BEWARE OF DOG
Language is the bitch that wanders off and then returns, begging for scraps. She snaps at my left heel. She is a bitch that I cannot shrug off. She is my pain.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
light dimmers
Mother is taking more and more intervals from her preparations where she goes to the bathroom and touches up her hair. The children listen to Mother's instructions frequently, but they can neither feel nor emulate. Randomly misplaced items, a stack of magazines strategically laid out in some order of incomprehensible order, a vase, a wine bottle opener. All of these objects threaten this woman. Mother hisses at the daughter: the napkins! The children do not realize that they are dealing with a professional. Mother's nose, her mouth--everything becomes an arrow pointing in one direction; it plows through the area as if to say: Keep moving. Father breathes heavily. Mother assumes a creative pose in front of the refrigerator.
Sister holds the pan with the bunt cake to her nose. She deeply inhales the aroma, the fruits of someone else's hard labor. She longs for a poison cabinet, like in the movies. Mother walks over to where she is at the dining table and snatches the pan away. She forgot to drizzle the Marsala pecan sauce over the cake. Her son lies on the couch in the living room. His mouth, lacking the fine creases of age, opens and closes effortlessly. Her daughter then walks over to where a new Cabernet bottle rests in the arms of a monkey butler (figurine designed to hold bottles of wine, not an actual trained monkey). Mother comes and holds the bottle in her hands. She will place it somewhere out of sight. No, that would be ridiculous. She will just place it in the cabinet behind the triscuits until the night is over and the missionary they are hosting this evening has left.
Sister shouts out in direction toward her brother, pointing out that God also created women.
In the evening the adults of the house, who have to work hard all day, stretch out on lazy boys under the purply haze that fills a room whenever the TV has been turned on. This is the beginning of a chain that runs backward all night, until seven in the morning. Both Mother and Father have glasses of wine. Father's is poured generously. Mother's is a methodical and conservative glass.
Sister speaks into the candle next to her girlfriend she had over earlier and who now must be leaving (before the missionary comes). She puts on a show, moving her fingers in and out of the flame:
feels right, honey, yes,
but don't go burning your big
fingers now (honey)
When the light of day goes out, adults start remembering their regrets. The night comes out with ambient light bulbs and paperwork or with instant coffee brass knuckles. It is accompanied by people who have lost out on life. In some corners decay knocks with scurrying fingers, like rats unseen between the walls.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
like pigs
Earthlings make habit of mistaking shame chasms for the arms of their giant merciful Lord. The sun is so majestic, so holy. Way up high his soverinty rings out, but all the resonance dries the Earthling's skin way down to dirt (substance of their first holy making). The Sun shines--it beats--causing the earthlings’ pores to squeeze out what ever [ x (in a universe of infinite spaces, what can x not be?)] they have left onto their humble feet. They are marching and stomping for their holy master. Everything becomes thick and it clings. See it thicken and clog the city's drainage system like chocolate pudding? It slowly bakes into mud pies. The earth’s surface is slowly baked through this eternal dynasty. Filthy feet slosh around feeling into the ground; the land is no longer fertile. The earthlings are all filthy.
1. Do Earthlings crave weightlessness or do they always dread the idea of floating up from the earth's crust--the suppression of gravitational pull? Do they want to float or keep on stomping?
hint: no one has successfully achieved that freedom, certainly no Earthling. People long for weight. When they sense that airy buzz take over and initiate a lightness of thought--that's when the fretting starts. That makes for some of the biggest squeals and oinks.
2. (But really) How can they even think to climb out of these holy trenches with the weight of the sun’s supremacy crushing their skulls into their brains?
well: they want to feel some sort of weight (anyways). On with the struggle! For some, they are still marching on toward that ripe and fertile land promised to them eons ago.
3. But, the FILTH! That nasty ass chocolate pudding mess all over their bibs!
Just a matter of biology (homeostasis): It helps to cool them off while they bake away under the Lord. Also, it's something tasty onto which they can latch, suckle, you know, it makes up for some really sweet dreams.
1. Do Earthlings crave weightlessness or do they always dread the idea of floating up from the earth's crust--the suppression of gravitational pull? Do they want to float or keep on stomping?
hint: no one has successfully achieved that freedom, certainly no Earthling. People long for weight. When they sense that airy buzz take over and initiate a lightness of thought--that's when the fretting starts. That makes for some of the biggest squeals and oinks.
