love vs. love

10) love vs. love

cat called.

she approached the red velvet 
but stopped to turn 
towards the crumpled mass bleeding on the floor
(behind her).

his breath was heaving but
she could feel the applause cascading down her back.

he reached out...
she could grasp his hand
but instead
she imagined water slipping through 
her fingers.

they locked eyes 
& he watched the water cascade 
down her cheek bones. 

and wash away his kiss. 

he called. 

so she cut a gash into her chest
stepped onto the stage 
& sang her heart out
(of her).

the nature of the ocean

8) the nature of the ocean.

i like the way you spill. she said. he didn't understand. 
i like how you stick feathers on your brain 
and color the sidewalks purple when you look.

sometimes i seem muddy, and that
can't be pretty to feel. but really, 
i shouldn't be doing anything to you

but i know i must because
you do everything to me. 

she then apologized for being like him, not him but the other him.
it's just in my blood. she said. and hoped he'd understand.

it's in yours too. i know. the mud. 
but mud doesn't spill very well. 

until the ocean flows takes it away and turns it into sand
& you feel the way you used to with the grains between your toes. 

it feels so good, even in the dead of winter. 
washing, scrubbing. the dead skin away. 

sometimes i feel dead. she said. and he understood. 
but she never meant to drag him to her funeral.
because he refuses to attend. 

because he doesn't see the mud. 
he only feels the
warmth of her blood

when he holds her hand.
like the way the grains feel 
in between your toes 

in the middle of the summer. surrounded by colorful umbrellas.

he loves the storms though, the way the waves crash throughout the rain.
because it still looks beautiful to him. despite his fear 
of drowning. 

but she won't make him drown because it's not in her heart.
but then again she might, because, well, it's in her blood

what you're like to me.

taking a step off the cement onto an unstable see through surface.
being engulfed by the water, skin bubbling with an exciting yet chilling sting-
it's taking a deep breath (even though you're holding it)

that's just the unnecessary introduction.

it's when you kick up to break the surface and give the breath back
& your head stops spinning & your ears aren't ringing
you wipe the water from your eyelashes & you can see again.

the moment when the air returns. 
that's what you're like to me.

my password has been recovered.

i thought my blog was dead forever. however, it is not.

dun. dun. dun.

things i think before i go to bed in tears.

if you're soul burst in an engine fire. 
i think mine would go with it.

empathy.

and i thought to myself, "it must really suck...to lose you."

thanks for opening your window. it was getting hot in here.

i should have stopped
before
i started
because

i'm gettin dizzy from the poison in my veins
and now im feeling the lack of balance in my brain

then i look at your eyes. i feel a soft breeze. 
there's no smile on your face.
but somehow, all i want to do 
is laugh. 

but im telling myself, that's not what a normal person does 
(then i'm thinking to myself what gave me the idea i was a normal person?) 

i want you to keep me. but only if i can keep you too. 
but instead im lost in this angry rant that i don't even feel anymore.

pushing hard against nothing. why am i fighting?
there's probably a chemical sweat dripping down my face. 

& if i want to keep this up, i can't look up 
at you. 
but i do
anyway
& transition from crashing to calm
(im growing down for you.)
keeping both feet on the ground. 

then why can't i just stand to love you? 

because you're eyes make me want to smile. 
even when they're not.

and i'm not sure what hope looks like but 
i think that's the wind blowing through my hair.

middle of nowhere in a thunderstorm.

typing. thinking. stop. typing. answering. telling. stop. thinking. stop. knock. stop. look. stop.

i know that sweatshirt. 

she's wearing a penn state sweatshirt & it says "inspired by tradition." a slogan i helped create as a member of the overall committee at penn state. i must have creeped her out because i had begun to stare, not at her, but at her sweatshirt's logo. an abstract drawing of a blue band member (drawn in blue) blowing into a trumpet and it says 2009 along his boot. 

"um, can i change my temp key?"

before i even acknowledged her question, i interjected my own... "did you go to penn state?"
she did, she had just transferred. and i told her that i helped make that- what her sweatshirt represented. 

then i changed her temp key. 

i thought about penn state and how i didn't cry at graduation, i think because i knew it was over. my time there was done, i was giving someone else a chance. plus i was going to new york. 

you know how your feeling of happiness starts to dindle when you grow up? your excitement and what have you? 

christmas eve is never really the same after you find out santa's just a myth. 

well, when i think about my first summer at penn state after not crying at my high school graduation (which i am perfectly content never returning too again) i feel happiness. i remember what euphoria felt like. i remember driving away from my house on the night of my going away party. a few of my friends had stayed behind. and i started to cry. we left at 3am. got to penn state at 8am. 

i brought nothing. no notebooks. no pens. i kind of forgot i was going to school. because it wasn't really like that. 

i had a 3.8 GPA that summer. 

i kept on graduating from stupid dirty frats, to apartment parties, then i found the hispanic people and went on to multicultural greek parties. and sometimes I almost felt like giving in and joining one of their sororites. but i never could. it's just not in my nature to be a member of only one group. my blood isn't even a member of one group. and i'd look at things and think it'd be fun to do that for a little while. but only a little while. penn state, that was one of my little whiles. 

theres some little whiles i think i might miss sometimes. penn state is one of those too. 
and just as im feeling my throat tigthen and my eyes sting cory walks in and asks me to move to the side so she can take out the garbage. 

we start talking about the rain outside and how it was thundering the other night. she told me she was scared, but it reminded her of home. 

