought we should close down the energy before walking outside.  Especially there.  Gotta put the armor back on, cover up.  Then flashing lights down the block.  She walks me to the next corner, turns to go back to her car.  I see more flashing lights on this block.  Pine Street blocked, cordoned off.  My bus comes up the street, I run to catch it.  It reeks of old, hot urine, and the heat is blasting, making it worse, but I get on it and sit.  I hear it was a shooting.

Two friends get on at the third stop.  One sits next to me and we talk.  After a while, you get used to the smell, and it's a fast bus ride at night.  Away.  Away.  Away.

Wednesday

Have begun to make myself cook, even if it's late (and it always seems to be.)  Added benefit is I interact with my housemates more.  (And I have something to take for lunch.)  And it feels productive, like I've accomplished something.

Our show is getting tighter but we have lots of work to do.  I will probably go with the idea I tried last night.  Three weeks.

Tonight, new dragons to confront.  All of them internal.  The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

Onward.

Very habitual

Still haven't been able to do the full elimination diet, have only managed to go off of coffee and alcohol.  Been really hard.  Partially, it's never being home, so not actually cooking anything, and partially, it's procrastination.  Interestingly, I've stopped obsessively wanting coffee, it's not a habit to grab it anymore.  I like that I'm here, now.  Maybe that can work with other things, too, not just food.  To want things/habits that are good for you, more than those that are harmful, or keep you stuck.  (I did drink a cup or so of coffee on Saturday, and I got ridiculously wired, which doesn't usually happen.  Drove myself nuts with the jittery nerves and rapid speech...could do without, really.  Not really adding anything.  Not saying I won't drink it again, just hopefully, not so much.  Not so habitually.)

We talked to the landlord, and the rent is only a $50 increase if we sign another year.  Good to have that info, but not ready to decide.

I had another idea to try with the clown thing, but we now have promo stuff out, so I have to nail this down.  Hopefully, the other two will indulge me today.  I just want it to live more in the clown realm than as some other type of performance.  And as George said after coaching, I will still have the idea, I don't have to use it this time.  I'm not losing anything by changing it.

There is no scarcity.  I need to believe that's true.

Bearing Witness

Went to this performance called "Hands Up! 6 Playwrights/6 Testaments" put on by The Hansberry Project.  These six pieces had originally been commissioned by New Black Fest of NYC, but the Hansberry Project decided to put them on here after the Ferguson decision.  They were six views of what it's like to be a black man in America at this time.  All were monologues. When asked what their first reactions to the script were upon receiving them, four of the actors said they identified specifically with the situation in their assigned script.

It was powerful.  The house was almost full, the audience, more mixed (gender, race, age) than you often see at plays here.  When asked why we came to the show the answers ranged from: to see good acting, to empathize, to bear witness, to understand, to listen, etc.  And then when the audience was asked what stood out for them, responses were:  holes, "hands up," "target on my back," "the talk," and fear, (among many.)

It was mentioned that the actors had voiced concern over the audience (knowing there would be a lot of white people), but in the end, what needed to be said, was said.  It was heard.  It was that space, the theatre (but art, in general), where truth can still be told.  Where you can be honest and raw.

And for me, I wasn't sure what to expect.  But I wanted to hear, to listen to someone else's daily experience, wholly different from mine.  And I gained some insight into what it's like to always have to be on guard, all the time.  To know what it is to feel like you have a target on your back.  To live in fear for your own life or for those you love when they step outside.  To always be considered guilty.  I don't know what that's like, but hearing it helped me to understand someone else.

And since I've brought this up before (you need to ask what is wanted before acting/speaking on behalf of others), these five items were on the back of the program under "What do they (the protesters) want?"  (And what can I do?):

1. Bodycams and dashcams on police uniforms and cars to record their interactions with citizens.
2. Special prosecutors for officer involved shootings.
3. Training for police on ways to de-escalate situations without resorting to deadly force.
4. Civilian Review Boards with the power to issue subpoenas.
5. Investment in poor communities to promote economic equity.

