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)

Stay

I am neither here nor there
Nor far nor close
I am everywhere
But with you the most

A Tinsley Tale

February 10 2010

I have a story to tell to all those who care to listen. It isn't until today that I record it here, on my blog. The night began as any other, sitting alone my room. I had just finished writing a bibliography for my Introduction to Information Technology and Informatics class and handed it in electronically 6 minutes short of its due date. I recline in my chair a indulge in a moments respite. At precisely midnight someone comes knocking on my door. "Hurry, come outside, there's a war on!"

I grab my hat, coat, scarf, goggles, and boots. Run outside. A battle stretched out before me. Between the dorms an array of snowballs fly back and forth. I look up at one of the dorms, Tinsley. On the fourth floor the enemy waves a flag at us. Taunting us. For it is the Demarest flag. The flag of our dorm. Previously that day it was stolen from us by assailants. The rage builds within me. "No" I whisper to myself.

I turn to a comrade. I say "So help me God I shall restore the honor of Demarest and return that flag to it's rightful owners."

The man looks at me with fear in his eyes and says "But... that's suicide,"

"No, that's war"

And with a flourish I run towards Tinsley while I can hear the protests of my associates behind me. "No! Come Back!" ... never.

I make my way around the back of the enemy base. Behind enemy lines, I remove my hat, scarf, and goggles. They make it too obvious that I am from Demarest. Just as a fresh battalion of Tinsley men storm out I seize my chance. Silently I slide into the building just as the door closes.

I'm in. Now what. The building is more complex then I thought, There is an elevator, but that would take too long. I go for the stairs. I see enemy voyeurs watching through their windows the battle unfold, unaware of the infiltrator lurking behind them. I reach to top floor. I search endlessly for the flag. But to no avail, it is nowhere to be found. "Damn it" I sit and watch along with the enemy. Trying to blend.

Outside the battle rages. Fights break out. It's hell on earth. Finally the police arrive. They break up the battle. For a moment, the attention of one of the viewers breaks. He glances at me, does a double-take and says, quite loudly "Who the hell are you?"

I am discovered.

"I am from Demarest. And I have come to take back what is rightfully ours"

"We don't believe you, you could be anybody! Prove it!"

Slowly, I put on my scarf, newsie cap, and goggles.

Whispers: "My God, he must be from Demarest"

"Now give me back our flag and I shall return in peace"

They say they have been looking for it, but someone had hidden away in their private quarters.

"Curses" I say under my breath.

So for the next hour I introduce my self and engage in small talk.

A young man with some sort of social disorder introduces himself as "Greg"

A woman introduces herself as "Maria"

I later tell her that she has questionable morals. She attempts to accost me, but rather falls into me. Luckily I had a friend on the inside who could vouch for my genuine identity.

Outside the police have finally forced everyone back into their respective dorms.

I hear the stomping of feet coming up the stairs.

Something is wrong.

Coming through the door are seven or ten of the most testosterone-filled, creatine-sucking, red-faced inbreds I've ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. One young man in particular, comes in, points at me and says "Who the fuck are you?" Someone says "He's from Demarest, he's come to get his flag"

The man says "Well I don't like him. Get him out"

Lacking any formal introduction, I resort to calling him "The Rat." He has a shaved head, deep sunk eyes (as if someone had punched him in both eyes simultaneously), and wearing a wife-beater and shorts.

I say to the Rat, "I am simply here to take back what is mine"

He sits down in a wheeled-office chair and rolls, menacingly, towards me. As if that would frighten me. I was laughing inside but dared not to show it.

"Let's negotiate"

"Okay" I say

"Let me see you wallet"

(Oh God, I have my wallet in my coat pocket, and it has at least $50 in it)

"I don't have it on me"

"Well how much is in it?"

"You mean back in my room?"

"Yeah"

"About $20" I lie

"How many floors are there in Demarest?"

"3"

"Okay... if you get $40 from each floor in Demarest, I'll give you your flag back"

A man standing behind me says "No we want $1,000!"

I say, "I'm sorry, we don;t have that much to give"

The Rat says "Okay fine, do you know any one who sells cocaine?"

I see Maria urging me to leave. Luckily I still had the women who I charmed earlier protecting me.

"Why yes, yes I do"

"Good. If you get me 20 grams of cocaine, you can have your flag"

"20GRAMS???" I cry. "That's at least $2,000! You're insane!"

"At that comment I knew it was time for me to leave.

I back up slowly. But the Rat follows me on his chair. He grabs my legs and screams "Kiss me on the cheek!"