"i always want to be in puerto rico when i see the storms."

i'm about to tell her im going to puerto rico next week. but i don't. 

she smiles and tells me to have a good weekend. and i don't feel so bad. 

clink.

sand is slipping fast through that rose colored hourglass
and i just want to fall within a small corner of your mind.

but the sand is almost gone & i've begun to realize i'm dreaming.

can't stay asleep for much longer, someone is banging on the door. and it's shakingand it's turning into dust.

but the bottle's saying, "Drink me."

only, it's empty now.

the nature of the ocean.

i like the way you spill. she said. he didn't understand.
i like how you stick feathers on your brain
and color the sidewalks purple when you look.

sometimes i seem muddy, and that
can't be pretty to feel.
but really, i shouldn't be doing anything to you

but i know i must because
you do everything to me.

she then apologized for being like him, not him but the other him.
it's just in my blood. she said. and hoped he'd understand.

it's in yours too. i know. the mud.
but mud doesn't spill very well.

until the ocean flows takes it away
and turns it into sand
& you feel the way you used to with the grains between your toes.

it feels so good, even in the dead of winter.
washing, scrubbing. the dead skin away.

sometimes i feel dead. she said. and he understood.
but she never meant to drag him to her funeral.
because he refuses to attend.

because he doesn't see the mud.
he only feels the
warmth of her blood
when he holds her hand.

like the way the grains feel in between your toes
in the middle of the summer. surrounded by colorful umbrellas.

he loves the storms though, the way the waves crash throughout the rain.
because it still looks beautiful to him. despite his fear of drowning.

but she won't make him drown because it's not in her heart.
but then again she might, because, well, it's in her blood.

swinging legs.

jenny's hands are getting sweaty on the monkey bars. she's feels as if she's about to slip. 

the metal is growing hot against her hand and her skin is becoming tough against her knuckles. 

he's pulling on her legs and she's desperately trying to kick him away without hitting him in the face. 

but she does. and he lets go. 

her muscles are forming fine lines on her upper arm. it's funny because she always told her friends that she wasn't very strong. 

there's a feeling festering in her arms, within her knuckles, and going down her back.
it's not pain. but it's tiring. 

someone places their hands below her feet and she can release.

and even though she doesn't let go. the festering feeling does. 

and she cries.

to the disgusting people that think killing equals power.

i know people who have said they can't imagine what kind of power they would feel to take a human life. 

i'm not talking your soldiers fighting for a cause, or your victims in their self defense. 

i'm talking normal every day people killing other normal everyday people.

and all i can think is how insecure and worthless that person must feel to want to "get power" that way.

now tell me. do you get off on that?

while james price is talking.

i get the urge to write down something that pops into my head. james is telling a story as usual and he's making me feel something. then my hand starts to move and i gotta get this down before he calls on me to do the exercise...

"ever since i started acting. I've become a terrible liar in real life. I don't wear a mask anymore. On purpose. I don't want to hide my true feelings. That's not fair to myself ( i crossed that out and wrote....) you, myself or the audience. I may say, "yeah that's fine." but if you really watch me, you'll see something different. the truth. people aren't used to seeing truth. they rather hear it. I want you to listen. look at me. feel. feel deeper than yesterday. feel what i feel...what i'm telling you with my body." 

james was in a play, Fool For Love. I went to see it and the main actors were not connected to each other at all. Sure, there was yelling and over the top body movement. But I didn't feel anything. Not like what I felt watching "City Of God" the other day in Bob's class. 

Then James came on the stage in between the two leads and he started defending himself only to come to a terrible realization. And there was yelling and he meant it. and I felt something. I didn't think or imagine this time though. It was weird. I just started feeling. really hard. I was so aware of the fact that my tears were welling up and I had some new sort of sensation within my body that it scared me. when i got scared, i think i accidently stopped myself. i had no idea where any of it came from. it was insane. 

thats how i know james was good. i felt something. 

a note from the playwright.

so i just got over the flu. even though it's still there.

reasons to be pretty closed on sunday. luckily. i got to see it before then. 

"If I could be anything but a writer -- and I can't, I've tried -- I would be a braver person. One who doesn't give two shits about what other people say or think or feel; I don't think that would make me callous or uncaring or stuck up (to utilize a wonderfully high-schoolish phrase). I think it would simply make me hold my head up a little higher, look people in the eye for a bit longer, make my smile a little broader (and any picture of me will attest that smiling is not my strong suit). I hope this play makes a case for being yourself and standing up for what you believe in. For being brave. For making choices that are hard and adult and not easy. For going out and being a part of the world instead of a mere observer. I've written about a lot of men who are really little boys at heart, but Greg, the protagonist in this play, just might be one of the few adults I've ever tackled. The play talks a bit about our country's (an, by extension, the world's) obsession with physical beauty, but it's really the first coming -of-age story I've written. A boy grows up and becomes a man. I suppose every writer has one of those stories to tell, and this one is mine. It also concerns a very blue-collar side of the work population, like the friends and family I grew up with. I know what a dead-end job is like. I know exactly what it's like to be eating your lunch at 3:00am and feeling like life as you know it is now officially over. I have a profound respect for work and workers and communities that live from paycheck to paycheck. The worst day I've had writing is better than the best day I ever had working in a factory, and the people who do it, year after year, because that's life, and food and rent and child support must be paid, have all my respect. Writing is easy. Life is hard. It's more than hard-it's a bitch (as many bumper sticks are happy to point out for us). I suppose that's why I like the person who spends more time working than on Facebook, the person who gets out there and lives his life rather than blogging about it or staring in the mirror wondering about anything so damn inconsequential as looks or hair or yesterday. The future is now. It's time to grow up and be strong."

- From the preface to Reasons To Be Pretty by Neil LaBute. 

i wanted to see reasons because the advertisement was in all lower case letters. 

the final scene when greg breaks down. i lost it. listening to him cry so hard, affecting his breathing. i swear i can feel his heart breaking. and hers too. 

and i get it. i get what's going on. so does she. but he does it anyway because he knows he can't give her anything, not like this guy can. and i don't want him to tell her the truth, i want him to keep saying the lies out loud because all his actions are telling the truth. he loves her. he loves her so damn much. 

and as i have tears streaming down my eyes, this lady in the audience coughs really funny. then i don't know what emotion to feel. so i'm laughing and my make up is running. i feel so pretty when im crying. especially when it's just pretend. 

my face...

there's 92 on facebook. feel free to check those out.

here are some winners...maybe?

