The Sound of One Hand Clapping

2009-09-08T01:40:00.000-07:00

I'm uploading a video to youtube, and it's taking forever. Perfect time to write, I suppose, since i'm doing nothing but sitting and waiting; watching the little navy bar lengthen across the screen. And so I write...

but what about?..........
once again i find myself needing to move my fingers. hoping that at some point inspiration will hit me and I will begin a thoughtful rant about something interesting. i should hope some of my rants are interesting... if not, that doesn't speak much to my writing ability. not to say that i'm a writer by any means... although i have written a play and am 'writing' a few others currently... that does not necessarily make me a writer. I am an artist. I am an artist who writes. I am an actor who writes plays. I suppose, I can label myself whatever I want. there is no quota of plays one must write before they can bill himself as a playwright. if i have written one, i suppose i am. whatever that word means....

whatever it means to me...

stream on consciousness writing is good. its currently not getting me anywhere but i might as well do it every now and then just to keep in the simple habit of writing. of moving my fingers. of thinking.

because when you are unemployed, and you spend most of yours days in a house alone, its difficult to find inspiration for your writing. particularly when the play you are focusing your energies on is about relationships. hard to write about them when you are alone. i can think back, sure. i can imagine ahead, sure. i can build off of what i have heard, what i know. but it always seemed so much easier when i was writing Inferno to write after an actual event in my life. something would happen... then i would write. then i would edit and turn it into something usable in a script. but right now, with nothing happening... i have nothing to write rants about except the fact that i have nothing to write rants about.

so here i am. still writing about having nothing to write.

we begin again.

.break.

[omit] ??

2009-09-07T22:08:00.001-07:00

I like.
punctuation.

a lot.

and needless breaks in the structure of sentences.

as though. it. adds some sort of meaning. to otherwise meaningless

words.

and as it so happens, so do my friends.

breaking up words with brackets, hyphens, commas, periods.

Why?

who the hell knows.

perhaps because we have read too many sarah kane plays.

too many beckett plays.

too many.

many.

because, in the end, what does any of it actually mean? when audiences see one of our broken word plays, they can't tell that it was written with only three words to a page, broken apart by a semicolon after the second word.

what difference does it make if i space the words out.

i suppose, in most instances, the actor reading the text will glean some meaning behind the breaks. interpret a way that the dialog was 'meant' to be read.

and perhaps i do mean for it to be read in that particular, peculiar way.

Indeed, in the past, i have written text that cascaded down the page, indenting as it went along, and i did intend for it to roll off the tongue as though it were water traveling over a rocky brook, often times being spoken by multiple people, each a rock in the broken stream of the sentence.

but then again. how much of it was simply me trying to be artsy.

??

let's call it half and half and leave it at that.

there is meaning. but sometimes it just looks cooler to play with punctuation.

period; the. end.

just out of reach

2009-09-06T03:42:00.000-07:00

500 days of summer. autumn. summer.

breaking down the broken down. seeing youself on the screen in the weaker character. seeing yourself within the character that can't move on.

but that's the point. they want you to identify with the man. not te girl that has intimacy issues. not the one that gets married without any time for courting. you are expected to identify with the one that does not know how to cope at the end.

and i do. we do.

we know that guy. we see ourselves within his actions. within his thoughts. because we have also put ourselves out there like that. loved someone unconditionally and in return gotten nothing but broken words and empty promisses.

is that all i have gotten? no...

at one point, i was the woman. the girl that was not ready for something serious. i was the one who didn't believe in that word. love. because i had never known it. never felt it. never had those words cross my lips in truth.

but they would.

only it would be too late for them. their death had already passed and they were wandering ellicium.

so the question becomes. why do we all identify with the man? why are we expected to see ourselves in this man who's expectations don't allign with realty? because the world is broken. love is not that simple.

i have loved. but do i know what it's like to be in love? no.

words.................... that's all this comes down to. what are words? labels upon labels of a relationship.

life. love is not that simple.

on tv. mtv kids are trying to become base jumpers on made. jumping off cliffs for the sheer thrill. i need to learn how to do that. to jump off the safety of what i know is true, and throw myself into the unkown. for all i know.... this word.... love... is out there.... floating in mid-air.

no more.

love. a wish. a thought. a prayer.

so much more than i think it will be, and yet just out of reach.

just putting down some thoughts

2009-09-05T01:36:00.000-07:00

There's a great space between us, and it's filling up with everything we don't say to each other... and everything we do.
------------------------------------------

i meant it when i said i loved you. even if i was too late

there was ever only you.

please understand.

please.

stay.

------------------------------------------

There is always light to see. Even in the darkest of nights the moon and stars guide you on your path. Have no fear, for the light is always there. You may have to search a bit, but it's there.
You will never be so broken that you can't be fixed. There's simply too much light to grab your tools.