"I'm sorry darling, we aren't meant to be" I say

The Rat, in desperation: "Rub my chest and tell me you love me!"

"I must go now"

I release myself from his grip. I run out of the building saying:

"I love you all, I'll come back and visit soon!"

I return to my dorm and receive a heroes welcome.

"He's alive!" "He has returned to us!"

La Règle du jeu

-Now you've played my game

I can see it in your eyes

Rainclouds in otherwise sunny skies

-

Ne Me Quitte Pas

I will give you pearls of rain

From countries where it never rains

I will dig up the earth even in death

To cover your body with gold and with light

I will make a kingdom

Where love shall be king

Where love shall be law

Where you shall be queen

From Me to You (A List of Likes)

Me

Clocks

White socks

Lavender fields

Hiding in plain sight

Hide and go seek at night

Snow falling through a streetlight

Tasting through the steam off of tea

Puncturing the skin of an orange

Drinking juice from a wine glass

Taking time to tie shoes

Piano concertos

Wearing a suit

Screaming

Midnight cereal

Cold showers before bed

The sound of a door unlocking

A symphony of ticking pocket watches

The smell of a pack of gum after there's none left

Sitting at sidewalk cafes long after I've finished my drink

Reading the directions on shampoo bottles

Climbing a tree until you can go no higher

Holding a pizza on your lap in the car
A head resting on my shoulder

Windowless rooms

Sweet perfumes

Holding hands in the dark

Hearing a far-away dog bark

Launching bottle rockets twelve at a time
Touching one of everything in an aisle at the supermarket

Spending hours on a meal only to watch others enjoy it
Being face-to-face with tomato soup
The taste of sterling silver

Looking up at a tree

Hammocks

Beheading a boiled egg

Trays designed for breakfast in bed
The cracking sounds of a new book being opened

Cleaning out the holes from a hole-puncher

Pulling the hairs off of black clothes

Crying in front of a mirror

Grinding pepper

Pacing in a public bathroom
Pretending I'm being followed
Stealing stirring straws from cafes
Jumping on ketchup packets
Being muddy

Moss

Creek water

Deep holes in old trees

Roots that come up from the ground

Building a model out of paper then setting it on fire
Thinking out loud while walking naked around my house
Slipping in the shower and catching myself at the last second

Pushing people around in wheelchairs while we talk

Having a hotel swimming pool to myself
Bed and breakfasts

Practicing faces

Punching through a wall

Flowers in unexpected places

Stars reflected off a pond in the woods

Running until I can't run anymore

Hidden passages in old buildings

Water washing away sand

Walking on thin ice

Sudden urgency

Umbrellas

Southern sunsets

Slowly sinking into wet sand

Lying on the beach with a book on my face

When you can see a rainstorm from a distance

The second of blindness after a camera flash

A silent film in a crowded room

Witnessing car accidents

Scaring my brother

Digging holes

White walls

Waterfalls

Air dusters

Honey mustard

Watching someone fall asleep

Pretending to take notes

Dirt on my nose

Band-aids

Scavenger hunts

Catching food in my mouth

Burying something and finding it years later

Watching movies together
Sharing my world

Learning truth
Finding love

Living

You

Laugh

Is this what madness feels like? Hahaha! I love it! There's an energy in my stomach and it rises slowly up my throat until it comes out of my mouth in the shape of a strained cackle. I throw my head back and try to eat the sky. My fingers. My fingers are the most changed of all. They cannot stay straight. They keep changing shape. Tense and strained like so many caterpillars weaving their cocoons. They claw at something. I fall onto the floor in euphoric agony. Hahaha! God you are a cruel master! But he makes slaves of us all. We must thank him for that. Freedom is a curse you bohemian liberals. Loveless slavery! War or death! SOMETHING MUST HAPPEN! Stand alone. Stand alone and be silently judged! AGHHHH! I can feel the pump of adrenaline through my veins as every muscle tries to escape my body. Writhing with a joyous fervor I've never felt! The music swells! The colors move! Destroy something! Create something! What will it amount to? The world is a joke you idiot. Yes you. IT'S FUNNY! IT'S HILARIOUS! Finally I've let it go. I've slipped. Finally I've admitted to being stupid. I can't understand and no poet or scientist ever will. My bones turn to iron. My muscles turn to slugs. Sinking now. Sinking into the floor of sand. Warmth. A warmth fills my body. I am calm. My body has stopped. My heart beats. Slower and slower. This is incredible. It's like every part of you, inside and out is being tickled. Ants crawl and spiders eat the ants and birds eat the spiders and the birds lay eggs and the eggs hatch and the chicks fall out of the nest and a snake eats the helpless chicks and the snake bites a man who just stepped on an anthill. It's a joke. Ouroborus. It's just a joke. I'm slipping off the ground. Slowly collapsing. Like a snow melting into the ground over the course of a day. Down. Down. Into the ground. My fingers. I haven't blinked. I must write now. I must write this down. I must learn. I can't say this wasn't self-induced. Namdam a fo edisni deppart m'i, pleh.

