Une Autre

Life has been kind.
I have forgiven and forgotten. Those I have loved are now lost. The other day I couldn't even remember their faces. Odd, considering every one of the twenty three faces of my first grade class stand out in my memory stronger than coked elephants.

I am across the waves at the moment, having just spent three days in London. The British Museum, The Globe Theatre, Buckingham Palace, The Tower of London, The Tate, Covent Carden, and much more. I am now in the Motherland, after a quick flight, for a wedding (I thought Continental was bad but British Air kind of sucks too).

I have an amazing job, in which I basically get to watch a free live show-concert-symphony-musical-play- enter other here every shift. The only downside, too much free food. Pay is low but satisfaction is not, even though my boss is one of those cliche theater school dropouts who runs theaters instead of running around in them.
I've reread Stanislavsky and went through all of Chekovs major works.

My final transcript from Rutgers has been released and I've got A's across the board except for one class. Please gods forgive me fro getting a B in my Introduction to Interpersonal Communication Processes class that I FAILED last semester. Just goes to show that the difference between an F and a B is a different teacher and a later class. Spring classes are looking good, finishing up my Theater degree.

Over the summer I plan to get singing lessons. It's something I know I can do well with help and I've put it off for far too long and I've seen way to many auditions that require several bars for me not to do it. I'm also considering some short courses in film acting. Remind me to read books by Michael Caine.

By the by, I saw Antony and Cleopatra at the Roundhouse in London by the Royal Shakespeare Company and it was ... mediocre. I was actually rther disappointed, especially after having to sit through hours of John Barton's Playing Shakespeare over the summer. I realized, however, that I am able to tell apart experienced versus unexperienced actors, regardless of age (and to some degree, talent). After picking my favorites, I checked the program (which cost me three and a half pounds) and discovered that my favorite actors were the most senior in the company. They played the Soothsayer and Agrippa (Shakespeare loves that name I guess). Reminder to myself to look up the Enobarbus monologues, potential for audition piece.

Anyhow I really have to make a journey to the water closet as I write, as I smell the smoked sausage in the kitchen close by. Farewell.
Je maintiendrai

PS. the photo is from Terence Malicks Days of Heaven, and may the most beautiful film I have ever seen.

Hi Again

Hello my blog
I'm writing to you because nobody else will probably read this.
So my sophomore year at Rutgers just ended... on a sour note
I take all the blame.
I've moved all my stuff back home and unpacked it.
I was cleaning out my room when I found an old box of hospital records.
Bad news from the past. It's the hardest thing for me to admit,
but it's very likely that I'm suffering from an early onset of paranoid schizophrenia.
My doctors predicted it back when I was ten, and I've been on low doses of anti-psychotics since then. Ever seen my odd gait? Or watched me limp? Thats a side-effect of the drugs. So is lethargy, weight gain, and loss of muscle control.

There are five types of schizophrenia, or so the books tell me. Catatonic, Paranoid, Disorganized, Residual, and Undifferentiated (a combination af any of the other four). With luck I'll have only suffer paranoid schizophrenia. My grandfather had Catatonic Schizophrenia; those are the ones who are geniuses. He never spoke to anyone and at one point starved himself to death. My parents told me he died of Alzheimers. It wasn't until last year I overhead one of my uncles talking about it and I found out about the true cause of his death.

Luckily, and I use that term loosely, I'm scheduled to have Paranoid Schizophrenia, you know, like Russel Crowe in that movie A Beautiful Mind. Unfortunately, I'm not a genius, most paranoid schizoprhrenics aren't. However there are several symptoms that I've felt in the course of the past year and I'd like to share them with you to maybe explain why I'm so... fucked up, for lack of a better term.

There are two kinds of paranoid schizophrenia symptoms, the positive and the negative. The so-called "positive" symptoms (called that because they are exclusive to schizophrenics) that I've felt are auditory hallucinations and mental delusion. The negative symptoms (called that because they are constant but dormant affects) I believe to have are anhedonia (inability to feel pleasure), an odd form of asociality (where I have no desire to create meaningful relationships), and avolition (no desire to acheive or succeed).