One of the performances I saw last weekend dealt with brutality/corruption in Mexico, and his experience of arrest (for protesting) reminded me of some of these stories, and finishing Orwell (which might be fiction, but it wasn't written in a vacuum)...these are real experiences.  Do we stand by and do nothing, close our eyes because, "the system is working for me," right now?  Does our silence make us complicit in someone else's suffering?  It makes me think of this Martin Niemöller quote:

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

What kind of world to we want to live in?  Must we always live in fear?  Who do we want to be?

Emotional whiplash

The emotional high of last weekend to a roller coaster week, much, much more than usual.  I matter.  I'm completely insignificant, disregarded.  People I thought I'd connected with can't be bothered now.  Four people contacted me out of the blue in affection (not romantic, but love.)  I'm loved.  I'm nobody.  My insurance is balking on the ER visit.  I thought I had a stable living situation, and suddenly I no longer do...extremes all week, and all week, confronting me, making me deal with them.

I don't know what direction to take.

As far as the housing goes, I can remind myself that when I moved last year, I didn't think this place would be long term.  But the thought of looking for a place and the process of moving, finding help moving again...I wanted to get a longer break.  I'm bad with change (obviously.)  I'd like to spend a little time in a comfort zone.  I'd like to rest.  Still, for me, that's death.  I just stagnate.  I know.  I hate change so much that I stay in situations long past what is in my best interest.  And maybe all these things are gentle-(ish) reminders of that.  That it's time to move on.

I thought pushing myself in other areas of my life would fulfill some of that need for change.  (Is that irrational?)  It's not just the housing.  I need to change a lot of things, major things, most of them scare me, or make me sad.  But they just aren't working; they're comfortable, safe, and unfulfilling.  And then there's all the good stuff, all the art, and other good things, three shows that are kinda' a big deal for me, in the next two months.  I got through it last spring, and I will again.  There will never be time enough, and somehow it still gets done.

We are never really still.

Outside, nature's off stretching her muscles, and tapping at my window.  I shall stay out of her way.

Things to finally know

Went to two shows tonight: the ETI solo performances, which I enjoyed and was happy for the levels of vulnerability and storytelling from the performers, several of whom I trained with last year, so was good to see how much more they've been growing in craft.  (Even if I do feel a small tinge of jealousy, I'm still happy for them.  And I want to know what this "full prep" before a performance is.)  The other was the late showing of the 14/48 Kamikaze weekend (where everyone draws their discipline from a hat: director, writer, designer, actor, or band member, not being assured of getting something they have any experience with.)  Impressed with how well it went; impressed once again, with how well the actors connect with the text and with each other in so short a time.

Came home to find my rent is increasing by $105/month.  Sucks.  I'm a good tenant, not sure if I can afford it, or if I want to pay that much to live here.  Eats up the raise I just got.

Have also decided to grow a little more self respect.  And am now going to sleep, because I'm working at both shows I saw tonight, tomorrow.  All day.  Not deciding anything else for now.  Although, perhaps the clown piece can just be two people.

Cheers.

Real

The day opens with fiery pink clouds, a river of color flowing across the sky as a front moves in.  High, between the buildings, they drift and undulate in the wind, a billowing curtain, where the rain falls but doesn't land.  Dramatic promise.

When I look out the window a little later, it's gray and overcast.

Lunch.  Pho.  Group table.  No one talking to anyone else.  All lean over hot bowls of noodles and look straight ahead.  Brows sweating, faces red, from lingering illness or perhaps too much pepper in the soup.

Walking out to leave, my luck with rain has run out:  I'm soaked when I get back to work.  And I've misplaced Orwell, with less than 40 pages to go.

It's official now, promotional materials being made.  Need to decide and run with it.

Some mysteries remain

"Sasquatch" sighting, January 14, L Herlevi 2015

Sasquatch sighting

Things back to normal, a normal that has shifted, but not much standing out.  Started serious work on the Sibelius music for March, fun, but difficult. (Venematka.)  I guess we won't be doing Oma Maa until next autumn, we've done it before, but not enough time to get it ready, it's long.