2. (But really) How can they even think to climb out of these holy trenches with the weight of the sun’s supremacy crushing their skulls into their brains?
well: they want to feel some sort of weight (anyways). On with the struggle! For some, they are still marching on toward that ripe and fertile land promised to them eons ago.
3. But, the FILTH! That nasty ass chocolate pudding mess all over their bibs!
Just a matter of biology (homeostasis): It helps to cool them off while they bake away under the Lord. Also, it's something tasty onto which they can latch, suckle, you know, it makes up for some really sweet dreams.
Maurice
My reading of E.M. Forster's tale of homosexual love in Edwardian England from almost two years ago. It's been awhile since I have read a Forster novel and I still believe today that he is widely under appreciated.
The Maurice Muddle
Fear of the “other” drives a compulsive need for the public sphere to reaffirm its own values, superstitions, and customs. E. M. Forster’s social commentary novel, Maurice, debunks the patriarchal homophobia and gender constrictions of Edwardian society. The critical provisions from the schools of Queer and Feminist Theory elucidate the problematic social positions men have and continue to enforce upon themselves through discourses on the male homosocial continuum, bodily politics, and compulsatory heterosexuality. Forster contributes to the progression of the collective British identity in charging his domineeringly conservative country with the task of deconstructing the body from which homosexuals have been marginalized.
The two selections from Maurice both portray scenarios where the two main characters distract themselves from any possibility of initiating an erotic connection. Eve Sedgwick writes that the continuum between homosocial and homosexuality is made even more apparent as participants of the homosocial bond are “drawn back into the orbit of desire” (2466-7). Maurice Hall and Clive Durham never reach a “potentially erotic” familiarity (2467), because of societal pressures and “political regression” (Rich 1591). In the first selection, Maurice alludes to their past to reminisce fondly of what he believes could still be a prospectively more intimate relationship: " 'You only think you've changed,' he said, smiling. 'I used to think I had when Miss Olcott was here, but it all went when I returned to you' " (Forster 128). Clive persistently insists of a new “change” in his self, groaning, "[b]ut I've changed, I've changed" (128). The character Miss Olcott was an "obligatory heterosexuality built into" their kinship (Sedgwick 2468). To Maurice's dismay, Clive brings in another women, Maurice's sister, into the triangle (Forster 129). Ada is the objectified female and homophobic impulse that forges the bond between the two men as merely friends. Forster includes the first triangle as a depiction of how evident attractions are thwarted from an instilled fear of being "othered."
In order to maintain their position within the British hierarchy, heterosexual men embed a sensation of disgust into those possessing the "Oscar Wild-type" problem that had stained the Victorian society of the past century. The marginalized are excreted as filth; “others become shit” (Butler 2546). As Maurice is trogging through the grounds outside of Penge estate, the "the mist is thicker…[and] the mud stickier" (Forster 173). "Mud” becomes the filth Forster's Edwardian society associates with homosexuality. “Feelings of repulsion” placed into Maurice's consciousness are used by the oppressive force in Forster's society to facilitate its reign (Freud 817). Throughout the text, the Maurice and Clive situation is referred to as a "muddle" (128), further emphasizing its deemed sexual degradation. The "pollution" in which Maurice participates is dangerous (Butler 2544). Its manifestation is viewed by the conservative class as an attack on their position as primary holder of political and social power.
In Maurice's second interaction with Clive, he is reminded of "the muddle last year" (Forster 176) that, according to the more conservative of the two, was dealt with appropriately. Now both men feebly dismiss the muddy waters of homosexuality. Maurice brings up the topic of marriage to reaffirm their homosocial bond and their masculinity (174). The vocalized disgust Clive earlier displayed for his own sexual orientation disappears, and he convinces himself of Maurice's and his successful moral realignment. Clive is delighted and embraces his friend, "it's what I've always wished for you" (174). Happiness, though superficial, ensues with "heterosexuality…as a means of assuring male right of physical, economic, and emotional" power (Rich 1602). The muddle is openly set aside by both in order for them to maintain the "middle-class comfort" of their custom (Forster 127). Homophobia oppressively centralizes itself so that the two gentlemen can maintain political residence in the most dominant of Edwardian society's "distinctive node of organization" (Sedgwick 2475). When gender constructions and their implications are explored, homophobia is further understood.