------------------------------------------

maybe tomorrow i'll find my way home. maybe. just maybe.

so much work put into that bread. those crumbs. only to have them torn apart by the bitter forest.

maybe the path will be a bit clearer. maybe all those breadcrumbs i left along the way won't matter so much.

so soon was it that we had held hands. gretel and i. skipping through the forest. yet sooner still was it that we tumbled down the hill. breaking crown. breaking down.

where do i begin when every ending puts me right back at the start?

how do i mend this broken shell, with not but gum and string and a distant star to throw my wishes at?

and where were you when everything was falling apart? when goose's walls came crashing down? when wishing stars fell from the sky and interlocked fingers were torn apart? when toy soldiers rusted up? when jumping candles burned the skin and riding hood was never seen again?

when childhood dreams of love met their end under undertaker's blade.

where were you. in this sad and broken tale of woe.

with no crumbs, no stars, no path to guide my step...

maybe tomorrow i'll find my way home. maybe. just maybe.

light

2009-08-18T23:42:00.000-07:00

Not sure exactly how to start this blog. I know I need to write. That's about all I know right now. And since a rant of mine usually comes from me simply moving my fingers, I figured that would be the best place to start.

You see, I haven't had any major drama in my life worth writing about. Worth putting into a play. I haven't lost a friend, lost a love, lost an apartment, lost myself... recently, so where does that leave this space when for so long it has been dedicated to my loses.

But I always find them again. Always return to something inspiring or something meaningful. The balance of the good and the bad. The lost and the found.

.... lately, though, my mind returns to those previous blog topics. To the things I swore to myself I would never talk about again. I am living in a world with lost romantics who wax on about how they haven't found their love yet, and i am unable to utter the same sentiment. There are three things I think about in solitude: time, previous relationships, and .... well... the same thing that's on every man's mind when he spends too much time alone.

I get too stressed when I have nothing to do. I function better when I am overwhelmed. Maybe that's because I function best when I am distracted from my problems.

My world at rest spins too fast. I have to keep running to slow it down.

-------------------------------------------------
quiet. hush...

Don't you find the air stale tonight?
no.
I find it rather nice. especially in this light.

what?
especially in this light.
the air.

i don't catch your meaning.
the air.
it best carries us along when there is light.
we drift along like a leaf on the wind when all the darkness has gone.
you cannot be carried on in life when your darkness pulls you down.
-------------------------------------------------

So let me start this up again. Let me begin with some light, before I find some darkness to pull my leaf back down.

I speak in too many metaphors, i think. Too used to using poetry to emote. Or rather... live the angst ridden teen life. Rants are just easier when focused on a single style. Whatever, that's all I have for now.

Metaphors. metaphors. maybe i should learn to speak in plain text.

i just wanna hold on a bit longer

2009-05-31T16:34:00.000-07:00

"It is too late. The evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theater."
-'The Seventies Now' by Stephen Miller

---------------------------------------------------------

I'm packing up the last of my things at my apt and moving home today. It's all stuff that I have taken with me, moved with me, for years now. And yet, as I move once again, I can't help but have this irrational fear that I am somehow losing a whole store of memories that I connect to this place. I realize that memories will last and stay with me wherever I am, but its hard when I know I am losing something that has proven to be a reminder of those events. I have connected so much of this place with my last relationship, with my friends and with my own growth over the past year.

That doorway was where we had our first real kiss.
That was the spot on the floor where I sat when we played spin the bottle.
I made snappy molasses crinkles with Jamie in that kitchen, ate dinner on the floor and talked for hours.
I wrote my play on my bed, on my couch, on my desk, in my kitchen, on my patio.
That's where I wrote the rant that later became Margaret.
That's where I watched the Grind House movies with Dane.
That's where I storyboarded my show from start to finish.
That's where I sent a text using the 'L' word for the first time.
That's the shower I spent nine hours in one day when I had mono, just so i could breathe.
That's the spot where I was sitting when I knew I had to end it.
That spot in the living room was where I slept for a whole month after the breakup.

Sigh... there are so many more... I'll leave those out.

But. I still have those memories. Those events happened, and will stay with me even when I am someplace else. But there seems to be a need in me to hold onto this tangible reminder. This physical tie to a relationship, a play, a party, some words. I am holding on too much. It's time for a move. It's time to let go of reminders.

It's time.

call you me fair?

2009-05-29T02:32:00.000-07:00

"I'm not about to settle for anything less than maturity, honesty, humor, and unbridled passion.

When you kiss me, it better be good.
When you touch me, it better be tender but firm with clear intent from the start.
When you speak to me, you better make me laugh HARD.
When you meet me, you better look me in the eye.
When we embrace, you better smell like heaven.
When we wake up in the morning, you better roll over and get into my arms.
When we go out places, you better not hide me for one moment.
When we see a movie, you better hold my hand and squeeze at the good parts. Or bad ones.
When you see my art, you better tell me what you think AND WHY.
When we get ready to go to dinner, you better help me tie my tie even if you're bad at it."
-From John's Blog
----------------------------------------------------

241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
256
when you dig my grave
gravedigger
damn.
where was I?
250- something?

counting the dots on my popcorn ceiling

waiting
waiting.
procrastinating.

i can almost smell you now.
sitting here in the dim light. if i stay just still enough, with the covers up over my nose, i can almost still smell you. your skin leaving its mark on the sheets.

257?
258
259
260

i remember the first time i was near you after the end. you standing just close enough. the wind blowing in just the right way. that your smell overcame me all at once, like a large wave knocking over a child. pulling it back in as it goes.

i had to clench my teeth just to keep from breaking.

i wrote it into my show. no. i stole it from another show and called it my own.
"sometimes i turn around and catch the smell of you, and i cannot go on i cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful physical longing i have for you..."

but all was good. we were. good.

and now here i am counting the dots on my popcorn ceiling, trying to catch the last note of you.

but it has been gone a long time. you have been gone a long time. and its not that i miss you anymore. its not that i wish things were different between us. but the silence. the quiet. under this popcorn ceiling. i cant help but hold the covers a little closer. waiting. wishing.

