Archive for April 7th, 2007

Tired of Whining

Here’s a break from all the personal whinging I’ve been doing lately. I’m really getting sick of myself! While digging around packing I found more old shitty writing so let’s get back on the “public embarrassment pedestal” and post that, shall we?

And yes, I’ve cleaned it up somewhat.

Wavering across the stage I see my foil that feels eerily familiar
As I near, vague with fear I swallow all humanity swirling around this theatre
The blocking is off so I create my own
The script suddenly translates to a language never studied so I resort to a new tongue and ad lib my way into the scene
A great director’s dream is the actor that forgets the audience exists and concentrates solely on the drama’s other players
But subsequent exchanges force me to question my role: am I the audience or the star?
Quite possibly both
As I wrestle with confusion, I realize my scene stealer now awaits in the wings
I am castrated, frustrated, desperately in need of a prompt
Shall I ignore and forget; oh no, not yet
This puppeteer is waiting to begin the Second Act

Sandbagged after the rope had been cut by some phantom stagehand, consciousness struggles for creative control
A bare soliloquy stammers from my lips as I’m forced into a glaring spotlight stage front
With all eyes upon me I realize I can not afford reason as luxury
Something brushes my limbs
I turn and find that someone has placed me in intricately tied strings that no one else can see
My puppeteer has done such a good job that the artisan is blind to the handiwork she has inflicted
My oration is long and without rhythm or meter
I struggle to captivate all before me, fearing they shall drift away sombre, no applause to be heard

I enter through mezzanine left and stare at the blank foreground of black tile
Here I stay and try and see through patron’s eyes
The masquerade I portray
Not having enough standing ovations I clap my own hands slowly, only audible to my own ears
My rehearsals have failed me, all the lines are meaningless, the script must be rewritten
Alone on the stage again, I look up to the mezzanine where I once was
The puppeteer has packed up her case but has left my strings attached
I search for scissor to spare me this plight and rebuild my freedom
As I leave, ticket stub still warm in hand, the usher waves goodbye