I went to a concert last night, there was a pre-show dinner that I decided to go to, for my birthday, to myself, and I got sat at a group table.  The conversations revolved around, WWII and Eastern Europe, the 1936 Olympics, the Winter War (Finland), Finns, saunas, the Finnish language, and new ways of treating waste water.  When we were leaving the dinner, one of the other guests mentioned a radio station that plays Scandinavian music (KSER?)  I'd mentioned that I sang in the folk choir.

Waiting at the bus stop after the show, some friends stopped their car in the middle of the road to ask if I wanted a ride (again, they don't live any where near me; a week or so ago, some other friends stopped and picked me up because it was raining and drove me to rehearsal, no where near where they were going, been lucky that way.  And my first reaction is always, "why are these people blocking the bus zone?" before realizing they are doing it for me, that I know them.) and so I ran up a block to get in the car (they had to get ahead of a bus), and then we were in the wrong lane because I ride the bus all the time and I assume the driver will know where they are going, which of course, not being the bus driver nor mind readers, they didn't.  So, they had to swerve out of the wrong lane (several vehicles did the same thing) which led to the topic that they had once rented a car, and the driver (a sister) had damaged the car pulling out of the parking garage, and hadn't bought the rental insurance.  Somehow they found a mechanic (in a strange city, mind you) that would repair the car overnight if they paid cash, which I guess happened.  It must've been a good job, they didn't get dinged by the rental company.  Gutsy.

Then the most interesting thing today has been that I went to lunch early, because I was hungry and had an appointment with a furniture vendor during my normal lunch time, so while walking to the Ave, I see a giant (7 foot, maybe) Sasquatch-type figure walking toward me.  At first I wasn't sure if it was Sasquatch or Chewbaca.  As it came closer, I saw it had a Native American mask on, and I think the "fur" was made of what looked like cedar bark.  Not sure what it was (or for.)  I thought it might be for the museum (the Burke) but it walked in the opposite direction across campus, not too many people paying attention to it, oddly enough.  Maybe it walks across campus every day.

When I finished lunch, I saw it coming back in my direction.  It stopped by a car, and eventually the man wearing it stepped out.  Hope someone writes about it.  I have a picture, of its back, striding away, and probably blurry, which seems fitting for a Sasquatch sighting.

Almost done reading the book.  Not remotely anywhere with the clown piece.  I need to go into rehearsal space and move...thinking too much.  I'd like it to be more physical now, plus I need to find a story arc.  When, I do not know, no free time until Sunday, now.

After the workshop

A bit anti-climatic, coming home on the bus, fog and rain.  The group this weekend built trust quickly, and there was something alchemical.  A lack (or suspension) of ego, perhaps?  All I know is that when people put it all out there, that makes it a safe space for everyone else to do it, too, and that happened this weekend, and so, there was a lot of growth.  There was a lot of magic going on in that room.  Someone mentioned that they felt they knew everyone intimately without knowing anything about their lives.  Yeah.  And for me, a definite break-thru, 600+ hours of training since I started this (acting.)  You practice until you get it.  And then you keep practicing.

Something I was able to articulate today, is that for me to deliver I need to know the rules of the world I'm inhabiting...I think this might be what happened in that long improv last spring.  My reactions made perfect sense in that world that had been constructed.  So, I need to figure out how I find that, and if it's in a show, that probably needs to be agreed upon to an extent.  If you believe it, the audience believes it, too.  Little kids do it all the time when they play "make believe," they create worlds with established rules and play within those, sometimes breaking them, but always doing that on a conscious level:  you need to know what the container is.  And after all is said and done, this work is essentially play, sometimes serious, but always play.

I feel free.