261
262

i have figured out the formula to this madness. the reason behind the thoughts. its not you that i am missing. its the body. the entity. the person. a reason to wake up in the morning. someone to stand by me. to hold me. someone for me to wrap my arms around and call mine. someone for me to kiss and whose eyes i can get lost in. someone who will look after me when i am sick. someone for me to hold hands with. someone for me to give that 'slanted smile' to. i miss the idea of you.

or so i tell myself.

i am en expert at holding on to pain. residual feelings. missing things that may not have ever been there to begin with. call me an emotional masochist. i seem to enjoy the torture. revel in my misery, simply because you are happy.

no. thats not true.

we begin again.
1
2
3
4
5
stop it. ha...
"tried that, didn't work..."

i am an endless box of quotations. give me time, and i can make art out of my babble. catch me off guard, and all you get is mud. i have no solutions for this rut. no instant formula to solve this world of popcorn ceilings.
where is the sky?

[omit]

we begin again.
1
2
3
4
how do i begin again when all i do is compare the next one to you? to this idea in my mind that isnt even true? nothing compares. thats the problem. my imagination has taken over. my mind has created world upon world. vast cities of love. and when reality doesnt match up, i hide under my covers, trying to smell what could have been.

its time to pull off these sheets. no. its time to pack these sheets away in a box and move. put away my ideas and stop staring at my popcorn ceiling.

my sky is out there.

stupid. inspirational. clap-trap.
cheesy.

no more.

Nonsense

2009-05-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

"Be all yourself, for that is all there is of you."
-Emerson
---------------------------------------------------

I find myself caring less and less for people's opinion of me. It's not that I am completely apatheic, or that I am acting without regard to those around me, but when it comes down to it... I'm going to live my life the way I want to regardless of what anyone thinks. And I have that right. Who cares if I go into bartending? Who cares if I choose a career that is nearly impossible to support yourself with? Who cares who I choose to date? Who cares if I support Obama? Who cares if I take risks in my life? Who cares???

You might. But that's not going to stop me.

I am a grown adult; one who is capable of making life choices, making my own opinions on social and political issues, choosing my own career path and finding love wherever it may come. So don't presume to know me. Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. You can give me advice, but know that I might not take it. I do have a decent head on my shoulders, and make good life decisions every single day. And like I always say, My playing small doesnt serve the world, or me.

----------------------------------------------------

On another note...

In the past two weeks:
I graduated.
I lost a friend.
I took the first baby steps of my career.
I cried.
I lost a lot of sleep.
I laughed.
I enrolled in more classes.
And tomorrow, I will turn 22.

I'm ready for more. Bring it on.

F-YOU exit sign on stage-right

2009-05-17T14:53:00.000-07:00

[omit]: Lets make it easy
Aaron: ?
[omit]: Lets stop talking. We are just making it weird for you
Aaron: I want to be friends. I'm capable of that. The rest is on you. Its weird only if you make it, which right now you seem bent on.
[omit]: Wow. Very bold of you. We'll see where it gets you
Aaron: Whatever the hell that means...
[omit]: After reading that it is mean. And I don't know what it means
Aaron: You frustrate me [omit]. And I'd like to hang out as friends, but all my other friends actually text me occasionally and respond to my messages. So I'm not sure exactly what to do with you.
[omit]: Understandable. I dont want to be your friend aaron
Aaron: Alright.
[omit]: Im confused
Aaron: Yes. You are. And so am I. Clearly.
[omit]: I cant just be your friend
Aaron: Well, you need to be.
[omit]: Okay. So. Hence no text.
Aaron: Well no texting makes it impossible for me to even be simple friends with you. Is this an all of nothing thing? We can't just be friends?
[omit]: ??? Arent you leaving?
Aaron: Not anytime soon.
[omit]: Aaron. I hurt you. I know. I'm sorry. You dont get it do you
Aaron: I get it [omit]. Completely. But it seems I'm the one hurting you right now. I can move on.
Aaron: ??
Aaron: So what's up?
Aaron: You know what. Fine. You don't text me anyway. I'll just stop reaching out. I have tried to be friends with you, but you won't allow that, it seems.
Aaron: We can't have something... more. And so I'll always be that one that got away... but my efforts to make something, anything out of this are being thrown in my face. I'm sorry if I am hurting you. If I am some constant temptation in your life, but stop allowing me to be. I want more with you, but have accepted that its not going to happen. I can move on and still be friends. But I can't take all these love games. This constant nagging on my heartstrings. It has to stop.
So take all the time you need. Cuz I'm tired. And my heart is sore.