Power is distributed on a base of gender. Patriarchal Institutions are able to withhold power from those they have labeled as weak or effeminate by utilization of "male tyranny" (Rich 1606). Adrienne Rich writes on gender assimilation: "sameness…is the most passive and debilitating of responses to political repression" (1591). Unfortunately, individuals who chose not to assimilate themselves into dominant culture or targeted more violently. The Patriarchy, similar to a homosocial bond, is a strengthened accumulation of the material and hierarchal "relations between men…that create independence and solidarity…that enables them to dominate women" (Sedgwick 2468). Maurice is structured to reveal domineering masculinity and its "horror[s]" (Forster 126). Forster's novel contains often aggressive and male-exclusive words that contribute to his ultimate exposé of Edwardian society. Clive "drag[s] in a woman" into their weak homosocial bond (129), the two confront each other with physical "hostility" (129), and the second scene follows a hunting game. Even the settings-the smoking room, the hunting grounds, dinner with the politicians-are strikingly masculine. There is literally no room for femininity or homosexuality, both have been squeezed out of the patriarchal society.
Contrastingly, Maurice is at times expressive and sentimental. Concerned for Clive's physicality after a brief row, he refers to Clive as "my darling" (129), forfeiting his masculinity. Of course neither Clive nor Maurice act from any literal essence of intrinsic masculinity; there is a bodily-regulated “illusion of interior and organizing gender core” (Butler 2549). The male continuum in Maurice is deepened by taking roots in Classicism, stretching back to times of Hellenic civilization.
The intimacy between Maurice and Clive is obvious. As Maurice insists they both consciously love each other, Clive hesitatingly replies, "I like you enormously--more than any man I've ever met" (Forster 128). To separate himself from the dangerous implications of homosexuality, Clive continues explaining his love. Evoking the classical concept of Platonic love, Clive remarks that between such close male friends "[i]t's character, not passion, that is the real bond" (128). From the first scene, it is revealed that Clive took a trip to Greece (129). What Clive meant in traveling to Greece is not relayed in the scene; however, the mere mention of Greece, the birthplace of Platonic love, invites the reader to fill the curious gap with his or her own projection he or she associates with homosexual and homosocial male continuum. Accentuating his homosexual tendencies, Clive, subscribes to a homosocial theory quite synonymous to that of Greek homosexuality; yet, Maurice was supposed to (conveniently) mature into heterosexual "manhood, the assignment of [earlier] roles was not permanent” (Sedgwick 2469). Crushing Maurice's hope, Clive calls the passions between men as solid a foundation as "sand" (Forster 129) and internally attempts to relinquish "the old Hellenic ships" of his youth (175). The defeated state in which society leaves Maurice is a stormy consciousness that Forster expands with graphic imagery.
Maurice's consciousness is projected into the weather and his periods of social discord are represented by contrasts between light and dark imagery. Women and Normativity together are dogmatically displayed as the light to homosexuality's darkness. Although there is an instance where Clive is shown wandering around the darkness, "enveloped" in the mist of the night (130), he is "promised a dawn" with the prospect of heterosexual marriage (130). Lacking the "privilege of a presumptive heterosexual" (Sedgwick 2474), Maurice is left in the muddle of the dark, "turn[ing] out the electric light" of hope during his solitude (Forster 130). Within his "nightmare" (173), he is temporarily forced to a “horror and self-punishment” with which others are unfamiliar (Freud 817). Maurice is an "animal" (Forster 126), dehumanized and "othered" by society for his sexual orientation and cruelly forced to an unsympathetic dreariness (173). Although societal pressures are overbearing to marginalized characters, the second scene does begin to pick up with a positive momentum. In the darkness and storm of Maurice Hall's night (176), he gives vocalization to the desires that for too long had been suppressed: "Come!" he shouts into the outward projection of his inner torments, as he finally begins to embrace his self and rid himself of the man whose social-consciousness prevented him from embracing what could have been (176). In giving Maurice an ending of encouragement, Forster conveys his own positive vision for the future of society.
Feeling and empathy are the answers for the hypocrisy and power incongruities in society. Although social reformation for the marginalized of Edwardian society would not occur for many years, E. M. Forster sets a foundation for its genesis. Not only does he reveal the incongruity of Britain's earlier cultural hierarchy in Maurice, but also, as an empathetic voice, he extends his embracing arms to the suppressed, invisible citizens, and those devastated by their inhibited prospect of love. His observations and charge of feeling to Britain's self-righteous, judgmental, and unfeeling citizen help to initiate a progressive process of deconstructing social obstructions and unifying a conscious, British body of sympathy.
