Been on a cleaning binge. Started at home because my landlord mentioned he was stopping by to do a safety inspection, and that included rooms, and my room was a disaster. Then I was thinking I'd really like to get a bag of documents shredded, and happened to see something on facebook for a free shredding event in my neighborhood, so lugged them there, and got rid of that. And then clothes I don't wear, and clothes that are beyond repair. And I've been clearing out stuff at work for a remodel, and that got picked up this week...all the open space is making me feel more free, and I'm enjoying being home more (minus the ant infestation. The landlord put out traps, but the heat has made them increase in spite of that. It's gross.)
And I went out to dinner with a friend, we were going to talk about this oral history project (though I haven't had the energy to think much about it, been overextended for most of the year), but ended up talking about a vote that's coming up, and then I told him a couple of things I haven't wanted to admit to anyone, but he seemed like he might be receptive to hearing them, and I needed to say them to someone...get the secrets to not be secrets; release the weight of them. To let go of the shame of what drove some choices I've made; shame of how I've let others treat me.
And in multiple, major, areas of my life, things will change, that's inevitable both in the general sense, but now in the specific. I think I'll accept the change, but is it just my stubborness that's resisting? What am I afraid of losing, exactly? I haven't made the time to think about it, and now that moment to decide has arrived, on timelines decided by others. Why am I so resistant? (Had conversations with two friends tonight about it. I really don't like change, but I also know we'll cease to exist if we don't do something different, possibly something radical. And the opportunity is here.)
Enjoy every moment for what it is. We can never get it back again. How much time is it that we think we have to squander? The only certainty is right now.
Showing posts with label open. Show all posts
Showing posts with label open. Show all posts
Thursday, May 17, 2018
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Tired
Spent a long time this morning slow-reading the Frankie monologue. Still need to get the Emilia down, but it's interesting if I do it one word at a time, how much I actually remember, and how much time I have to think about why I'm saying what I'm saying. It's an exercise you usually would do with a scene partner as you start working on a scene, you'd sit across a table, or just facing each other, and read each word at a time. (It can be slightly uncomfortable to do, releasing a lot of nervousness, or maybe that's just because I've always worked on those in front of other people.) I don't know how it'll affect the delivery tomorrow, but it helped today. Still not solid on the driving action, not with either of them.
Had a memorial service to sing at, and then had meant to walk with the other monologue, but took a nap instead, and then it was dark out, so tried to read it sorta' quietly on the bus until someone sat next to me.
Rushed to a dance performance, David Rousève/REALITY "Stardust," at Meany. All I knew about it beforehand was that he used a Twitter feed in the background, and that it was partially to be annoying, to make a statement about how much we check our phones and email and Facebook even when we are with someone else, because perhaps we fear we might miss something important, and because I had heard that, I wasn't reading them all initially and was trying to watch the dancers. But...they were important. The whole thing was the story of a teenage boy, African American, gay, who initially lived with his grandfather, and then went into foster care. And all he wanted was to be loved. (And that story was told in the Twitter feed.)
It destroyed me. I had my hand clamped over my mouth by the end to keep myself from sobbing, and it's the first show in a while that I jumped up for a standing ovation for. Just powerful. I felt myself alternating between heartbreak and anger, that there's that spark of humanity in all of us, and that anyone would snuff that out of someone else. What right do you have? That you would never know that because you need to have power over someone else to feel good about yourself...what effing right do you have??? That this kid looked at Van Gogh and got it. Heard Nat King Cole and found a kindred soul. Thought of pigeons as ghetto angels...and then how someone could take advantage of him, kill his soul that was just starting to find itself. (Was he a saint? No, but none of us are, we all deserve to find our way in the world, or reason for being, should such a thing exist.) Sure...it's "fiction" for the stage, but it's happening somewhere for real right now. Someone takes someone else's power away, or slaps a label on someone and decides they know all they need to know about them. They know nothing, and the label builds a wall, prevents them from seeing a human being, or learning anything.