Oh, neglect

2009-04-30T00:18:00.001-07:00

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
-Marianne Williamson
-------------------------------------------------

Oh, how I have neglected you, blog of mine. How my fingers have pined for your textual embrace. Alas, I have been too busy for my words to fill thine ears, and everything I would have said has gone to another... my Inferno. Fanning the flames of my textual existence. My metaphoric rise from a distant figment, to an ever present body of work. So, my dear blog, I return to you now... if only for a moment, so that I might release my fingers to do my bidding upon your milk white pages. For after tonight, only time will tell when I will have a chance to draw upon you again. And time, my dear friend, is a cruel bitch.
------------------------------------------------
I have found myself in an odd position. I really don't want to be a playwright, and writing my one-man-show has proven one of the most difficult things I have ever tried to do. But, in the midst of my Inferno frenzy, I find myself coming up with plots for other plays I want to write. There is a character I cut from Inferno, that I am in love with... and my mind has wondered and fleshed out several story lines for him to live. My mind jumps to abstract representations of ideas floating aloof in my head. I don't particularly care for Becket's writing, but I find a deep desire to write a show in that style. Writing a scene in the style of Sara Kane has given me a glimpse of something more... for while it is a broken and slightly non-sensical style, that text is some of the most raw and jarring in all of my script. It was written without a censor. And while some of it doesn't make sense, it comes from my heart, not my head. I know I will be writing more once Inferno closes. There is too much going on in my head to let it stay there. But I certainly won't be writing any more one-man-shows for myself. Or if I do... they won't be quiet this personal.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.... Your playing small does not serve the world."

This is something I am struggling with. In my show, I play many different characters, but the one I am having the most trouble with right now is Aaron. Actors always say that playing characters that are most like you are the hardest thing to play. We can be experts at playing villans and people that are completely opposite from us, but ask us to "act natural" and "be yourself" onstage, and we all shy away. Or at least... I do. I have a bad tendency to hide behind characters, and I am doing it right now in my show. I am allowing these other people to me more interesting than Aaron. And people arent coming to this show to see them... they are coming to see me. As vein as it sounds, this show will not work unless I know that Aaron is the most interesting thing ever to have stepped foot on that stage. Sure, I can put on an accent and live in the shoes of one of my personas for a little while, but it is the moments when I am being myself, and being completely open and vulnerable while telling a truly personal story, that become the most compelling and striking parts of the show.
So then, how do I convince myself of that? How do I not shy away from being 'powerful beyond measure'? If I'm going to let go and share these stories, memories, letters, dreams, experiences and feelings with and audience, I need to do it completely and without hesitation.
Until I can do that... my work will only progress so far before it hits a brick wall.

Playing small does not serve the world... and it doesn't serve me as an artist.

11:11, I wished for you

2009-04-08T00:19:00.000-07:00

----------------------------------------------------------

Began rehearsals tonight. After two hours, I left. Frustrated. It seems the more I read my script, the more I hate it. I want to take three scenes, and throw the rest away. Start over from scratch. Now, while I know this is not completely necessary... there is a need to rework a lot of it. And I'm sure it's just the writer in me freaking out, and I know I have been living close to the text for a long time and need some perspective... but I'm in a dark corner right now, and can't find the light. I'll get there.... its just a frustrating process that I have never experienced before.

Sigh....

I don't view this site as a journal, by any means, but a friend recently equated writings like this as "exposure". As though I was letting the paparazzi into my home to look at my baby pictures. As though the thoughts typed in a blog would carry some hidden secret. Or that by reading this you would suddenly become more concerned for my well-being. If I write about a rough day, suddenly it becomes prudent for all the readers to check in and see how I am doing. I don't want or need that. And I really dont want this to carry much over into my daily life. I see this as a pressure valve. I'm letting out steam. Letting my thoughts go so they arent wandering around my head anymore. They are secure in print. I'm just rambling on here... not exposing anything that I wouldnt gladly offer up if we were talking in person. Granted, I might put it more poetically in type over whistful conversation, but nontheless, the facts would remain the same. I find reading someone's journal rather dull. I should hope a blog would engage, and start more thoughts stirring. Read this text or not, I care not... but just know thats all it is... my mind letting off some steam. You don't need to "go into hiding" on your own blog and censor yourself because you know people will read it. Or else, why even keep a blog?? Just write in a real journal.

Sigh...

.... just spilled coffee on my keyboard....
I had an odd dream the other night. I don't believe dreams should give us insight into how to deal with events in our lives, but I do believe that our dreams relate to things that are happening or that are on our minds. Figures in my dreams always represent people in my daily life, and I can usually figure out who... often times they are me (even if they dont look like me in the dream). For as long as I can remember, I would dream about saving people.... or at least trying to. I would always go on these huge adventures... on a quest to find someone. OR, I would find them but there would only be enough room for one person on the helicopter (for example), and I would sacrifice myself in order to save the other person. In Jan. and Feb. I started having nightmares. In them, I was the one who needed to be saved. I was the one running. Running from a murderer, running from death, an explosion, etc.
I believe I used to dream about saving people because I'm used to being very in control of what happens in my life (particularly with my love life). I try to be all things to all people, often without thinking about how much it will put me out. But when it came time to think about what I really wanted, and how it didnt line up with what was happening in my life (Jan. and Feb.), I felt like I had lost that control. I had no control, not only of the situation, but of my emotions. I wasnt running from death, I think it was my heart running from my head. Not wanting to accept the.... idk... end? I don't have nightmares like that anymore, thank goodness.
The other night I dreamt that the head of the theatre department, Linda, was egging my friend Anne. She wouldnt stop, so I picked her up and started choaking her. lol. .... not sure what that was all about. Of course the dream also had me saving my lover, my friends and planning his epic battle against a ship of pirates that was coming to take them all away from me. My dreams are epic.... and should be made into movies, I swear. Minus Linda and the eggs, of course.