The Maurice Muddle
Fear of the “other” drives a compulsive need for the public sphere to reaffirm its own values, superstitions, and customs. E. M. Forster’s social commentary novel, Maurice, debunks the patriarchal homophobia and gender constrictions of Edwardian society. The critical provisions from the schools of Queer and Feminist Theory elucidate the problematic social positions men have and continue to enforce upon themselves through discourses on the male homosocial continuum, bodily politics, and compulsatory heterosexuality. Forster contributes to the progression of the collective British identity in charging his domineeringly conservative country with the task of deconstructing the body from which homosexuals have been marginalized.
The two selections from Maurice both portray scenarios where the two main characters distract themselves from any possibility of initiating an erotic connection. Eve Sedgwick writes that the continuum between homosocial and homosexuality is made even more apparent as participants of the homosocial bond are “drawn back into the orbit of desire” (2466-7). Maurice Hall and Clive Durham never reach a “potentially erotic” familiarity (2467), because of societal pressures and “political regression” (Rich 1591). In the first selection, Maurice alludes to their past to reminisce fondly of what he believes could still be a prospectively more intimate relationship: " 'You only think you've changed,' he said, smiling. 'I used to think I had when Miss Olcott was here, but it all went when I returned to you' " (Forster 128). Clive persistently insists of a new “change” in his self, groaning, "[b]ut I've changed, I've changed" (128). The character Miss Olcott was an "obligatory heterosexuality built into" their kinship (Sedgwick 2468). To Maurice's dismay, Clive brings in another women, Maurice's sister, into the triangle (Forster 129). Ada is the objectified female and homophobic impulse that forges the bond between the two men as merely friends. Forster includes the first triangle as a depiction of how evident attractions are thwarted from an instilled fear of being "othered."
In order to maintain their position within the British hierarchy, heterosexual men embed a sensation of disgust into those possessing the "Oscar Wild-type" problem that had stained the Victorian society of the past century. The marginalized are excreted as filth; “others become shit” (Butler 2546). As Maurice is trogging through the grounds outside of Penge estate, the "the mist is thicker…[and] the mud stickier" (Forster 173). "Mud” becomes the filth Forster's Edwardian society associates with homosexuality. “Feelings of repulsion” placed into Maurice's consciousness are used by the oppressive force in Forster's society to facilitate its reign (Freud 817). Throughout the text, the Maurice and Clive situation is referred to as a "muddle" (128), further emphasizing its deemed sexual degradation. The "pollution" in which Maurice participates is dangerous (Butler 2544). Its manifestation is viewed by the conservative class as an attack on their position as primary holder of political and social power.
In Maurice's second interaction with Clive, he is reminded of "the muddle last year" (Forster 176) that, according to the more conservative of the two, was dealt with appropriately. Now both men feebly dismiss the muddy waters of homosexuality. Maurice brings up the topic of marriage to reaffirm their homosocial bond and their masculinity (174). The vocalized disgust Clive earlier displayed for his own sexual orientation disappears, and he convinces himself of Maurice's and his successful moral realignment. Clive is delighted and embraces his friend, "it's what I've always wished for you" (174). Happiness, though superficial, ensues with "heterosexuality…as a means of assuring male right of physical, economic, and emotional" power (Rich 1602). The muddle is openly set aside by both in order for them to maintain the "middle-class comfort" of their custom (Forster 127). Homophobia oppressively centralizes itself so that the two gentlemen can maintain political residence in the most dominant of Edwardian society's "distinctive node of organization" (Sedgwick 2475). When gender constructions and their implications are explored, homophobia is further understood.
Power is distributed on a base of gender. Patriarchal Institutions are able to withhold power from those they have labeled as weak or effeminate by utilization of "male tyranny" (Rich 1606). Adrienne Rich writes on gender assimilation: "sameness…is the most passive and debilitating of responses to political repression" (1591). Unfortunately, individuals who chose not to assimilate themselves into dominant culture or targeted more violently. The Patriarchy, similar to a homosocial bond, is a strengthened accumulation of the material and hierarchal "relations between men…that create independence and solidarity…that enables them to dominate women" (Sedgwick 2468). Maurice is structured to reveal domineering masculinity and its "horror[s]" (Forster 126). Forster's novel contains often aggressive and male-exclusive words that contribute to his ultimate exposé of Edwardian society. Clive "drag[s] in a woman" into their weak homosocial bond (129), the two confront each other with physical "hostility" (129), and the second scene follows a hunting game. Even the settings-the smoking room, the hunting grounds, dinner with the politicians-are strikingly masculine. There is literally no room for femininity or homosexuality, both have been squeezed out of the patriarchal society.