Broke through a wall

Exhausted, and it's late.  Broke through something, I don't know, the group I'm working with, the clothes, the day, the space that feels safe where I've let my guard down before, something clicked.  A lot of the self-consciousness that I feel on stage was gone (still felt it when I wasn't on stage), I was able to run with the impulse without wondering if I was having any (this has been a problem), and my energy levels went much higher.  All of this in spite of the fact that when it's not my turn, I sit and fret and think I'm gonna suck, that nothing will happen, that I will have to fake it.  And then I let the unexpected happen, I played by whatever ridiculous rules presented themselves, and I felt like something finally shifted.  I may not always get there in the future, but I got there today, which means I can do it.  It's there.  A personal victory.

I am also a giant bruise, I seem to have hurt my right foot, and I might have pulled something in my abdomen, though I don't currently feel that.  I was pulling myself over a theatre block via the back of my ankles from a starting position of lying on my back, and I felt a twinge in my side.  I did make it over.  (The block was an obstacle that we had to find a way over.)  Except for games, it was mostly solo work again.  I think we might do partner work tomorrow.

In spite of my lingering anxiety, today was fantastic.  And again, whenever I enter that space, every other worry in my life vanishes, and I am only there.  I love that.  Seven hours of being present.

Went to a show at ACT after.  I was only gonna stay for the first half, but the second half ended up being more meaningful to me.  It was a solo show about Shakespeare.  One thing he said had to do with nothing Shakespeare wrote was original, he wrote about the human condition, and that's common to all of us, only his language was better.  And in that, it should be accessible to all people, you shouldn't have to be "smart enough" to understand it.  He also talked about studying voice and speech, and that how to change the way you speak, to make it genuine (not fake, something you put on) you actually have to change yourself since speech is a huge part of our identity.  That reminded me of how I was told to raise my pitch (which I haven't done), and how much it freaked me out to think about it.  We have so many reasons for why we speak the way we do, what we believe it conveys.  But my vocal resonance is higher than where my current pitch is.

Also, when I was driving home on Christmas Eve, my voice was sore, and I started singing "operatic."  I have very little pitch control when I do it, would need to work with someone, but interestingly: it didn't hurt to sing that way, my volume probably doubled, and I had a bigger range.  Something to explore in the future.

For now, I need to sleep.

Birthday

Four more minutes of my birthday.  Then ten hours until tomorrow's class.  Seven hours of class.  Impending sense of dread between every exercise, not knowing what will be expected next...except failure may always be the option.  Came up last summer as well.  I have a ticket for a show tomorrow, but he mentioned he was pretty wiped out after last Saturday's marathon class.  Being "on" that long, is exhausting.  Plus, I have to do my full trip thing tomorrow, as I didn't have the right shoes tonight (I had clogs on, not conducive to tripping and not getting hurt really, at least not at this stage.)  Again, so much to remember, and I'm so out of regular practice.  The whole energy levels, the sharing, the unexpected reaction, the unexpected, the discovery, running with impulse, how you enter, and how you exit...not shutting yourself down, or letting your energy flag.  Tonight was mostly technical stuff about tripping, and physically (as well as vocally) reacting, walking into a door (I wanted shoes for the stairs and the door parts.  I was okay tripping on the flat floor barefoot.)  I should write notes.

Some friends took me out for a drink after.  I think it must have been straight alcohol, no mixer in there.  So, I guess I'm restarting the allergy testing tomorrow...it's okay, I've been kinda' flaky.  I mentioned that I felt like a slug earlier, and when I was away from my desk, my boss dropped off a mocha for me.  She told me after I'd already drunk it. (Had been almost a week off of coffee, and nine days off of alcohol.)  At least I'm still taking the main supplement, though it tastes nasty.  I do want to feel better.

I also need to look over my notes and cast this thing, already.  (Two potentials are in the workshop this weekend.)

Facing fears.

Tired.

Sleep.

More change

And yet another direction.  I need to make the casting choices solid so that I can make the game solid.  The coaching session was helpful and makes the time we have seem short, and yet, also really fleshed out the work, and gave us all more to explore, makes it more interesting to watch.  Plus, covered a lot of the details we hadn't gotten to yet (what makes it a performance?  What makes it clown?  Where is the focus?  Where is the energy?  How are you entering?  What do you need to do?  Building?  Discovering?  Sharing with the audience?  Exiting? - basic acting questions, really.)