Taylor Hooper Photography equals AWESOME!

mr. shaw

That is what all poets do: they talk to themselves out loud; and the world overhears them. But it's horribly lonely not to hear someone else talk sometimes.

intoxicated scribbles.

im that star in the background with that twinkle in her eye. Filling you with hope from the moonlight in the sky & if you dare to love me maybe i'll make you feel the same. Feeling my happiness followed by the pain. The deadly existence of a horizon asking for no sun. Not a single spotlight on me. feeling on your tongue. don't worry with the troubles because she ain't the one. just a mirage in the sparkle of your eye joking with your image of perfection. 

3:09am 

you give for i.

you give for i.
and i receive 
revealing without 
a single breath
the last beat of 
a broken song. 

too humble to let go
too bubbled to fly beyond 
the final drop of lightening 
in your eye. 

pretty feathers fall from tree tops
and ever flowing diamonds
line the sky with 
purple hues. 

forgetting ever feeling 

that bucket with no ending

overflowing with the knowing

of our impending death

while im still dying to keep trying

but the heavy lock is weighing down

the last beat of my broken heart

you give for i
& i stop to cry
to read the simple statement
delicately implied
and now fine am i. 

character analysis

Everything's "perfect" but nothing works in a perfect world. Well, it does but only like it's supposed to. 

That's boring, that's
habit.
Nothing is born out of habit 
until
something breaks it.

Until a change occurs.

everyone who strives for "perfect" is content & dies
because they have nothing more to live for.

but those who live for something more.
are the ones who make a difference 
without even meaning to.
(which means the most of all)
not meaning too.
because the result is 
organic,
self-less (to a degree)
and unplanned. 

Art doesn't develop from plan. That's called lack of imagination.

Art is born in the pulse, travels to the heart & released through the body after being filtered of (too much) thought. 

Organized thought anyway.

Machines don't have a pulse,
Machines don't have a heart.
& their "body" cannot feel
pleasure or pain.
They are completely unaware
of the beauty & despair
that surrounds them.

All they are. are plans.
Organized. Yielded.
They do the same thing. Everyday.
& then they have their check up
every 6 months. Maybe an upgrade?
But what's an upgrade from that kind of life?
or lack there of. 

Perfect is empty. Nothing. Dark. Lonely. 
kept in alphabectical order in boxes covering genius splatters of paint. 
I want nothing to do with perfect.
I've turned the boxes on their sides, 
shredded into confetti & 
spread it across the sky 
in hopes
that someone catches enough pieces 
to put together
a fraction of 
my dreams.

i have real actor friends who go on real actor auditions.

i'm gonna be like them.

when i get real headshots on MONDAY! WOOO.

tarantula.

yeah, bob dylan wrote a book called that. 

the published published a little something in the beginning. i found this at the end.

"poets & writers tell us how we feel by telling us how they feel. they find ways to express the inexpressible. sometimes they tell the truth and sometimes they lie to us to keep our hearts from breaking."

the truth. how i see it.

she wasn't a lion. or anything. but she sat alone picking at her nails on a humble bumbling brook within a tattered dream below the sinking sea amongst the unfriendly. following the trip and falling into the dangerous flowers within a field of concrete. she picked the finest color to dress her naked face and impressed the hobblers walking by. she threw the stones she caught from the hurlers who were hurt and dirty. she had made bananas out of their egos. but then one had come along and told her his was already made of chocolate. because she hated peanut butter.

my contacts are dry.

from all the tears.

today,

was felt.

it was born in the morning,

grew in the subway:

exploded in the hallway 

& released in a meisner scene. 

i made sergei cry. 

i wiped my eyes and my black mascara

stained my hand.

it won't wipe off. 

no matter how many times i wash.

i want to die hereafter. 

but i can't. 

my candle isn't out. 

stand clear of the closing doors.

hands trembling with guilt. 

they close.

picks up the pain: turns and goes.

this is not see you later.

one more stare with a different tension.

hands trembling with guilt. this is new. 

nothing to say. no words at least.

could have. should have. didn't.

could have. shouldn't have. did.

something went missing.

childhood dreams.

you know how they say your childhood is when you are the most honest?

when i was a child, i never saw a husband.

i dreamed about the wedding. but when the future came around.

i was always a single mom.

i write myself. for myself.

the reasons are (sometimes) forgotten when inspiration threads from a spindle

and draws blood from a self-inflicted prick 
of my ring finger

only i don't fall asleep. 

but something in me dies. 
and i could cry when i feel 

nothing

while desperately searching for,not the words,
but the something.


when i need the words the most, they leave me too (after the meaning).

and i'm left alone
to find the hope within
my own heart. 

i am lost within myself.

alice in wonderland.

i've started typing things backwards. i think about them in the correct order in my head and then i type them (with ease) backwards. i was searching for a quote by jack kerouac...and i type kacj acuorek in google without thinking. i'm not sure what that means. 

the more artistic i become, the more i see things: backwards.

there's a new girl named alice in our class. she proved herself in our first class of the second semester.

we had to sing for bela's class. first, we had to stand in front of the class and let everyone "look at us" we made eye contact a few times and then said our full names.

then our nick names or what we go by. 

then we had to sing. 

everyone sounded beautiful, especially stefanie.

annie & greg always sing loudly. we know they have good voices. but stef, well she pulls a james dean and sits there listening. i've heard her singing softly to herself sometimes and i always knew she could sing. but nobody else could.

and goddamn, she got up there and belted. 