Even when you know someone well, there are secrets you never reach, what makes anyone think they can know a stranger on a snap judgment? They don't. We don't. We make up stories to keep ourselves separate, to justify our actions, our discrimination, our fears.
The labels we choose to put on someone else tell more about our own prejudices than they do about whomever we choose to label.
There are too many bullies in the world. Open your heart. Become more human.
Had a memorial service to sing at, and then had meant to walk with the other monologue, but took a nap instead, and then it was dark out, so tried to read it sorta' quietly on the bus until someone sat next to me.
Rushed to a dance performance, David Rousève/REALITY "Stardust," at Meany. All I knew about it beforehand was that he used a Twitter feed in the background, and that it was partially to be annoying, to make a statement about how much we check our phones and email and Facebook even when we are with someone else, because perhaps we fear we might miss something important, and because I had heard that, I wasn't reading them all initially and was trying to watch the dancers. But...they were important. The whole thing was the story of a teenage boy, African American, gay, who initially lived with his grandfather, and then went into foster care. And all he wanted was to be loved. (And that story was told in the Twitter feed.)
It destroyed me. I had my hand clamped over my mouth by the end to keep myself from sobbing, and it's the first show in a while that I jumped up for a standing ovation for. Just powerful. I felt myself alternating between heartbreak and anger, that there's that spark of humanity in all of us, and that anyone would snuff that out of someone else. What right do you have? That you would never know that because you need to have power over someone else to feel good about yourself...what effing right do you have??? That this kid looked at Van Gogh and got it. Heard Nat King Cole and found a kindred soul. Thought of pigeons as ghetto angels...and then how someone could take advantage of him, kill his soul that was just starting to find itself. (Was he a saint? No, but none of us are, we all deserve to find our way in the world, or reason for being, should such a thing exist.) Sure...it's "fiction" for the stage, but it's happening somewhere for real right now. Someone takes someone else's power away, or slaps a label on someone and decides they know all they need to know about them. They know nothing, and the label builds a wall, prevents them from seeing a human being, or learning anything.
Even when you know someone well, there are secrets you never reach, what makes anyone think they can know a stranger on a snap judgment? They don't. We don't. We make up stories to keep ourselves separate, to justify our actions, our discrimination, our fears.
The labels we choose to put on someone else tell more about our own prejudices than they do about whomever we choose to label.
There are too many bullies in the world. Open your heart. Become more human.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
It's over now
"We would all like to be part of; to create that theatre which we could participate in with pride, on which we could reflect with pride. To do so one must buy a ticket. The price of admission is choice. Choice to participate in the low, the uncertain, the unproved, the unheralded, to bring the truth of yourself to the stage, not the groomed, sure, "Talented", approved person you are portraying, not the researched, corseted, paint-by-numbers presentation without flaws, not the Great Actor, but yourself, as uncertain, as unprepared, as confused as any of us are." -David Mamet
I like these people, it was a privilege to spend the past eleven weeks with them. To show up every week and pay a witness to the work done in private, the work done apart from one another. It went well, for everyone. I want to see how far it can go. 17 days until clown class. 19 days until interviews. 23 days until we work together again. Counting down. "To live truthfully under imaginary circumstances..." why should it matter, what difference does it make? Somehow it does though. Letting it all be open-ended, following the questions, the wants, out to wherever they lead, and trusting in the process. Trusting that where I am at this moment, is the right place for me to be.
I like these people, it was a privilege to spend the past eleven weeks with them. To show up every week and pay a witness to the work done in private, the work done apart from one another. It went well, for everyone. I want to see how far it can go. 17 days until clown class. 19 days until interviews. 23 days until we work together again. Counting down. "To live truthfully under imaginary circumstances..." why should it matter, what difference does it make? Somehow it does though. Letting it all be open-ended, following the questions, the wants, out to wherever they lead, and trusting in the process. Trusting that where I am at this moment, is the right place for me to be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