Contrastingly, Maurice is at times expressive and sentimental. Concerned for Clive's physicality after a brief row, he refers to Clive as "my darling" (129), forfeiting his masculinity. Of course neither Clive nor Maurice act from any literal essence of intrinsic masculinity; there is a bodily-regulated “illusion of interior and organizing gender core” (Butler 2549). The male continuum in Maurice is deepened by taking roots in Classicism, stretching back to times of Hellenic civilization.
The intimacy between Maurice and Clive is obvious. As Maurice insists they both consciously love each other, Clive hesitatingly replies, "I like you enormously--more than any man I've ever met" (Forster 128). To separate himself from the dangerous implications of homosexuality, Clive continues explaining his love. Evoking the classical concept of Platonic love, Clive remarks that between such close male friends "[i]t's character, not passion, that is the real bond" (128). From the first scene, it is revealed that Clive took a trip to Greece (129). What Clive meant in traveling to Greece is not relayed in the scene; however, the mere mention of Greece, the birthplace of Platonic love, invites the reader to fill the curious gap with his or her own projection he or she associates with homosexual and homosocial male continuum. Accentuating his homosexual tendencies, Clive, subscribes to a homosocial theory quite synonymous to that of Greek homosexuality; yet, Maurice was supposed to (conveniently) mature into heterosexual "manhood, the assignment of [earlier] roles was not permanent” (Sedgwick 2469). Crushing Maurice's hope, Clive calls the passions between men as solid a foundation as "sand" (Forster 129) and internally attempts to relinquish "the old Hellenic ships" of his youth (175). The defeated state in which society leaves Maurice is a stormy consciousness that Forster expands with graphic imagery.
Maurice's consciousness is projected into the weather and his periods of social discord are represented by contrasts between light and dark imagery. Women and Normativity together are dogmatically displayed as the light to homosexuality's darkness. Although there is an instance where Clive is shown wandering around the darkness, "enveloped" in the mist of the night (130), he is "promised a dawn" with the prospect of heterosexual marriage (130). Lacking the "privilege of a presumptive heterosexual" (Sedgwick 2474), Maurice is left in the muddle of the dark, "turn[ing] out the electric light" of hope during his solitude (Forster 130). Within his "nightmare" (173), he is temporarily forced to a “horror and self-punishment” with which others are unfamiliar (Freud 817). Maurice is an "animal" (Forster 126), dehumanized and "othered" by society for his sexual orientation and cruelly forced to an unsympathetic dreariness (173). Although societal pressures are overbearing to marginalized characters, the second scene does begin to pick up with a positive momentum. In the darkness and storm of Maurice Hall's night (176), he gives vocalization to the desires that for too long had been suppressed: "Come!" he shouts into the outward projection of his inner torments, as he finally begins to embrace his self and rid himself of the man whose social-consciousness prevented him from embracing what could have been (176). In giving Maurice an ending of encouragement, Forster conveys his own positive vision for the future of society.
Feeling and empathy are the answers for the hypocrisy and power incongruities in society. Although social reformation for the marginalized of Edwardian society would not occur for many years, E. M. Forster sets a foundation for its genesis. Not only does he reveal the incongruity of Britain's earlier cultural hierarchy in Maurice, but also, as an empathetic voice, he extends his embracing arms to the suppressed, invisible citizens, and those devastated by their inhibited prospect of love. His observations and charge of feeling to Britain's self-righteous, judgmental, and unfeeling citizen help to initiate a progressive process of deconstructing social obstructions and unifying a conscious, British body of sympathy.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Act
Guy's memories flood back. The audience spurs the scene on. There is not one heart in the house that beats evenly.
1. It's not as if the stage is framed with glass walls. He can easily exit. At least, there are no physical barriers, but it's always a matter of want on the tawdry little stage, and Guy wants. Does he want to leave?