See Now How The World Cries

Well I haven't said anything about my New Years resolution. And there are parts I won't tell you. It's like making a wish and hoping it comes true; telling people ruins the magic. But I suppose there are some things that I'm willing to share. Firstly, it is my goal to start acting like a gentleman again. It's something that happens over the course of a year. As the weather gets warmer I become more considerate and pleasant to be around. The cold just makes me cynical and depressed. Of course, the hardest part about being chivalrous is finding someone worthy of your chivalry. There are few people I can think of who deserve such a title. Lady. But as a gentleman, you must treat everyone equally with courtesy and respect, regardless of class or grace. "May I help you cross the street" "Could I escort you back to your home" "I don't mean to interpose but you look absolutely radiant" Let me tell you a story about the day I decided to fall in love with every attractive woman I met. I would walk up to any woman of notable exception and introduce myself thusly: "Excuse me, I couldn't help but see you smile from across the room. You are by far one of the most beautiful women I've ever had the pleasure to lay eyes upon. Good day." Then I would bow and walk away. Every time I evoked some sort of nervous laughter and, on occasion, even name-calling. But it was not the act itself that was important. It was the stares I got from these beauties afterwards that made my heart soar. I assure you, there are still some romantics out there who still long for a knight in shining armor, and I was prepared to slay any dragon in any kingdom near or far just for that look. I could see in their eyes a certain wonder and excitement at my unexpected act of kindness. Perhaps it was not for me per se, but for that decent quality in men. That quality that makes every woman feel like a lady. But to admit it to their friends? Never! Sadly the world has lost it's appetite for table manners and polite conversation. Ah mon cher compatriote, while the women of this world secretly desire a decent hard-working man, they only chase after the men who ignore and abuse them. How self-destructive feminine youth are today. It makes my stomach churn. I say with absolute modesty and a fair amount of certainty that I can treat a woman better than most men my age, but what do I get for it? Rejection, a nervous laugh, a mockery. Its hard being a 21st century gentleman. Especially when there are so few true ladies about. It's why I've all but given up.
In my Junior year of high school our Theater department put on the stage adaptation of the Charles Dickens masterpiece Great Expectations. I played Mr. Jaggers (seen in the picture), the lawyer who delivers young Pip to London for him to become a gentleman. I learned alot from that play. Especially that women are tender things that the world treats harshly. All I want is to protect. All I want is to protect.

#19. A real gentleman never backs off when he's challenged, always standing up for himself and his values.

I'll be a gentleman again. Even if it means warm dishonesty, staunch courtesy, and showering daily.

"And the communication I have got to make is, that he has Great Expectations."

Just Words

One is the loneliest number. But that's the way we get by. I'm listening to Brittany Murphy sing Faster Kill Pussycat. The song that introduced me to Paul Oakenfold and I never even realized it featured her. I'm a little sadder now. I've made a playlist with one song from all of my favorite bands. It's just about reached 200 songs. I have very little to complain about. I realize that I truthfully am very accepting of all art forms. I think it has to do with me as an actor. I have to be able to justify any point of view. If I play an 18 year old serial killer I have to be able to say "he deserved it" will full conviction. If I play a middle-aged transvestite I have to be able to put on heels and enjoy it. If I play a dying grandfather I have to cry about my wasted life as if it had already passed. I'm convinced that every human being has their own sanity as long as they are human. Any portrait or sculpture has a purpose and justification for existing. Every song or strum of the guitar is beautiful to somebody. Each short story or gossip column has its value. Each photograph has its unspoken words. I see the best in things. I suppose its my biggest flaw. So I hide it. I'm argumentative, critical, and sometimes I'm just mean. Plain old mean. I just want the world to know that I'm constantly making the conscious decision to disagree.
I love beauty. And I'm very good at seeing beauty in all things. And by some jealous urge I suppress my compliments and instead point out flaws. If I just said that everything was dandy nothing would happen. The artist would be content and stop there. By some sort of deep-seated altruism in my heart I want people to succeed above all. Telling them they aren't doing enough pushes any self-respecting artist to that success. The greatest compliment I've ever received was from my acting teacher last year: "You're a thinker. Stop that."
I love you all more than you can know. I just show it in a very... VERY different way. If your wondering what the picture is about, its Russian surgeon Leonid Rogozov performing an auto-appendectomy in an Antarctic military base when no other trained staff were available for months. He didn't use anesthetics. The surgery lasted an hour and forty-five minutes and he never lost consciousness. What a guy.