Sigh....
I talk about dreams a few times in my show. Not sure if I will keep some of them. This one is a prime example.... all the dreams are one's I actually had.

------------------------------------------------------

(excerpt- Inferno..... maybe....)

Letter to a Lost Lover:
I dreamt about you. You came up behind me, wrapped your arms around my back. My chest. And whispered in my ear "I'm sorry".
I cried for nine days.
Those arms should have been mine. Those whispered words, mine.
"I'm sorry."
-sincerely, yours

heros move mountains

2009-04-01T01:55:00.000-07:00

"There is a child in me still... and sometimes not so still."
-Mister Rogers
----------------------------------------------------

I have always loved Mister Rogers. I did not, however enjoy watching his show as a child. It was slow, and rather boring. But I really think what he represented and what he was able to do for the development of children's television is amazing. I wrote my senior thesis paper on his effect on public/children's television. Mister Rogers followed acts like Captain Kangaroo and competed with flashy, low content shows like Seseme Street, but he pushed it to a new level. He taught serious life lessons in every show, wrote all of his own songs, and truly cared about the development of the next generation. When funding for public television was on the chopping block, it was Mr. Rogers that saved it by proving its ability to teach valuable lessons to kids. He convinced the board by telling them the lyrics of one of his songs. Its really cool to see, and the video is on youtube. Look it up. That being said, he was SO underappreciated. His show maintained its slow 70's pacing, while other children's shows changed to fast cuts, bright colors, and puppets. But all those other shows owe their success to him. I may not have watched his show often as a child, but there are so few people creating real, life affirming, developing children's shows these days. The days of Cpt Kangaroo and Mr. Rogers are dying out. And the day Mister Rogers died, was a really really sad day. Rest in peace.

I talk about Mister Rogers not only because I was looking for quotes in one of his books (he has a few books that are just quotes of his- published after his death), but because I think it is important to have heros in your life. Heros like Mr. Rogers, who moved mountains.

I guess the real reason I was looking through the book was because it reminds me of love. and virtue. and what should really comprise a person's moral foundation. Not to say I was questioning my own foundations, but this week certainly has been a reminder that we are all on a quest to find love, and we may not always be looking in the right place. Not to say that there is a "right place" to look for it. I don't think we could ever know that. Love finds us, despite our looking. And saying that, just reminds me of my post a while ago about complicated love. So many opportunities for potential love, and the connection happens exactly where it makes the least sense. But that's a whole other thing that I am not going to jump back into.

Of course, I have a monologue to go memorize... so I'll leave it here. Mr. Rogers. Virtue. Love. Rest in peace. End.

I had 3 hours stolen from me today

2009-03-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

"Some days, doing "the best we can" may still fall short of what we would like to be able to do, but life isn't perfect-- on any front-- and doing what we can with what we have is the most we should expect of ourselves or anyone else."
-Mister Rogers
-----------------------------------------------------

I have been having some serious writer's block recently.... and I don't mean for my show. I mean for this blog. I simply don't have anything I wanna talk about, or feel like someone would want to read about. Any little scrap of interesting info or insightful commentary I throw into my script, which leaves this blog to sit and grow cobwebs.
So... any suggestions on blog topics, or things you want my opinion on, or things about me you wanna know???? leave a comment. please. thank you.

To actually talk about something:
This weekend and next are packed to the brim with theatre and art. The Phoenix Fringe festival is going on right now with 137 performances in two weekends. Its crazy. I'm volunteering, so I can thankfully see them all for free. Its just a matter of scheduling them in. This weekend I saw some of the best, and some of the worst theatre of my life.

Henry V, put on by the Guthrie Theater at the Herberger, rocked my socks off. It was wonderful. (although, apparently I don't share the opinion of some of my other theatre friends) But after seeing that show, and having it followed by a mediocre one man play, a bizare parade on stage-- put on by a bunch of visual artists, and then one of the worst productions I have ever seen, put on by our very own ASU... my weekend was a resounding reminder that I hate most theatre I go to see.

...and I think this is not something uncommon in theatre. Most of the 'great' theatre practitioners I know, hate theatre as well. Granted, we are surrounded by it all the time and are trained to be overly-critical of everything we see, but it says something about who we are as artists. I find it a necessity to improve and fight for the theatre. To constantly push myself to be better, so that I don't end up stuck in a bad production. OR... if I do end up in a bad production, that it not be because of elements that were within my control. We can be better. We are better.

I fell in love with the production of Henry V for several reasons. One- the acting was superb. And its so hard to find decent productions of Shakespeare these days, because there is a style necessary in the acting of it. Not to say that you need to put on an affected voice, but there is a huge difference between contemporary acting and dealing with verse and complex period text. I felt the majority of the actors handled the text beautifully. King Henry in particular. There was such a great understanding of the text. And King Henry cried prob three times throughout the show. Which doesnt really take much... but it was so truthful. The costumes were also something that really excited me as a designer. They were simple in appearance, but each cast member's long coat was connected by a complex series of zippers. They were able to alter the appearance of the character simply by zipping of lengths of coat, or opening up the side of a sleeve, or undoing the collar. While the show was generally not descript to a certain period, there were flashes of it-- often as simple as a white frilled sleeve hidden under a forearm zipper. Well thought out costumes always excite me as a designer and an actor. I always design things that I would love to wear as a performer.