But there is a "physiologicality" to the dimensions. Much more blood is being pumped into Guy's muscles and brain by his heart that is always accelerating to and from a pulse of a calming point of reference. This is, of course, after the release of adrenaline which comes after the stimulation of the adrenal cortex by ACTH to release cortisol (during situations of stress), which increases the expression of PNMT in chromaffin cells, enhancing adrenaline synthesis. His lungs are expanding, pushing down on his stomach so as to take in more oxygen and on and on...calcium through voltage-gated calcium channels...blood... moving fast...Then after reassurance by the crowd (you see this sort of glow on the face of Bogart and Gable) and the surge of confidence in one's own art there comes the suppression of adrenaline by its own intake back up to nerve terminal endings.
Then drunkenness. A swooshed ecstasy that is very much so physical (Newman). A swooning stride, toward the front of the stage (Kelly).
Young opera stars have problems with this. They seem to start walking unnaturally with just a few drops of kind stage lighting. Maestro will tell them: I know that this libretto is thematically elevated and the music touches upon the sublime, but you are supposed to be reflecting REAL struggles within all of us. REAL people do not strut like velvet ghosts in their own houses.
2. Of course they do, from time to time. Guy knows this. He is real, sure, but there are times that call for pretense. Action is done under pretense. Hardly any of them are actually performed raw. Realism is an effort as well. The people are there. Even if they weren't, there is always an audience for Guy. That is why the gears inside Guy's actor head are always turning (Though you do now want for the audience to be able to detect all the mechanisms that go into a performance; during a performance, you do not want people to think to themselves, "Oh, my! That was a great crescendo!" You just want them to feel and register what you have achieved on the whole.)
So they all go through these surges. Glass is there, enclosing the characters there on the stage. Exposed, actors often assume their greatest characters. Exposure hardly ever reveals authenticity. So to the contemporary generation coming up under Guy that craves the "natural" and unaffected "reality" that the stage seems to be missing: (applause)
Guy applauds for his audience. (one plump little plumb of a lady to her husband) Why, this is absurd!
It is not, though. A ingeniously crafted performance of Guy's does not falsely claim to be something it is not (real, the REAL deal, Truth). It is always a performance.
So the audience, as it is being clapped for astoundingly, must decide how it will act. Guy toys with the reversal of roles and now sits down silently on a golden Throne. A golden throne of un-truth and ceremony. He meditates on the stage the theater. On the mark. This is not a monologue. This is a conversation.
1. It's not as if the stage is framed with glass walls. He can easily exit. At least, there are no physical barriers, but it's always a matter of want on the tawdry little stage, and Guy wants. Does he want to leave?
But there is a "physiologicality" to the dimensions. Much more blood is being pumped into Guy's muscles and brain by his heart that is always accelerating to and from a pulse of a calming point of reference. This is, of course, after the release of adrenaline which comes after the stimulation of the adrenal cortex by ACTH to release cortisol (during situations of stress), which increases the expression of PNMT in chromaffin cells, enhancing adrenaline synthesis. His lungs are expanding, pushing down on his stomach so as to take in more oxygen and on and on...calcium through voltage-gated calcium channels...blood... moving fast...Then after reassurance by the crowd (you see this sort of glow on the face of Bogart and Gable) and the surge of confidence in one's own art there comes the suppression of adrenaline by its own intake back up to nerve terminal endings.
Then drunkenness. A swooshed ecstasy that is very much so physical (Newman). A swooning stride, toward the front of the stage (Kelly).
Young opera stars have problems with this. They seem to start walking unnaturally with just a few drops of kind stage lighting. Maestro will tell them: I know that this libretto is thematically elevated and the music touches upon the sublime, but you are supposed to be reflecting REAL struggles within all of us. REAL people do not strut like velvet ghosts in their own houses.
2. Of course they do, from time to time. Guy knows this. He is real, sure, but there are times that call for pretense. Action is done under pretense. Hardly any of them are actually performed raw. Realism is an effort as well. The people are there. Even if they weren't, there is always an audience for Guy. That is why the gears inside Guy's actor head are always turning (Though you do now want for the audience to be able to detect all the mechanisms that go into a performance; during a performance, you do not want people to think to themselves, "Oh, my! That was a great crescendo!" You just want them to feel and register what you have achieved on the whole.)
So they all go through these surges. Glass is there, enclosing the characters there on the stage. Exposed, actors often assume their greatest characters. Exposure hardly ever reveals authenticity. So to the contemporary generation coming up under Guy that craves the "natural" and unaffected "reality" that the stage seems to be missing: (applause)
Guy applauds for his audience. (one plump little plumb of a lady to her husband) Why, this is absurd!