Storytime!

Oh boy oh boy oh boy do I have a tale for you! Finally I've got something worth sharing rather than just complaining about life and women. Hooray! The tale begins with my taking leave of my house. Parents sister brother dog goodbye. It's 6:12. Take the the train. Oh the train. NJ Transit could be a string of tin cans on wheels and I would still love it. The people the sights the sounds. I may prefer public transportation to any other method of travel. I am hungry though. I get to New Brunswick making calls all the way. Contemplate getting food at DD. Nah. Make my way to the cafe. Witness a car crash. Taxi driver gets out and unwittingly starts yelling at the unconscious man in the drivers seat of the other car. His head surrounded by a white halo of the airbag. Other people help. I stop to see but remember that it's best not to get involved. Not with my name. I can hear the Indian screaming still as I walk silently away. I'm indecisive. I buy a sandwich. Keep in I'm my inside coat pocket. I can feel the warmth of it in my heart. Its cold. I have a scarf but no gloves. But no gloves. After a short detour I get to where I'm going. Walk inside. Well this is familiar. I can hear the rhythm from outside. I go downstairs. When there are people not moving on the stairs its a bad sign. I survey. I survey. Its a typical crowd. Typical. These people are so alike and yet each thinks they are special. People I do not know personally become clones. I assume to much and know too little. When everyone is special nobody is. Your just in a room filled with like-minded people. Clones. Different. HA! I love them all for it. We're thrown around in a sea of clones. Good-willed clones. I fall. The clones help me up. They all move rhythmically bobbing their heads. I enjoy the music. Its best to close your eyes and pretend the room is empty. The band plays for you. WHAT DOES IT MEAN. Hear without ears. I need to go soon. But no. We move on. Next dungeon awaits. This one is different. Its filled with ghosts. I don't know what to think here. So I yell at my phone and leave. It's 11:30 Back at the station. Waiting a long time. Waiting. For a train. It's 12:34. A gay couple both sporting extravagant facial hair discuss the proper way to decorate their friends living room. Foam board covered with fabric. I'm trying to listen but your moustache is distracting me. The train comes. I get on. It's a long trip. I do some of my best thinking on trains. I don't know why. 1:30. I arrive. New York City. Here I am. Need to get to 92nd before 3. I must try. I must try. I take an E. This must be wrong. I get out. I walk to Columbus Square. Central park. Its only 52nd. It's 2:07. Must find another subway. I'm walking through the streets. People look. Guy thinks I'm following him. He starts walking faster. I see him later enter an Adult Entertainment Shop. I keep seeing them. It's nighttime in the city. Filled with lusty old men. A wall of naked women. I pity them. I feel nothing but sadness. It's too cold to be sad. I MUST RUN. RUN. Its so cold.... I'm lost and cold and surrounded by disgusting haunting images. I don't like it here. GET ME OUT! I find a subway. Any train will do. GET ME OUT! Okay I'm on 86th now. Its west. Oh no. Oh no. I'm on the wrong side of Manhattan. It's 2:35. I CAN'T GIVE UP! RUN RUN RUN! I start to cross Central Park. WHO THE FUCK PUTS A FUCKING LAKE HERE! I never even realized how likely it would have been for me to be mugged or worse. I just ran. Ran. I find the other side of 92nd. East. Finally. Madison. No. Park. No. Lexington oh sweet Lord yes. You have delivered me. It's 2:56. My long lost friend awaits to sign me into this boarding house of sorts. I just need rest. Rest. I meet his roommate. He cannot read. Cheesy Bread and Running Naked Through Princeton. My kinda guy. I sleep on the floor. The cold hard floor. It's still cold. NYC is trying to kill me. He snores. OH FUCK HE SNORES. My only weakness... I cannot sleep I cannot sleep I cannot sleep. ... I cannot. ... .. . sleep I... ... .. ..... . . . . . . . I wake up. Get dressed. Cheap breakfast. I Pay. Cupcake. Delicious. Time to take out pants of on a subway. Meet on Avenue of the Strongest. Receive instructions. We are Team 0 on the 1 Train to Times Square. I take off my pants. This time I embrace the cold. Kill me now New York. Just try. People stare. Me and friends from the school embark. It's liberating. It's hilarious. If only every day could be this way. Afterwards we meet in Union Square. Go to a liquor store. Without pants. Without pants. Walking around NYC. We find a Korean Karaoke Club. We get a room all to ourselves. Allow me to describe the scene. This is officially the most borderline homosexual experience I've ever had. 5 single men in one private karaoke room with two bottles of wine a one of vodka. Nobody is wearing pants and we're singing Beyonce. We've finally had enough. Walking around still with no pants. We buy berets. Now we are Scottish. For a few hours. This is excellent. He pees in the subway. White Pizza and Methamphetamines. Please do tell me about your insane ex-girlfriend. We all have them right? RIGHT? Hmm... I get a Sorbet. And new money. I've spent too much again. Haha but I love it. Puerto Rican tries to get number from one of us. He's never looked so scared before in his life. Drunks everywhere. Others join in and remove pants. Why isn't everyone always this open and kind? Why do we need alcohol to expose this lovely side of life? I don't. People ask me alot if I'm drunk. I'm usually not. I just live more than you do. We take the train back. Still no pants. Six grown men sitting on the train all squished in between seats. Talk about male-bonding. I never get sick of people. I'm endlessly fascinated with them even if they get me upset. It's when people deny me access that I get angry. I get home. I sleep. These are the days...