On the other end of the spectrum.... I had two and a half hours of my life stolen today that I am never going to get back. In recent years, I have lost great faith in ASU theatre. We put on massive productions, trying to include all studies in the school, but they just turn out to be huge cluster-fucks on stage. This production of a beautiful William's play is a prime example. The director, who made the rehearsal schedule based on the cycle of the moon, based a lot of the action in the play on the actor's dreams. As a result, the play had a Geisha, a little drummer boy, a cat woman, and an Incan woman..... completely without reason. Three out of those four didnt even have lines. They added nothing to the play. He cast a show with 30-some odd people when he could have done it with 15. It was just a wild display of over acted, over directed, over designed craziness. I find a lot of the acting techniques at ASU very fascinating... but I would love to see some good acting every once in awhile. Something where the actor has an objective, an action, a physical life....

So, while I experienced both extremes this weekend, I also took a lot away.... Like what NOT to do in my own play. Yeah... I'm an overly-critical artist... but I think you have to be. Otherwise you will end up settling and produce bad art all the time. Bad news bears. Next weekend i'm going to see a min. of six plays. And volunteer all of Sun. I hope you get out and see some art too. There is so much going on all the time. Tempe arts festival, phoenix film festival, art museums, openings, phoenix fringe.... the list goes on. Go and be overly critical like all decent artists.

Like I said... I'm running out of blog topics, and I'm only ten deep with this site. Help. ;)

love rules

2009-03-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

"Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other."
-Carl Jung
----------------------------------------------------------
A piece from inferno:
Jude:
Mommy always says there is always something more just beneath the surface. Trouble is… Here, I keep drowning trying to find it. The water is too deep and dark. And my legs just aren’t strong enough. Yeah, I miss floating on the surface… But I guess that’s where I always end up, in either case.
No… I don’t know where my red ball is now… have you seen it?

quick note

2009-03-20T00:34:00.000-07:00

"Mama said knock you out."
-LL Cool J
----------------------------------------------

The first draft of Inferno is complete, finally. It still has a really long way to go and a lot of rewrites to do, but its a big step. The writer in me needs a break.

You are my sweetest downfall. I loved you first.

2009-03-14T03:48:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd cry for you forever
But I couldn't so I didn't
People's children die and they don't even cry forever
Thought I'd see your face in my mind for all time
But I don't even remember what your ears looked like

And the clock still strikes midnight and noon
And the sun still rises and so does the moon
Birds still migrate south and people move on
Even though I'm no longer in your arms
Thought the mountain would crumble
And the rivers would bend
But I thought all wrong and the world did not end
Guess the maps will just have to stay the same for a while
Didn't even need therapy to rehabilitate my smile
Rehabilitate my smile

Thought I'd cry for you forever
But I couldn't so I didn't...
-Rejazz, Regina Spektor

-----------------------------------------------------

That quote really makes me think of my former relationship... which ironically, is not at all what this blog is about. But I thought it spoke to the acidity of emotion. How it will creep into all of our thoughts, whether we like it or not.

Alright. so.... let's talk about attraction for a little while.

We can't really decide who we are attracted to, nor can we change who we fall for once its happened. But what happens when you fall for someone who is already in a relationship?? What happens when the person you like is in the arms of another every single night? And what happens when that person is pretending their lover's arms are yours?? How do you cope with the fact that you are the "other person" being longed for. When you are the person being fatasized about? When you are the "other person"?

It's a complex situation to be in.

You don't want to be a 'homewrecker'.... and yet you spend all of your time wishing that you were.... that they would leave their partner and give it all up for you. All the while, feeling like the mistress hiding in the closet; secretly wishing the husband would leave his wife, but knowing he never would.

And every little flag... every glimmer of hope that they might just come to their senses... gives you hope that a relationship between you and this 'taken' person might work. That it is a fairy tail ending at the end of a war novel... just waiting to happen.

But in the end..... they go home to their partner. They rest in bed with someone else. And you are left alone. Sleeping in silence. In darkness. Praying for the next text message. The message that will signal another little glimmer. and another after that.

A slight flicker that you might just be better than their current partner.

All the while KNOWING that you are. Knowing that you are better than second hand affection and stolen glances. Stolen text messages, sent from bathrooms because they couldnt be sent in front of 'present company'. Knowing that love is not something that you need to steal. Love is not second hand. And should never be treated as such.

I write all of this as an individual who strives for a unique and independent love, but finds himself sucking off of the love of another. Settling for attraction to an individual already in a loving (all be it, not entirely happy) relationship.

Now, there's the rub. As much as I try, I can't help who I am attracted to....

can you??

Granted you can help who you persue a relationship with. You can help who you develop an interest in. But you CANNOT help WHO you are attracted to. Who you connect to. Who you spend your evenings thinking about. Who prevents you from getting work done, cuz they are running through your head all day.

Attraction. Connection. Love.... cannot be helped. cannot, in the end, be prevented.

So? What do you do? What is the solution to be attracted to someone already in a relationship??Stop? .... tried that... didnt work.

I have no solution to offer to this problem. I hate feeling helpless in any aspect of my life, but that is exactly how I feel right now. My love life is out of my hands. I cannot rationalize (cannot use the Stanislovski Method to asnwer) my issues. And I have talked to many people that simply say to "back off".... but I just cant. I'm hooked. I'm addicted and I have no idea how to quit.