"wow." everyone was totally impressed. she's very humble and modest. i really admire the fact that she doesn't feel the need to tell everyone everything. she keeps things to herself but happily shares when the time is right. 

i think it's more meaningful that way. 

but me, well, i gotta blog or ill lose my mind. or find it. 

i want to see what you see.

pink horizons in the middle of the night...

 and thousands of shadows

dressed in tacky white suits

standing on the tops of buildings in time square. 

not asking for anything. 

there's a mirage of green drops 

where tears should be.

but instead there's a smile.

because they can feel what you feel. 

you see

blinking lights on a parking garage at 4 am 

and full illumination in the building next to it.

i see

one light.

and an empty, dark apartment building. 

if only it was that simple.

i found 16 dollars the other day on the ground.

two weeks before i found a phone, i noticed because it was pink. i texted someone and the owner called, picked it up and gave me ten dollars. i didn't even want it.

the same day, a couple tipped me 5 dollars at south pacific. 

i got paid for being lucky, doing what i felt was right and smiling.

sdrawkcab

let's take a walk. b a c k w a r d s. on a beat.

but forward in time. 

one foot behind the other. 
& if you fall:
at least
it won't be on your face.

because odds are, no one 
will be there
to catch you. 

unless you dare to hope 
& try your luck
and ignore that voice 
in your head saying,

"perhaps it's best to keep your balance."

a conversation.

the artist turned to the man and said,

"i am a historian. not only of facts, but of feelings. i study people on a daily basis. i have the curiosity of a child and the determination of a lion. i am an innovator of day dreams and a philosopher of humanity.  i only lie for art's sake. i understand that envy leads to competition and instead choose admiration which gives life to wild inspirations. yet i am never satisfied. the flame within my soul occasionally smolders but never dies. i discover and create. and even on my worst days, when i feel as if i should put an end to myself, i am still more alive than you will ever be." 

found this...

the more i learned, the more i lost. 

hacked onto my old livejournal. i have no idea how i twisted so many words into such pretty sentences. all the poetry i wrote in high school. college really screwed me up. damn conformity! 

but i found it again & that's all that matters.

here's a throw back . courtesy of mi abuelo.

yo sueno que eyes un sueno

la realidad siempre es triste

el amoe solo es risueno

cuando solo en sueno existe

es como el eco distante

de alguna dicha lejana

como la voz de una amante

que fue tambien nuestra hermana

pero hay estas a mi lato

tu curaras esta herida

de las ruinas del pasado

surgira la nueva vida..

hmm....la nueva vida. yeah. that's how i'm feeling. 

what happened to..."you're an adult"

granted i'm not financially independent, which i pretty much have strived for because i'm sick of feeling bad for disrespecting someone for things i'm actually allowed to do.

first of all, there was no vodka. 

second of all, didn't even know he drank.

third of all and most important, i am completely insulted that you think that image could be burned out of my head for one second. 

sure, i was only five years old but i remember crying and screaming for it to stop. why would i want that to happen to anyone else? i'm home for barely 24 hours.  i want to spend time with people. god forbid i have a few drinks. 

bottom line. don't tell me what to do. sure, give me advice. but don't ever tell me what to do. 

so i was just in an elevator with broadway superstars?

yes. 

i've recently been working as a seller for the merchandising company i intern for. i work at south pacific & in the heights. nobody told me south pacific was 3 hours long, and at in the heights...everyone speaks spanish & me and my new friend/doorman winston have joined forced to sell tons of merchandise at walk in.

example.

winston: GET YOUR IN THE HEIGHTS MERCHANDISE! BEST MUSIC YOU'LL EVER HEAR!!!

me: YOU CAN LISTEN TO IT IN THE SHOWER, AT THE GYM, BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP.

then people laugh. and buy things? 

thus i prefer in the heights. anyway.

im reading this book right? and it says you should surround yourself with working actors because it will inspire you to do better. 

the actor who plays the father (rick) in "in the heights" always jokes with us. The other day he came over to buy a t-shirt for his niece. i said, "COULD YOU SING SOMETHING TO ME?" rodrigo, my fellow seller, looked at me like i was a complete weirdo...which i am..so nothing new. and rick looks at me, smiles and says "what do you wanna hear?" 

last night, i was in the elevator going backstage of happiness, the new musical at lincoln center, to get some more whimsical south pacific merchandise. i enter the elevator with a bunch of other people and one guy turns to me and says,

 "look at all this merchandise"

"yeah, you can have it. i don't really care." says i.

"no no i'd rather have it from my own show."

(i assume he's in happiness)

*two old ladies enter the elevator*

"OH MY GOODNESS! YOU ALL WERE AMAZING IN THE SHOW TONIGHT!"

"thank you." says they.

(i assume they're all in happiness)

*the elevator has become crowded and my new friend kinda pushes against me by accident*

"I just met you." i joke.

"yes. i know. it only gets worse." he jokes.

apparently he was in young frankenstein and all the other people in the elevator had numerous notches on the old broadway belt.

i didn't feel out of place. it made me think. "these people are totally normal, they're almost like me. this isn't out of reach!" i could totally own a broadway belt. 

i got star struck eariler in the day though. Stephen and I were in charge of setting up "Waiting for Godot" Merchandise. So, we went early...i walked into the theatre to get the merchandise from storage....and there is Nathan Lane just rehearsing. I stood there and stared. THEN JOHN GOODMAN CAME OUT LATER AND I REALLY WANTED TO HUG HIM BECAUSE HE LOOKED LIKE SANTA CLAUS. 

and sometimes, when i see Joanna Gleason I might forget to breathe for a second.

I hope I do that to someone one day. 

hello manhattan.

i've made about 20 million new actor friends this week from working In The Heights & South Pacific. and had someone to come home to. I want to write, but it's one of those days. 

stupid rain. 

in regards to my present.

you know. i don't tell everyone these things. 

i couldn't possibly let my ego down for that long.

i like to think (pretend) that i had control.

but when i step outside the glass bowl

& look back at it.

i 

want

 to

 smash 

it. 

into a million little pieces 

so maybe i'll forget 

that i could ever let myself 

go (by holding myself in)

and maybe i could just 

take a deep breath

& release that terrible feeling

into the floor. 

i don't tell everyone these things. 

don't mistake that for repression

(that's the only thing i'm holding back now)

i just choose where it's released. 

and things like this,

well, i don't tell everyone these things. 