It is not, though. A ingeniously crafted performance of Guy's does not falsely claim to be something it is not (real, the REAL deal, Truth). It is always a performance.
So the audience, as it is being clapped for astoundingly, must decide how it will act. Guy toys with the reversal of roles and now sits down silently on a golden Throne. A golden throne of un-truth and ceremony. He meditates on the stage the theater. On the mark. This is not a monologue. This is a conversation.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Wasps
In the alley behind Stella's house, chips and strippings of cheap particle wood furniture are frequently discarded. This late afternoon, she takes out the trash from her kitchen upstairs in the studio apartment. First, closing the door to her place, she takes the precaution of locking her front door. There are the neighbors in surrounding units. This is not to say that she does not always assume a natural goodness in everyone (out of a billowy inner feeling that makes her see every person as a potential moral champion). She hardly knows these other residents. Crumbles of speckly brown brick pervade the lawn that separates the garage-turned-efficiency apartment from its master house (Inside the master house the monthly rent is almost three times the amount that Stella pays for her apartment. In the middle of that lawn there is a tree. A fully developed mesquite tree covered in wasps. A sappy tree surrounded by brick crumbs.
Underneath the brick crumbles the grass is parched. This is most likely due to the Mesquite trees that make harsh competition for the water in the ground. When Stella is done climbing down the cement staircase onto the lawn, she is met by the crunch of the lawn. The brittle strands of grass hardly succeed in covering the lot in a way that is aesthetically pleasing to the passerby; however, this lawn does not meet a front curb of any well marked street. This lawn lies behind the masterhouse (rent there is just about three times what Stella pays for her own space) and, really, is only visible from the alley (strips of wood await there for Stella), so no one in this town is offended. Also (Stella reassures herself), this property is not worth the time and effort to make into beautiful gardens. There is just Stella right now with her garbage bag.
A wasp or two will fly dangerously close to her face. Stella wishes that the city or someone would take care of these pests. It is not safe. There was that one time when I came home to find a wasp hovering above my bed. Stella walks into the alley behind the lot and lifts the lid up from a city-issued, 100-gallon barrel garbage container. Then there was that other time when a wasp emerged from my bathtub while I was on the toilet (the wasp floated up toward the shower nozzle so delicately and yet so threateningly, inhabiting its space as a standoffish roommate in a sort of tiff might do while in her own bedroom). The wasps do not belong here. Stella does not own the property she walks across through any sort of legal contract, but she does possess it in a way that a wasp cannot. She consciously inhabits her space. She tosses the trash bag down into the over sized trash container and is greeted in return by disoriented flies and the smell of rotten potato juice and scrappings of fish fillets. There was that other time...Stella slams the lid shut quickly.
Stella looks down to the pile of trash that people have lazily left in the gravel. Torn up window screens, a musty rug, and wood. Today there is a wooden chair, almost fully intact. Also--panels of wood that have been stripped free of their paint! Stella becomes dreamy holding the previously unwanted wood in her arms. What unbound creativity she has now! She will ask her older friend, Joe, (middle-aged surly bank teller) to come over and help her nail together a little parlour table. There will be coffee for Joe as well, in case he feels dragged into another one of Stella's seemingly fun and promising (at first) text messages (Stella's words are almost always misleading). Just what I needed! And, maybe, MAYBE, Stella might allow for Joe to have intercourse with her after the project is complete. But is this enough wood?
Stella walks back to the cement steps around the little efficiency complex and sees the tree ablaze. Wasps, red and orange, swarming and fuming, feeding upon the nectar of the mesquite tree. The thorns that protrude from the limbs of the Mesquite tree are illuminated in the magma-esque glow that comes from the sun setting into the dusts of West Texas. The hanging bean pods twists in the warm air. Wasps fly at astounding speeds from the tree to the master house to Stella's apartment to her neighbor's apartments and back to the tree. The tree looks itchy underneath the wasp carpet. Its shaggy strips peel off of the trunk and fall to the base where there are a few empty Heineken bottles and cigarette butts. Stella takes in a lungful of fire and walks back up her steps to find refuge in her own possessed space. There is fire underneath everything.