It's like I'm a crack addict and am searching for the perfect 12 step program. But like all real addicts, I dont want that program. I want to stay hooked. I want the crack to love me back the way I love it. In a soothing, warming, protective way that I know it is capable of.

I may be young... but I know how I feel. I can't help it... but I am head over heals...

I'm acting on my heart. Not by my head. And that is getting me into trouble. Sweet, sweet trouble.

sigh.... we'll see how things turn out....

Angels and Demons

2009-03-05T23:08:00.000-08:00

"I need to wander hell, to find the angels lost in it."
-Me
------------------------------------------------------

I wrote plot points out on small pieces of paper and arranged them on my cork board tonight. I put certain stories under character's names, and slowly discovered the progression of the story. I also found an ending! All this time I was waiting for some brilliant idea to slap me upside the face, but as it turns out, it has been part of my concept all along. Phew!

So, now that I have a scene breakdown, it shouldnt be too long before I have a text to email out.

I have never needed an outline to write before... but then again, I have never written from the perspective of seven different people (telling stories that add another five characters). Now that I have figured that much out, I am feeling a little more in control.

As it turns out, I have more stories from my personal life than I do made up stories. I guess thats what I wanted, but its not really what I was expecting going into this process. It actually took a few friends telling me that particular memories were fascinating and needed to be in it, before I realized just how much they did need to be in my play.

I don't like all of my characters. But they are all real parts of myself. I have been fighting them... and will continue to fight them all the way to the stage.

Margaret is bitter, Gabe is in pain and wont tell anyone, Ariel is too flamboyant for his own good, Asher is a horndog, Malachi is obsessed with a word, and Jude... Jude just had to grow up too quickly and doesnt realize it.
But at the same time.... Margaret speaks with a lifetime of experience, Gabe is smart and calculated, Ariel is fancy-free, Asher is intimate and truly feels others, Malachi is elequent, and Jude is finding freedom in his games.

This post doesnt have much of a point, but it does mark the time I finally nailed down a story arch. Home stretch now...

nothing is beyond reach

2009-02-27T01:45:00.000-08:00

"I was asked to act when I couldn't act. I was asked to sing 'Funny Face' when I couldn't sing, and dance with Fred Astaire when I couldn't dance - and do all kinds of things I wasn't prepared for. Then I tried like mad to cope with it.”
-Audrey Hepburn
-----------------------------------------------------------

I'm coping right now with all the impossible things I have asked myself to do. I have asked myself to write, produce, design, and act in my own one-man-show.... and to work on two other plays while doing that.... and remain a full time student.... and try to maintian a job on the side. The impossible. That is what I have asked of myself. Now, how do I do that?

Hell if I know. I'm just trying to cope.

Meanwhile, my love-life is a cosmic joke. but more on that later... maybe...

So then, how does an actor/designer juggle everything and still live a real life? Ask my professor and she will direct you to The Actor And The Target, a book thats been sitting on my shelf, unread, for about two years. Apparently it tells all the secrets on how to deal with the emotional roller coaster that is an actor's life. If I ever decide to pick it up, I will be sure to let you know all of the juicy secrets. Till then, I'll just try to hold on as I fly down each drop into an artistic and emotional revolution.

But, I always seem to pull it off. We all do. Under the extreme pressure of deadlines and our own personal expectations, we always seems to pull a decent piece of art out of our asses. But decent is never enough for me... I'm in constant competition with myself.

That's why I have yet to crank out the 'first draft' of my script. I have enough to piece together into a play, but it just doesnt work for me yet. (not to mention... I still have no idea how to end the damn thing). But, I'm under a deadline, and the powers that be are pushing for something to look at, so I am asking myself for a script. soon. really soon. like within a few days..... and i'll do it!!! I swear.

Anyway, that was my angst filled complaint about how rediculous I am. Onto something else....

A friend of mine wrote a facebook note today about the use of the word "gay". A student in her class used it with the intended meaning: "stupid"........... of course. This afternoon I heard it used in a similar fashion myself. And it got me thinking.

First off, it got me thinking about the use of the word "faggot". I hate, neh loathe, that word. And I'm not sure you can fully appreciate just how much a word like that can rip right through you until you have been called it out of hate. Two years ago I was called it out of hate while at a gas station. I was walking into the store and some bro in a truck (with his bro friends, of course), called out "Hey look at this faggot."... I said nothing, simply looked at him and continued walking. "Yeah!!... You like the dick. Look at you in your trucker hat." I said nothing, simply continued walking.

My lack of reaction seemed to be what was provoking him to continue talking. Thankfully that was the first, and only time I have been called that. But all that sticks-and -stones stuff is crap. I remember that like it happened yesterday, and it lasted all of five seconds.

Now the use of the word "gay" in referrence to someone being stupid, that just goes to support the ignorance of our nation. The fact that it is even still an issue or can be used in that context makes me sad. I truly feel bad for people that use it in that context; that they are... idk, so insecure with their sexuality, maybe?.... or need to reinforce their male brovado?... I'm really not sure at this point what compels people to still use it in that fashion. To cut down an entire community with bigotry and hate. I'm sorry for you, ASU boy.

Anne said it about as well as it can be said... "thanks asu boy, for your continued and astounding idiocy. you've really brightened my day.fucktwit."

I know its an issue we have all talked about at some point, and I am positive we all know people that still use 'gay' in that context. All I ask is that you never use it that way yourself.