"no thanks. i have a boyfriend."

i just got home from a party and didn't even get drunk. amazing. 

i networked with so many people from my school. 

only one creeper hit on me, so i went on and on AND ON about my boyfriend until he went away.

great job me. 

today was a good day. acting technique was eh today ..morgan was angry. it was hilarious. because when she's angry- she is vicious. 

shakespeare went well, david vando talks loudly for no reason. it's really fun times. i was type cast as Lady Macbeth...he told me not to take it personally.

acting for film- we got to read with steve today. i did well. 

if you're an actor, you know that feeling....that feeling where you let yourself go completely and get lost in the character & when you've finished your breath is a bit heavier and you aren't quite sure what you just did. my ability (to let myself go completely) is getting so much stronger and i can feel it. i can surrender to the character. 

today in acting for film, it felt so natural. I wasn't thinking- i let go. i listen to what bob tells me. I take direction well. and i've gained an awareness of the camera and my body and those subtle movements that people can read so much from. 

i had a consultation with my voice and movement teacher the other day and we mostly practice the monologue with voice exercises aka it sounds mechanical and strange. I had some worries that I wouldn't be able to act while keeping the support in my voice (it's much harder to let go when you're thinking so damn much) but she told me to just give it a try.

so i started...

"I don't know. I don't know what the problem is. I've been trying to write about the city, you know, my experiences here. Then I decided to write a love story, but that's not working out either. My hero sounds more like a clothing store dummy than a real live human being, and, from what I hear, editors aren't fond of black-mustachioed figures nowadays. I've been fighting with him for a week now, the stubborn mule. He won't make love to my heroine. He refuses. I've tried to put red blood in his veins, but the two of them just won't get together- they're as far apart as the day I sat down to write. I'm at my wit's end. I've bitten off nearly half of my fingernails-look-see? There's nothing wrong with my heroine- I'm sre of that. She's a fascinating, mysterious, graceful creature, full of wit and passion and adventure, but not once has he clasped her to him fiercely or pressed his lips to her hair, her eyes, her cheeks. He hasn't even had the guts to "devour her with his gaze" as us writers like to say. This morning I thought he might be showing some signs of life. He was developing possibilites. But nothing came of it. He wimped out. That's why I decided to wash my hair and come out here- to get away from him for a little while. Back home? I taught school-and hated it. But I kept on teaching until I 'd saved five hundred dollars. All the other girls teach until they've saved five hundred dollars- then they pack two suit cases and go to Europe for the summer. But I saved my five hundred for New York. I've been here six months now, and the five hundred has shrunk to almost nothing, and if I don't break into the magazines pretty soon... Then, I'll have to go back and teach thirty-seven young devils that six times five is thirty, put down the naught and carry six, that a rhetorical question requires no answer, and that the French are a gay people fond of light wines and dancing. But I'll scrimp on everything from hair pins to shoes, and back again until I've saved up another five hundred, and then I'll try it all over again because-I-can-write. I'm going to make it! I'm going to make this town count me as the four million and oneth! Sometimes I get so tired of being nobody at all, with not even enough cleverness to wrest a living from this big city, that I want to stand out at the end of the curb and just scream! Take off my hat, and wave, and shout, "HEY YOU FOUR MILLION SELF-ABSORBED, UNCARING PEOPLE, I'm Mary Louise Moss, from Escanaba, Michigan, and I like your town, and i want to stay here! Won't you please pay some attention to me! Just a little bit!" No one even knows I'm here except...well...myself and the rent collector."

By the time I was finished...there were tears in my eyes.

and they weren't mine, they were Mary's. 

what love means.

i should write a post about how greg and adrian broke a huge window during meisner today and the fire dept had to come. but instead...this.

love is any number of emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection & attachment. The word love can refer to a variety of different feelings, states and attitudes ranging from generic pleasure to intense interpersonal attraction. Love is not a single feeling but an emotion built from two or more feelings. 

lust is the initial passionate sexual desire that promotes mating and involves the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone & estrogen. These effects rarely last more than a few weeks. Attraction is the more individualized and romantic desire for a specific candidate for mating, which develops out of lust as commitment to an individual mate forms. Recent studies in neuroscience have indicted that as people fall in love, the brain consistently releases a certain set of chemicals, including pheromones, dopamine, nor-epinephrine and serotonin which  act in a manner similar to amphetamines stimulating the brain's pleasure center and leading to side effects such as increased heart rate, loss of appetite & sleep and an intense feeling of excitement. Research has indicated that this stage generally lasts from one & a half to three years.

since lust and attraction stages are both considered temporary, a third stage is needed to account for long-term relationships. Attachment is the bonding that promotes relationships lasting for many years and even decades. It has been linked to higher levels of the chemicals oxytocin and vasopressin to a greater degree than short-term relationships have.

thank you science.

saving account time.

i just did my laundry. realized something: i wear a  lot of black.  it's funny. all my clothes are black or some other dark looking color. 

but my underwear... completely different story. 

it's like a goddamn victoria's secret rainbow. 

i need more coral in my life. but i can't spend money on clothes now. 

just food. travel. and well, laundry. 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

first an introduction (of course) or

maybe an attention getter

but there was none to be gotten for it 

was written

in my eyes 

that they were lost 

within yours. 

then

"1

 2

 3"

i feel. 

and the tears fall 

without drowning 

the contact (between us)

"hey guy, GO KILL YOURSELF!!!"

, a drunken adam screamed out the window of my white 95 honda civic while an equally intoxicated alex spoke very loudly on the phone. 

i was DD friday night. i thought it was going to blow, i thought wrong. 

i should go to sleep...ill edit this later.

i wanna ask you...

..... do you ever sit and wonder?

its so strange that we could be together for 

so long and never know, never care 

what goes on in the other one's head

things i felt but never said

you said things i never said so

i'll say something that i should have said long ago

you don't know me. you don't know me at all.

you could have just propped me up on the table 

like a mannequin 

or a cardboard stand up & paint me

any face that you wanted to be seen with.

damned by the existential moment

where we saw the couple in the coma 

& it was we who were the cliche 

but we carried on anyway

so sure i can just close my eyes

yeah sure, trace & memorize 

but can you go back once you know

you don't know me. you don't know me at all.

if im the person that you think i am 

clueless chump you seem to think i am

so easily led astray 

an errant dog who occasionally escapes & needs a shorter leash.

why the fuck would you want me back?

maybe it's because 

you don't know me at all.

if you ever think you can adore someone, go for it...