I hear my name repeated over and over even when I am alone in my room. At this point any random and loud auditory sound my minds recieves and mutates into speech. Screams of "Help!" and "Stop!" are frequently heard.

I have delusions of grandeur. It's almost cause to believe that I am an egomaniac. I am very, almost sickeningly self-important and my entire world revolves around a structured series of falsities and self-induced illusions. I always feel like I'm on some sort of mission or that people are following me. I can't stay in an unsecure location for longer than an hour. I don't trust anybody with anything that belongs to me and I have a constant need to know the exact locations of my "friends" an "enemies."

Anhedonia... well that's pretty self-explanatory. I'm entirely indifferent to sexual activity.

Asociality. To those of you who know me. I am a very social person. However, I rarely go out of my way to form a close relationship with anyone, and once I do, I almost immediately seek to destroy it.

Avolition. I don't care about school. I have little to no desire to get up in the morning. But maybe we can just put that off to regular adolescent behavior.

I'm going to the doctor on the 21st. Let's see what he has to say.

PS. That's roughly the image that of what I dream of at least once a week. An empty park bench with light falling on it. I've taken it to mean death waiting for me.

Time for a New Song

Today is taking too long
Will tomorrow ever come?

I've remembered who I am
And that I have another plan

Fill the world apart with songs of a new day
Take these notes to start and make the hurt go away

Because hurt some more might help me feel
But in the end this love will not be real

So I pity them and I pity him
Because they never needed you
But you made them win

Now they're all sick
Addicted to the hurt
It's you they pick
Because you're a flirt

And I see it now that I was just bored
Bored like the rest of this school

And so what I never scored
But that's why I played the fool

Why not play this bored game?
It amuses me, and keeps me sane

Unfortunately you figured out my rules, quicker than most
So now you'll have to drift away, quiet as a ghost

Because games are no fun when you always lose
And so now it's someone else to play this game with I'll have to choose.

To Find

And begins. Follows the strings to the factory. Childrens hands smooth across fields of golden wheat. But for only as long as the mind feigns imagination. Then they are to be roughed by the foreman and scarred by schools side-effects. Lying in the sea tainted by leaks into reality. Although unwelcome, feel the warmth of pain. Swimming in the comforting torment of existences waters. Shore is out of sight but the boat follows you. You cannot board for they will make you one of them. Drifting in and out of the sea. The Red Sea.

Red Sea salt blood flows through the tributaries in my mind. Allegro into the strings. The strings. I hear them across the water. Their waves push me ashore to a strange land where all that exists actually does not. And all people frozen in suspended animation. I can change them. The white, pale, statues bleeding from their now blind eyes. It makes me sad to live. I cry but I imagine the tears.

I walk on past. Past. Then on to the sunrise I see motion. Motion of an animal. Caught in the trap set by a dead man, I free it. But not because I wish to see its pain ended, but because its screeches of agony deafen me. It speaks to me. In a tongue I cannot hear. So I move closer. But again, I recieve messages garbled by the static winds.

I want to protect the animal. The animal follows.

Forever follows always at the same distance.

Believe the winds. Trust the winds. They can be cold and violent. But they push for a reason. They push to balance the world.

A Breakthrough!

Now to find the catalyst for this adverse reaction...

Who Is She?

This is too good to be true. I'm dying of laughter on the inside. I realize now that it's just a farce. And I applaud your good humor.

It's always when I'm at my lowest that I end up on top.
I've cut off some dead skin and revealed some beauty.
I've found tenderness.

Last night brought out the worst and best in me, one after the other.
Once I had rid myself of these errant thoughts, I felt lighter all of a sudden.

-

And it just so happens that a light shone through, in the form of a woman, to help me. To guide me.

I happen to love women. For their elegance, strength, understanding, and warmth.

She grabbed my hand and helped me up, and with all the beauty and compassion denied me all this time, taught me once again how to live and love.

-

Why had I been watering rocks when I could have been looking for flowers?

My Resignation

It’s times like this that I resign myself to madness. Madness. I cannot be around. Around others. I’ve spent too much time alone today. Today. Yesterday. This week. This year. This lifetime.
I’ve forgotten how to speak. How to speak. I’ve been alone. Too long. Too long have I been by myself.