What You Want To Hear

It's hard to carry on. But the struggle the struggle. Makes is worthwhile. The climb not the summit. The rehearsals not the performance. The ideas not the products. Life not death. All I've told myself all my life. I rehearse. Rehearse. Memorize my lines. Build my character. People know. Think they know. But they don't. I don't. I should care but everyone says I shouldn't. "It's just life" they say. Just life? JUST LIFE? Life holds precedent above all! Why shouldn't I be concerned about life? I can't just live! I want to thrive! I could let each day slip away but then every day would just be today. I want to look back and forward. Carpe Diem. Idiots. Carpe Diem. Fools believe in Carpe Diem. Bohemians. What is a day? It's defined by sleep. I consider times between sleep as days. Only when I'm asleep is it night. I've gone a week without sleep. Just a day. One day. I consider it one day because it is a single string of memory in my mind. But I didn't want to live for just that day. I wanted to live for every day. I wanted to learn from mistakes. I want to progress! I want to grow! I want to see how I'm doing. Most people are unintelligent because they live for the moment. Imagine if you always lived for the moment. You would be happy as can be but it amounts to having short-term memory loss. Straws... I like to take straws from cafes. I chew on them incessantly. I don't know why. What ever happened to Frankie Muniz? Architecture I my favorite art form. It is the most powerful. Hands down. Cranberry Apple is my new favorite juice. Today I already ate some French Vanilla Yogurt. An Activia Yogurt with Sugar in it. A bowl of Cinnammon Toast Crunch. Two slices of White Toast, one with Butter and Muenster Cheese and the other with Maple Honey Ham and Mustard. Activia is for Women. Maybe I'll become "regular." Whatever the FUCK that means. Women... I would hate to be a woman... too much responsibility. They have so much power over men. So much power. So it's my duty to deceive them when I can. It's kind of a sport I guess. Retribution of a sorts. I was always picked on by girls in grade school. It's not fair. But pretty women... all the SAME. I try to see without eyes. So I apologize. Haha but it is a board-chairman's apology, given liberally and cheaply to employees after a death in the family. The world is a business. It has been since man crawled out of the slime. But even more than you think. IBM and ITT, Dupont and Dow sure. But I mean interpersonal relationships have there own little system of transactions and investments. The world is a business. Think on that. I'm off to visit the cold caves of echoes, then to a city of lights where I will be stripped of pretense. All the while missing. Missing. Hah. Je ne manquerais pas.