Today was a good day. Work was fun-filled with organizing & what not. I didn't get to see God of Carnage because the matinee was cancelled. Grr and class made me angry. We had a Meisner sub & I've decided I do not want to be friends with him. THEN I had a sad time while eating dinner because of things I can't control. But then, I tried to take my mind off it and took Gabe out with Morgan & Stefanie. We went to Union Bar...had some drinks...ended up at The Ritz (Super Gay Bar!) on 46th and danced until 3am. Gay bars are awesome because nobody hits on you!! Yay for gay men! Then we subwayed our way home for an hour & I got in bed at 4:30ish. Made the conscious decision to sleep in my clothes & wear them to work the next day. I was on time. Figures. The day I actually go out I'm on time right? Hah. 

Anyway, saw Impressionism today. GREATNESS. It was a little slow in the beginning, but it really picked up. It was very funny but also had a lot of symbolism within the piece. I won't ruin it for anyone but it's definitely worth seeing. 

Joan Allen is definitely a physical actor. Her body was moving everywhere. Hands flying in the air, her face was constantly drenched in emotion, projected her voice, exaggerated movement. It took me a bit to give into her character. 

Jeremy Irons on the other hand. His face was calm except when he felt a need to smirk, laugh or convey expression. His movements were simple. His voice was casual (he said "PRO-cess" HAH BECAUSE HE'S ENGLISH). Sometimes he said his lines together really quickly like he was actually speaking the words for the first time. I believed him right away. 

They had an interesting dynamic between their different techniques. It really added to the relationship between characters.

Since my boss, Matt, is producing the show we had the chance for complimentary tickets. He was in the playbill. Cool.

Working at Matt Murphy Productions, we have the amazing privilege of free water. Now, I love water. Drink it all the time. perhaps a little too much. We ran out of it quickly & when I asked Matt where my tickets were for tonight...

"Interns who drink too much water sit in mezzanine."

That didn't bother me. When we got there, Gabe & I were holding Orchestra Comp tickets and were led past red velvet curtains, three rows away from the stage. 

The tickets go for $116 dollars a pop. I get them for free. What an amazing opportunity especially being an actor. I thought about myself a year ago & I could never imagine doing the things I'm doing right now. It just keeps getting better regardless if I can't see that all the time. 

I think I just need to open my eyes a little more often. 

say it loud, and there's music playing...

"omg! you're going to hate it so much!"

is what Nick said to me when I told everyone at work that I was going to see West Side Story tonight. He also told me that they had translated "I Feel Pretty" y "A Boy Like That" into Spanish. They also set it in the current time which takes away a lot of the tension around a multicultural relationship. "It's like they had a meeting and said 'ok, you do costumes, you do set, you do music...' and then never met again."

what follows are my thoughts on it...

LOVE LOVE LOVED the dancing! some of the moves weren't as um, "tough" as i would have liked them for the opening scene but i let that slide when i saw how amazing the dance scene between the puerto ricans & italians was in "Mambo". 

then when tony & maria first meet and dance together. the first thing i thought was "don't do it girl, i know how it ends." all i kept thinking about was how sad she's going to be when he dies. 

but she does it anyway of course because she doesn't know how much of a bad idea it really is. 

and then he goes to her room late at night...and tells her he loves her. "aren't you going to say it back? you've gotta say it back..." 

he starts to walk away. she calls him back three times...everytime i tense up waiting for her to say it. 

she doesn't say it until she asks what tony stands for.

"anton."

"te adoro, anton."

tingly, gay feeling. 

that's when i decided this was pretty okay. then they had this little ginger boy come out during "somewhere" and sing. i don't know if he was suppose to be their love child or what but it was awk. 

even though i knew it was coming. i gasped when chino shot tony. they way they set it up was so quick.

tony thinks maria's dead. he goes looking for chino saying, "why don't you finish me off too?" 

he sees maria...runs to her....BANG!...chino comes outta nowhere and shoots him. 

tears running down my cheeks. then i was embarrassed so i wiped them away. 

gabe really liked it, he's staying with me for spring break. we both found it especially funny that they added "he's an asshole" to "A Boy Like That." 

God of Carnage tomorrow courtesy of NYFA. Free tickets are amazing. Then Impressionism on Thursday (thanks to my job!). 

2nd time's a charm.

no class friday. fabulous weekend. i hope it stays warm. 

brian invited me to his wedding. = ) 

it's funny. 

when you're young, you go to kid's birthday shindigs.

chuck e. cheese, burger king, bowling parties. 

then your sophomore/junior year of high school consists of sweet 16s or bar mitzvahs.

when you graduate, all your summer weekends are booked with graduation parties. 

& if you haven't sipped your way into alcoholism by now, 

well then bar tours and 21st's will be sure to help you along.

I, my friends, have graduated to weddings. 

I hope I don't make it to funerals. 

a flap folded back in a book...

"Wait. Let me finish. You could ask, why not kill myself then. Because I love you. Because you exist. That alone is so much that it won't allow me to die. And since I must be alive in order to know that you are, I will live in the world as it is, in the manner of life it demands. Not halfway, but completely. Not pleading and running from it, but walking out to meet it, beating it to the pain & ugliness, being first to choose the worst it can do to me. And only within my own mind, only where nothing can touch it, kept sacred by the protecting wall of my own degradation, there will be the thought of you, and i shall say 'Howard Roark' to myself once in a while, and I shall feel I have deserved to sat it."

She stood before him, her face raised; her lips were not drawn, but closed softly, yet the shape of her mouth was too definite on her face, a shape of pain and tenderness, and resignation. 

"Dominique, if I told you now...to forget the world and my struggle...to feel no answer, no concern, no hope- just to exist for me, for my own need of you-as my wife-as my property...?"

He saw in her face what she had seen in his when she told him of her marriage; but he was not frightened and he watched her calmly. After a while, she answered and the words did not come from her lips, but as if her lips were forced to gather the sounds from the outside. 

"I'd obey you."

"Now you see why I won't do it. I won't try to stop you. I love you, Dominique."