Underneath the brick crumbles the grass is parched. This is most likely due to the Mesquite trees that make harsh competition for the water in the ground. When Stella is done climbing down the cement staircase onto the lawn, she is met by the crunch of the lawn. The brittle strands of grass hardly succeed in covering the lot in a way that is aesthetically pleasing to the passerby; however, this lawn does not meet a front curb of any well marked street. This lawn lies behind the masterhouse (rent there is just about three times what Stella pays for her own space) and, really, is only visible from the alley (strips of wood await there for Stella), so no one in this town is offended. Also (Stella reassures herself), this property is not worth the time and effort to make into beautiful gardens. There is just Stella right now with her garbage bag.
A wasp or two will fly dangerously close to her face. Stella wishes that the city or someone would take care of these pests. It is not safe. There was that one time when I came home to find a wasp hovering above my bed. Stella walks into the alley behind the lot and lifts the lid up from a city-issued, 100-gallon barrel garbage container. Then there was that other time when a wasp emerged from my bathtub while I was on the toilet (the wasp floated up toward the shower nozzle so delicately and yet so threateningly, inhabiting its space as a standoffish roommate in a sort of tiff might do while in her own bedroom). The wasps do not belong here. Stella does not own the property she walks across through any sort of legal contract, but she does possess it in a way that a wasp cannot. She consciously inhabits her space. She tosses the trash bag down into the over sized trash container and is greeted in return by disoriented flies and the smell of rotten potato juice and scrappings of fish fillets. There was that other time...Stella slams the lid shut quickly.
Stella looks down to the pile of trash that people have lazily left in the gravel. Torn up window screens, a musty rug, and wood. Today there is a wooden chair, almost fully intact. Also--panels of wood that have been stripped free of their paint! Stella becomes dreamy holding the previously unwanted wood in her arms. What unbound creativity she has now! She will ask her older friend, Joe, (middle-aged surly bank teller) to come over and help her nail together a little parlour table. There will be coffee for Joe as well, in case he feels dragged into another one of Stella's seemingly fun and promising (at first) text messages (Stella's words are almost always misleading). Just what I needed! And, maybe, MAYBE, Stella might allow for Joe to have intercourse with her after the project is complete. But is this enough wood?
Stella walks back to the cement steps around the little efficiency complex and sees the tree ablaze. Wasps, red and orange, swarming and fuming, feeding upon the nectar of the mesquite tree. The thorns that protrude from the limbs of the Mesquite tree are illuminated in the magma-esque glow that comes from the sun setting into the dusts of West Texas. The hanging bean pods twists in the warm air. Wasps fly at astounding speeds from the tree to the master house to Stella's apartment to her neighbor's apartments and back to the tree. The tree looks itchy underneath the wasp carpet. Its shaggy strips peel off of the trunk and fall to the base where there are a few empty Heineken bottles and cigarette butts. Stella takes in a lungful of fire and walks back up her steps to find refuge in her own possessed space. There is fire underneath everything.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Problems and Siblings.
Wow, a month and a half since my last post on this blog? There must have been problems.
But don't fret; writers love problems.
John Updike loves problems.
Here's one problem with a novella I've been writing over this summer:
How do I tactfully craft a wealthy and cultured character who shelters himself from the outside world, but who also loves to endulge himself in the passtime of toking the marijuana leaf? How much "stoner" lingo can I use before a passage becomes more trash and loses its elegance? I feel like I can toke and be elegant. What's a classier euphemism for weed grinder? Does having both a vaporizer and pipe in the bedroom transpose my actor sibling duo out of their refined, but dangerous je ne sais quoi into something more of a squalid and overly aggressive foreigness? Exactly what am I wanting to stick out?
I might have to cut back on what may come across as pretentious jargon...
There's been some problems.
But don't fret; writers love problems.
John Updike loves problems.
Here's one problem with a novella I've been writing over this summer:
How do I tactfully craft a wealthy and cultured character who shelters himself from the outside world, but who also loves to endulge himself in the passtime of toking the marijuana leaf? How much "stoner" lingo can I use before a passage becomes more trash and loses its elegance? I feel like I can toke and be elegant. What's a classier euphemism for weed grinder? Does having both a vaporizer and pipe in the bedroom transpose my actor sibling duo out of their refined, but dangerous je ne sais quoi into something more of a squalid and overly aggressive foreigness? Exactly what am I wanting to stick out?
I might have to cut back on what may come across as pretentious jargon...
There's been some problems.
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