Crows Eat Meat

There is a darkness for every light. The Law of Conservation of Matter applies to all things. For every moment I am contented and happy, there is a soul out there in the world that is starved and despairing. It isn't fair. It isn't fair. And I live for the day. Carpe Diem. The phone rings. I am a sinner. HOW DARE I! The phone rings. I don't deserve any of your mercy oh lord... why can't I feel the misery? I pick up the phone and hear a man. What is this forced silence of emotion I build within myself? "Hello" Is this even ever worth it? "Yes I was just wondering if you could help me" I can hear you calling out but I CANNOT FEEL! "I've been feeling depressed lately and I've had suicidal thoughts" I want to help. I want to help. But nothing lasts. I say. KILL YOURSELF. I hang up the phone. This world is hell and heaven. If you see it to be hell, escape it. If you see it to be heaven, live it. I am stuck. I am the poet Virgil. I can only see with eyes and hear with ears. When I speak it is nothing worth saying. Full of lies. Full of lies. My world is beautiful in my mind. Is it a crime to try and make the world part of my dream? IS IT A CRIME TO TELL YOU FAIRY TALES? Is it a crime for me to be happy? It is. Right now, to be sure, there is a starving child somewhere in the world. Lost their way. Nobody who cares for them. And here I sit wallowing in my sickening self-pity. Just because I cannot SEE doesn't mean I cannot UNDERSTAND. For me to be happy under these extenuating circumstances is borderline insanity. Insanity. Insanity. I am human. I am human. It could have been me, me, me, me, ... me. It isn't fair. And you'll say "But you can't live life than way Clamence! You must smell the flowers as they are and not dwell on thoughts of destitution. We must live in ignorance of suffering!" But in your heart. In your own dark, disgusting, broken... human heart you know it to be true. So never call me. Never give me positive thoughts again. Your a fake Clamence. Your a fake. But you ACKNOWLEDGE IT! HAHA AND THEREIN LIES MY VICTORY! I acknowledge that I am a fake! I CAN SEE! I PRETEND AND LIE AND CHEAT! HAHA! I AM HUMAN AFTER ALL! But there are those... oh there are those that need to be judged and be brought to reality. Reality is not easy or hard. It withstands opinion. It is you! YOU! THE ACTOR! THE JANUS! YOU ARE A FRAUD! YOU ARE A LIE! You dare to live, dare to dream, dare to see without seeing! See without eyes! Sinners. Sinners the whole rotten lot of you... the world swarms with a walking feast for crows. Your corrupted bodies perfumed and hidden beneath sheer silks. The ravens will devour you. They will peck at the carrion. And men will cry. Until the birds come, my deluded ravings will have to suffice. I am the two-faced raven. Until the birds come. Run and hide. Run and hide. I am the two-faced raven.

The Word "Honey"

Honey. Please honey don't go! Well she won't ever. I'll promise you that. You see, honey never goes bad. It stays forever in its warm succulent state, golden and soft. Today I returned to US. By rights I should be asleep right now due to the time difference but I just drank a hell of a alot of Ocean Spray and the sugar rush is keeping me from passing out. It's been a while so let me recap the past few days. More relatives. Visited Uncle Hans and Aunt Elsa who used to be fashion designers. Interesting because I just saw "The September Issue" on my plane ride back. Don't judge me, I was bored. Lies: I actually secretly still watch Project Runway. Let's just say it made the fashion industry seem alot less menacing when you had a fat man with a camera following around Anne Wintour all day. Anyhow they (Hans and Elsa) have a very nice house with many antiques and on more than one occasion was I tempted to pilfer something here and there. But morals got the best of me. DAMN YOU MORALS. They said the place was haunted by French ghosts. French. "Boo! I ave come to haunt you from ze grave!" I don't think that would frighten me very much. I once did very much believe in spirits and such things because I watched a little too much television in those days, but the explanation for such phenomenon is far too simple. It is memory. Lost souls that have been forgotten and still long to be remembered. But they themselves have left this earth and do not will it. It is your own mind that subconsciously acknowledges this presence and materializes it in some sort of "supernatural" event. We want these things to happen. We confabulate. CONFABULATE. Look it up... Our minds are more powerful than we think. That sentence had circular reasoning. Give that to an epistemologist. They would have a field day. A land of milk and honey. Moving on: we moved on to a Hilton Hotel. Not bad. I know my hotels too. I did work in one after all. THOSE WERE THE DAYS... Excuse me I was reminiscing. Well long story short my entire family got some sort of stomach virus except for me after having eaten at a Chinese Buffet and they are all still stuck in Holland except for me and my Father who was forced to return for work. So now I'm alone in this echoing cave of a building I call "home." The promised land. WHY IS IT SO FUCKING COLD! I love when my dad gives me money and says "Son, go do something useful with this" and then goes to bed. Was on the train heading to Hamilton when I hear the unmistakable laugh of an acquaintance. The laughter follows me. It haunts me. Like the French. AHA! Goodnight ... that honey on toast looks so good!