On a side note... I am including some aforementioned memories in my play, and in telling one of them, I am going to act out all the members of my family. I will be using a fictional character to tell the story, but they are basically going to be my family. I told them that this was going to happen... my mother said she didnt want to come to the show anymore (kidding... i hope), and my brother is wildly excited to see himself onstage. We'll see how it plays out.

How would you feel about someone acting you out onstage? How would your family feel if you were portraying them??

windy city blues

2009-02-15T22:58:00.000-08:00

Alright... so... my night was cut off short, and I am in the mood to move my fingers. Not sure what I'm going to say exactly.... but that doesn't really matter yet. All that matters is that I have a place to write. Call it... stream of consciousness... idk... call it ramblings of a drunken mind....

Whatever you call it... be sure to keep in mind that my mind is in a different place, my body is in a different state (literally), and my spirit is off in the clouds.

Today, I wrote out several painful memories from my childhood, with the intention of using them in my show. While I hated recalling these memories, I think a few of them might be vital to the telling of my show. If this man is truly going on a journey of self-discovery, and if this man is truly me, than there are going to be a lot of painful memories in this play.... and some of them are going to be wildly fun and entertaining for the audience.... What's better than embarrassing stories from my past, coupled with moving times of change?

It is those awkward and painful stories that will make for interesting theatre down the line. People don't want to see my made up stories. They want to see truth. And while I may choose to tell truthful stories through made-up characters, the audience will still be able to connect to them... they will discover the truth behind the text.

While I don't want this show to be one big confessional, I do want there to be a high level of truth behind what I say. I think that will come across to the audience and allow them to connect to the characters. And the more complex the characters (and the more based on people I know), the more interesting and believable they become.

Truth is what makes theatre interesting.... whether is be an actor believing in the text or the literal true stories told by the playwright, truth always plays an important role. I have a lot more to say on the subject, but I am super tired, so I will save this for another night...

Inferno

2009-02-08T14:52:00.000-08:00

“[Quarter-way] on the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
Which in the very thought renews the fear.
So bitter is it, death is little more;
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.”
-The Inferno, Dante Alighieri
( [ ]- original text: “Midway”)
-------------------------------------------------------------

I guess I should sum up my show, so when I talk about it you know what I mean. It is based on the passage above, taken from Dante's Inferno. It chronicles a man’s journey through hell. However, unlike Dante’s hell, this man’s hell will be his own dark mind. This sojourner will meet a host of characters along the way that represent parts of himself he is not ready to face. It will literally be a man fighting his own demons.

It's a one-man-show, so I will play the man on the journey and all the other characters. It's semi-autobiographical. I'm also designing the set, costumes, and masks.

I havent finished the script and have a ton of work to do on it. Not sure how its going to end, but its a journey and a process, just like the one the character goes on. We'll see...

Most of the characters are based on architypes that we all have in us: our purely emotional side (in the show, a blind poet), our analytical side (a shrink), our strength (my fallen angel), and our bat-shit crazy bag ladies (Margaret Olivia Bouffet). There are others too...

So yeah, that gives you an idea of where it's coming from.

old poetmen

2009-02-05T11:37:00.000-08:00

"The grace of human life is not to lack insecuritites, but to turn them to good use."
-Julius Novick
-------------------------------------------------------

Old poetmen have us all beat!!
I grow weary as the minutes tick by.
Can this be all? Is that it?
To have breathed such significance and still be denied
And explanation?
---That’s my hell?
Old poetmen can extemporize for hours,
But what, in the end, have they contributed?
Little more than words.
But what are words?

They are all we have to go on.
They define us.

So in the end, is it the man who contributes
The most thoughtful verse that is the most valued?
And if that be the case, who decides?
We are but little men in this game.
And I feel the smallest yet…

Old poetmen have us all beat.

a forest dark

2009-02-04T05:16:00.000-08:00

"A man with a clear head looks at life directly, realizes that everything is problematic, and feels himself lost. And this is the simple truth, that to be alive is to feel oneself lost. And he who accepts this has already begun to find himself, to be on solid ground."

-Ortega y Gasset

---------------------------------------------------------------

I drew this a while back. He can't decide the right direction to draw his path, so he drew himself in. Very melodramatic.... I know.

I just feel like I'm finally getting a hold of myself. I am finally reaching solid ground.

That's all.

we begin again

2009-02-04T04:20:00.000-08:00

"And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling.
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate-- but there is no competition--
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only trying. The rest is not our business."
-T.S. Eliot
---------------------------------------------------------------

I once considered myself a writer. I am trying to once again...
I am currently writing my own one-man play. And while the words sometimes struggle to come out in the right order, other times they pour out of me with incredible force. I hesitate to start this blog for fear of revealing too much of myself.... but as an artist, I feel is it vital to bare a part of my soul in everything I do. Or else, what's the point? I am the kind of person who needs to bounce my ideas off of those around me in order to affirm them, or rework them. Dialogue creates debate, and debate creates better ideas. I talk out my issues, and by doing so, I challenge myself and hopefully those around me.
I'm not expecting comments (although feel free to do so), but I am hoping that parts of this blog get you thinking. get you creating. get you willing to push me back.

It wont all be about my show... actually most of it probably won't be... but I just needed a place to move my fingers in the middle of the night when I get the itch.

And so it begins.