I have two shows (different ones) over the next two months, and neither of them are written.  One has yet to be conceived.  That's a sobering thought.  I'll be better for all of it though.

I need to apply for auditions, too, and soon.

There's absurdity I want to explore with clown.  Leaps you can make because it's clown.  Suspension of disbelief, like in cartoons, that I want to play with.  I won't be using it in this show, but have a bunch of fragments (or threads) to follow for now.

I'm glad we are doing this.

New direction

Inexplicably, now have heat in the attic.  Curious.

More than halfway through 1984.  No recollection of any of it at all.  Fell asleep reading it last night, and between that and the giant spider near the head of my bed, had a lot of strange (some disturbing) dreams.

Two interesting observations by Winston in the book, "the world-view of the Party imposed itself most successfully on people incapable of understanding it.  They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what was demanded of them, and they were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening.  By lack of understanding they remained sane.  They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because it left no residue behind..." - and "if you can feel that staying human is worth while even when it can't have any result whatever, you've beaten them...if the object was not to stay alive but to stay human, what difference did it ultimately make?  They could not alter your feelings; for that matter you could not alter them yourself, even if you wanted to.  They could lay bare in the utmost detail everything that you had done or said or thought; but the inner heart, whose workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained impregnable." - George Orwell, 1984.  The latter stemming from thinking about how the proles were more human than the Party members.  Do we ever know what separates one from the other?  Why did some people become Party members, subject to all the control, and others were allowed to continue to live like humans live?  The former as good an argument for a broad-based education with critical thinking (as well as a free and independent press) as any I can think of.  As far as events of today go, I've talked about those elsewhere.

The clown piece was getting too complicated, so:  Start over.  Will try to spit out some sorta' outline for this for tomorrow.  Pretty sure it's down to three characters.

Sheer terror and exhilaration.  (For current things.)  You show up because you have to.  You make art because you have to.  (At a New Year's Eve party, I was telling someone that my degree wasn't all that practical, and he commented something to the effect, "Well, at least it's not acting, " to which I replied that that was my back-up, and we both laughed and I said I wasn't doing it for money, but because I had to.)  You make art because you have to.  You love because you have to, and in all these, the resistance just breaks down.  We are who we are.  And who we are is good enough.

Cheers to a weekend of failure.

Yet another book

My co-worker took a picture of me to hang on her bulletin board because I'm wearing the goofy owl sweater and she says it makes her smile every time she sees it.  I looked like a very geeky teenage boy in the photo (though in defense of the sweater, it does have a nice cut.)  (If it were a movie, Toni Collette would probably be my mother, never mind that I'm actually older, but she often plays the mother to the type of boy I resemble today.)  I need a new haircut, and I subsequently put on a little make-up.  I am also extraordinarily clumsy today.  Missed my bus because I kept knocking stuff over, and spilling things, in the kitchen.  At one point, knocked a can of coconut milk toward my head (it missed), smacked into the counter, knocked over some bottles into wine glasses (which thankfully, did not break)...all of it making quite a racket.  (Like when you are trying to be quiet, and that focus on the act makes you make more noise than you otherwise would've, if you weren't trying.)  It's a clown-moment morning.  I'll leave it at that.

Picked up a copy of 1984 at the bus stop.  One of those bus libraries.  I've started it before, but got bored, I think.  I wasn't planning on taking a book, mostly I look to see what types of books are in them.  I have a bunch I want to add to the collections and am feeling out the offerings to see where to leave them.  Anyway, gave me something to do while waiting for the next bus.