She closed her eyes, and he said:

"You'd rather not hear it now? But I want you to hear it. We never need to say anything to each other when we're together. This is- for the time when we won't be together. I love you, Dominique. As selfishly as the fact that I exist. As selfishly as my lungs breathe air. I breathe for my own necessity, for the fuel of my body, for my survival. I've given you, not my sacrifice or my pity, but my ego and my naked need. This is the only way you can wish to be loved. This is the only way I can want you to love me. If you married me now, I would become your whole existence. But i would not want you then. You would not want yourself- and so you would not love me long. To say 'I love you' one must know first how to say the 'I.' The kind of surrender I could have from you now would give me nothing but an empty hulk. If I demanded it, I'd destroy you. That's why I won't stop you. I'll let you go. I don't know how I'll live through tonight, but I will. I want you whole, as I am, as you'll remain in the battle you've chosen. A battle is never self-less."

She heard, in the measured tension of his words, that it was harder for him to speak them than for her to listen. So she listened.

"You must learn not to be afraid of the world. Not to be held by it as you are now. Never to be hurt by it as you were in that courtroom. I must let you learn it. I can't help you. You must find your own way. When you have, you'll come back to me. They won't destroy me, Dominique. And they won't destroy you. You'll win, because you've chosen the hardest way of fighting for your freedom from the world. I'll wait for you. I love you. I'm saying this now for all the years we'll have to wait. I love you, Dominique."

Then he kissed her and let her go.

dream...

i was someplace busy outside. new york city sidewalk. people were talking about the difference between men and women. i don't remember much of that.

i remember a man coming up to me. wearing a black trench coat and a black hat. he had a red tie, blue eyes and dark brown hair. he was probably in his 50s or 60s. he explained the difference to me. then made me repeat.

him: what do you want right now? how do you feel?

me: hungry.

him: and what comes later?

me: time, money and fame.

him: what do you want now?

me: im hungry.

him: what comes later?

me: time, money...

both:...and fame. 

...

i love being happy and prepared. 

i do not love falling asleep by myself. 

: /

the last page of vanity fair.

my favorite virtue: my passion and curiosity. 

qualites i desire in a man: honesty (to others and himself), humor, laid-back/outgoing attitude & a bit of strangeness or abnormality that you can't quite put your finger on. someone who loves me for who i am...meaning when im a terrible mess or a glorious success. i didn't mean to make that rhyme. weird. he also needs to be sexy. of course. he respects me, even when we're fighting to the death. 

my favorite qualites in a woman: intution & openess.

what i appreciate the most in my friends: their freeness & creativity. and awkward senses of humor. 

my main fault: i was going to say arrogance but then i thought about it & i'm perfect. i don't know, my "constant sense of urgency." I think that just a side effect of my drive.

my favorite occupation: being. 

my idea of happiness: being able to get lost in someone else. never holding back. complete freedom. you know that scene in benjamin button (oh wait, you mean you fell asleep?) when ben and daisy are finally together at the right time & place. they buy that house and all they have is a mattress & a tv. i feel like they're by the beach, they might not be....but if it was me...we would be. the have that montage of them laughing and doing different things together. that seemed like happiness. i felt happy watching it. 

my idea of misery: losing my fire. releasing that chronic feeling of not wanting/needing to do anything. being completely satisfied. being trapped in a situation. being controlled by someone else. 

if not myself, who would i be?: mozart, cleopatra, katherine dunham, billie holiday, you.

where i would like to live: everywhere. i get bored.

my favorite color: i used to say blue because i think that's what everyone else said. but now i say that i have two. pink & black. 

my favorite author: i don't have a favorite author, only favorite books & plays. when i was younger i used to read a lot of edgar allen poe...maybe him.

my favorite poet: e.e. cummings, t.s. eliot, edgar allen poe & myself.

my favorite heroes in fiction: howard roark & aladin.

my favorite heroines in fiction: dominque francon & beatrice.

my favorite painters/composers: vincent van gogh. edvard munch. whoever painted that picture with the big yellow cat with the human nose.

hero in real life: my parentals. 

hero in world history: cleopatra

favorite names: rebecca, rose, victoria, jerzy. 

what i hate the most: intolerant people & being told what to do. i also hate when people are walking too close to me, strangers. especially men. creepy old men. or when im walking and i can see someone's shadow in front of mine. that really bugs me. and when people walk with their feet pointed outward. what the fuck is wrong with you. also people who take themselves too seriously make me want to punch them in the face. maybe that's my biggest fault? judging people. or maybe people just should stop doing things that piss me off. 

world history characters that i despise the most: i know there's someone, let me think about it.

military event i admire most: event? 

natural talent i would like to be gifted with: natural talent. i want to be able to belt out a song and really feel it. dance using every muscle in my body. draw whatever my heart desired.

how i wish to die: satisfied. 

what is your present state of mind: in love.

favorite motto: live to the point of tears. 

the difference between following and living.

a boy picked up a pen and wrote beautiful words

 for the whole world to judge. 

he erased and re wrote. 

he thought about it, really hard. 

when he was done, 

he didn't even feel a thing. 

or maybe he pretended to. 

she felt her words spill on the page leaving a mess behind of a picture only she could paint. sure, it was up for interpretation but she took that masterpiece and hung it in her room. anyone was welcome there. 

he drove to work.

she walked to school.

a boy woke up the same time everyday, 

showered and combed his hair 

with a black comb. he brushed 

his teeth then placed his toothbrush

in it's spot on the counter next to his hair gel.

she slept through her alarm, felt the sensation of the water against her body and the heavy wetness of her hair on her back. the mint bubble on her gums and let her toothbrush fall in the shower.

he swore by quotes and words

 "to live by" and pondered 

them throughout the day.

she wrote them and kept breathing. 

she doesn't deserve it.

i do.

i don't want to see it happen, is that selfish? 

i don't want to be there to see her cry. 

it makes me numb. 

side effects: headache, nausea, psychosis.

yes, it really said PSYCHOSIS. um. im taking this medicine and it's making me feel weird. not my kind of weird. someone else's kind of weird. i feel like my uterus is filled with strange things living inside of me and my teeth hurt every time i walk. it makes me fall asleep at 8pm. then i wake up and go back to normal (staying up until 2/3am). it's really uncomfortable to go to sleep too. i feel like i can't suck in my stomach and when i eat, it's a million times worse. 

i didn't eat until i got home at 7pm from my internship. you see, my stomach comes second to "time sensitivity."

there's a show called "Impressionism" that's opening on Saturday, thus I had to run around the world delivering things to investors and dropping off mirrors (stephen asked me 35 times which gave me the urge to break them all but stephen is cool and im on crazy medicine). I actually had fun though because running around manhattan beats the fuck out of sitting in front of a computer screen all day plus i had some crazy adventures along the way. 