I’ve forgotten how to live. I’ve forgotten so much. So much is gone. So much.

I’ve forgotten what I’ve forgotten. But I remember that I have. I have forgotten. But what?
That's a saddening thought. And that feeling I cannot shake. Away.
I’ve fallen into the hole in the earth, so deep and wide, and I know I’ve misplaced the dirt. The dirt is gone. Gone. Gone. Somewhere. Away.

I’ve forgotten who I am. Who am I. I am my own lost memory. I’ve been away too long. To long away from myself. Myself as told through others. Others. Away from people. People, the others. You know. People I need to be a part of me. People I adore. People I strive to be.
“I like this part of you. Do you mind if I borrow it? Borrow? Lend?”

I take the best of who I know and knead it into my mentality. I wear it proudly. Like a young sons honor.

But now I see the corruption with which I’ve bought this honor. All the best I used to take from people now disgusts me. Honey turned to tar. I’m shedding the dead flesh that I’ve worn all these years. These years. This life. I’ve defined myself by the parts I’ve played. The parts I’ve taken. But they were always rotten. Rotten by their previous owners. What did I ever think? Why did I ever have faith? There is no good in men. Men. Good. Ha.
There are only brief respites from evil. Does this sound good? Have you gotten it yet? Gotten it? Have it?

I’ve been resigned to madness. I’m convinced. I’m convinced.
I see the worst in people now. I see the true intentions behind masked courtesy. Masks of lace. It is only logical to assume that others have reached the same conclusion, and therefore see no good in me. So what is it good for? What am I good for? Am I good? No. I cannot be if there are no others who are. People. Who are good. Good. Good. And I’ve searched good. I’ve searched.
I’ve played every part. Worn every costume. Delivered every monologue, every soliloquy, every phrase, couplet, poem, song, sentence. I’ve done everything. I’ve been you. I’ve played your part. Your character. To give it a try. If you have a quirk I like. I’ll take it. They haven’t patented personality yet.

I’ve played a part for you. I’ve been what you’ve wanted me to be. And now, you see. You do not know me.

Everything is an illusion. Everything is a test. I’ve been your knight, your slave, your dreamer, your poet, even your lover, though you may not know it. I am a figment of your imagination. I am the dream that came to life. I am the song and the dance. The impossible romance. Love is. Love is. Too much to bear. It is an act I’ve tried to perform. I’ve tried so hard to play the stage. The stage.

Every exit off the stage is simply the entrance onto the real one. I’ve planned and calculated every single move. As any diligent developer of character would do. Every facial twitch, every longing gaze, every word ever spoken, though words aren’t enough. Never enough for you. What do I need to be?

Be yourself. Be yourself.

That’s what they say

Be yourself.

I have no self! There is no I in me!
I am? Who?

I am you and you and you and you and so on and so forth until every person I’ve encountered has been counted because I love you all. I love you all and so to love myself I’ve had to become you all.

Be yourself. Ha! You know when I’m acting? When I step on stage? Do you think you know?

Be yourself.

I cannot. Cannot. Be myself. I cannot. I rejected myself a long time ago. The world didn’t want me as me. They wanted me as them. They wanted to see themselves.

Everyone is a narcissist. Everyone only likes the people who are like themselves. Mirrors are not enough. We need to be flattered through others! And by that merit, I’ve built more confidence in men then most. I’ve filled their heads with dreams of themselves. And with that I’ve been content. If I’ve made them laugh, if I’ve made them smile. I’ve played my part.

And with that I make my profession. I must relate. On every level. Emotionally. Especially.
I was once told that I always seemed comfortable in my surroundings. Like I had lived in that one location my entire life. It’s because I evolve so quickly. I absorb the world around me to avoid being rejected. I want the audience to like me. I want them to applaud and throw flowers. Roses, tulips, daisies, poppies, marigolds.

Do you like my outfit today? I wear it inside and out.

I’m finished with this audience. I’ve exhausted all possible developments. I’ve only got madness left.

Finally: I can never be loved. Nobody falls in love with an illusion. Nobody falls in love with a ghost.

The only sanity is insanity.

And I've resigned my mind to it.

(Image: Ivan the Terrible And His Son Ivan by Ilya Repin)