It is a bit boring starting out, I don't find anyone to sympathize with, but it picks up with the ideas of "history" continually being amended so that those are in control are seen as infallible, and so that one can no longer distinguish actual memories from fabrications, or even "when" it is.  And then there is the cloying aspect of always being observed, of always having to be on guard, of a lack of genuine feeling (of any kind.)  The only freedom being in your mind, but you'd better not trust those ideas to be spoken or written or otherwise known.  In a place where there are no laws, but the simplest act of autonomy can subject you to death.  How everything is falling apart.  I'm only on about page 38.

I need to stop starting new books before I finish the pile I'm wading through.  I've lost track of how many now.  Still, this is a good one for reading on the bus, it's very portable (Dickens is not.)

I should find somewhere to go write for a while.

Warm, Rainy, and Monday

A dark morning.  Dark, and schizophrenic weather, over 50 degrees again (it was in the 20's a couple of mornings ago); the office was boiling from the radiators being left open all weekend.  Had to open a window in the house during the night, too, the heat finally reaching the attic.  Then, walking to work, still relatively dark out, a glimpse of something white and fluttering to my side.  I think it must be paper or plastic caught in the breeze, but when I turn, it's a massive seagull, silently landing in the grass next to me.  I joked with someone that it was trying to sneak up on me, they're usually so vocal.

The clown thing.  I'm probably getting too psychological with it.  Too narrative, but then again, you can always back off of too much, I'm happy for a concept.  And I was told that mostly what I need to write are stage directions, that's a relief to get a handle on something...it was all this vagueness before.  Possible meeting with someone to hash it out this week, then a coaching session, then fifteen hours of "failure and frustration" (a clown workshop.)  Overall, a slightly unexpected opportunity, last summer he didn't think he'd be here in the winter.  The timing works for me.

I'm finding the Meisner exercises coming back to me now, and working for me in a way they didn't last year, which is great.  Surprised, I suppose by the direction things have taken, and I hope it all works out.  Even if we only perform for an audience of one, I want to be committed to it.

One last day of nothingness

On the curbs today: Christmas trees, disposed and dry, lying on the grass, waiting to be taken away.  Remnants of holidays hauled off and forgotten until next year.  In the trees, found gloves and other winter wear, adorning the otherwise bare branches.  The difficulty of going out in the cold, because I don't want to be cold.  But go, I do.  Walked the lake.  Cooked.  Watched some tv.  Walked out again to run an errand (actually, did that 2x.)  Made kale chips because I wanted "junk" food; tastes an awful lot like potato chips somehow.  All procrastination.  The intention was to write.  Finally, walked over to the coffee shop, drank hot chocolate, journaled, and then wrote more on the piece.

Lost glove, January 2/L Herlevi 2015

So...one of them puts in a personal ad.  The other reads it.  Realizes that they know who it is, and likes them, but figures, "well, if they liked me, they could've asked me out, but didn't, so..."  But then decides, what the heck, that since it's anonymous, to answer the ad anyway, who's gonna know?  The replies go back and forth and they decide to meet, under that pretense of being strangers, which is false.  2 hasn't come clean, yet.  Keeps putting it off.  Keeps meaning to get to it before they are scheduled to meet, but chickens out time and again.  So...here we are at the meeting place.  1 (the one who placed the ad, and who really is unaware) is there, 2 walks in, chickens out, walks back out.  Really doesn't want to hurt 1, so attempts to enter again, slightly altered in appearance from before...and where does that go?  The jig is up...how does it end (for now)?  Do I need the fourth character?  What's the "special?"  Need something tangible by Sunday.

Words or no?  Still unclear.  Need to figure out the length of it, too.  Still, the concept needs to be solid first.

Another break.  Time to mull it over more.

(Though I found all this from observing life, there are examples of it all around, (mistaken identity, tricksters, personal ads): Cyrano, Shakespeare, that Piña Colada song, "Must Love Dogs," etc..That song has been running in my head since Christmas from an association from an old Jazzercize routine, Knox Blox (piña colada and mocha) that my mom took to her class.  My brother was commenting disparagingly about Knox blocks(?) and I was remembering that I kinda' liked the mocha ones.)

Triggers everywhere.  Just got to write it down when it comes.