"time sensitivity" was not apparent to me when matt asked me to bring a package to the post office that needed to be overnighted to california. the post office informed me that the zip code was not eligible for overnighting, but they could get it thursday morning. I said sure because what's a day? well, apparently a day is a big deal because matt asked me to go back and get the package then go to ups. who does returns at the post office? "oh yeah, you see i was having second thoughts on sending out that package. it just didn't fit right." 

don't worry, if you were wondering, our postal service is very hard at work. the package was gone within the 20 minutes it took me standing on line to ask. 

matt was really nice about it though. which surprised me because sometimes he talks to people like we're idiots. i don't think he does it on purpose because it evens it out with saying funny things. anyway, i ended up printing up a fed ex tag and grabbing those stupid mirrors to deliver them. though i clearly told everyone i was leaving, matt called me and told me that i should tell somebody when im going to leave. then he told me to do 6 other things, including to go ahead and grab a bite to eat which he quickly took back in a voicemail. i dropped off the mirrors and the guy was really nice to me. he spoke like he was in a hurry "we've been waiting for these! thank you so much!" but stood there like he wanted to chat. i was a little agitated so i hesitated on saying something clever like "wish i could have brought them sooner." he seemed really excited to see me, it made me feel kind of nice. 

i get back to the office and there's a package waiting to be delivered to an investor who lives on sutton place. i was excited because last time i had one of these packages it went to someone on the rich side of central park...well, the richer side. 

i finally get there.

TWO DOORMEN (which politely welcomed me as they opened the doors), marble floors, huge fresh flower arrangements, holy shit these people were rich. I dropped off the package with the gentleman at the front desk and as i was leaving, one of the doormen (the older one with a accent) said, "New York Film Academy?"

I told him that I was studying acting. He was excited that I wanted to be an actress and I told him he would see me in the movies one day. I think he thought I was a big deal because he made me feel like one. He looked kind of like a proud father, he had an accent like my dad actually and they were probably about the same age. When I went to turn away he continued the conversation, "What kind of films? Drama?"

I turned back to him and felt the impulse to open up but I didn't know if he would get it or why I would be telling a complete stranger my life dream and the reason behind it. i didn't have to, he already knew i wanted to be an actress. he didn't need to know why, i guess he saw the passion in my face and that intrigued him. 

i think he might have said good luck and i put my hand out and said "melissa." he pulled his glove off and shook my hand clearly taken aback. I walked back to the subway and laughed to myself. 

then are many more puppies with sweaters on sutton place. i couldn't help but look at them all and hold in my urge to "tuktutkatuakutkautkt" at them. but every once in awhile,  a person would catch my eye. this lady caught my eye. "that woman looks kind of arab" i thought to myself. she looked right back at me as we passed each other on the street. then she walked up to me and asked me a question. I didn't hear her because my ipod was on so I gave her a weird face which I thought meant "repeat please." apparently, she thought it meant "I don't speak English." She wasn't Arab, she seemed too relieved as she repeated her question in Spanish. 

"Fifty-sixth street is that way."

"Por alla?"

"Yup."

"Ay, Gracias."

when I got back around work, I studied how people walked. I tried to walk like them behind them.  I wonder if I made anyone laugh. 

the subway ride home was wonderful. there was a man playing songs and asking everyone in the car to tell him what they were. when he asked for donations he said, "i take hair weaves, i take college credit, i take jewish money..." everyone was smiling. when somebody got a hard song right he said, "YOU GODDAMN RIGHT LADY!" and when the mousey white girl next to me knew the black artist who sung the song he just played, he said "YOU BEEN HANGING AROUND BLACK PEOPLE HUH?"

then he played a song for everyone in the car and asked them to sing along..."EVEN THE WHITE PEOPLE."

he lost his job at Lehman's and had three kids. I bet he felt alive making people laugh like that. 

i know i would.

 

you know there's something out there. "a whole world", you said.

you aren't hopeless. 

though sometimes you might (not) feel (anything) 

it: until you control it  by your own hand. 

you aren't one of them, the hopeless don't have that power:

to end it all when they see fit. 

them, well, they only give up & in. 

on the life they thought they couldn't control

&

to the society they didn't choose. 

they think they're dead, so they become one with their thoughts.

they think they're alive, so they become what another wants them to be (the same). 

their hands aren't their own. 

you, my friend, are abstract and unyielding. 

"i don't understand how people live like that..."

you aren't hopeless.

you know there's something out there.

 "...a whole world", you said. 

you decide when football season is over. 

while they just sit and wait...

why i act...

on the first day of our acting technique class, our professor asked each of us why we acted.

a lot of people said they liked acting because they could get away from themselves for a little while, like an escape, and just be someone else. 

i never agreed with that. that's not why i do it. acting makes me feel more of myself than anything else. i do it because it makes me feel alive. i lose myself in another character, but it's my body that i use to release the expresssion. 

he loves children...get it?

"children. i love children." 

this is what billy said when Heidi, our voice & movement teacher, asked us to come up in front of the class and talk about one thing we are passionate about other than theatre. 

everyone else said something like music, but not billy. billy said "My name is William Koffing and I am passionate about...children."

billy's getting married on saturday, so we decided to throw him a bachelor party. every party needs a theme...therefore alex and i came up with the wonderful theme of pedophiles. 

we bought baby shaped decorations and alex put up pictures of children with disturbing quotes. 

billy loved it. 

no sleep til...brooklyn?

so i have not yet gone to sleep. it's fine. i feel awesome. i drank some tea to make sure i don't crash during my internship. mmmmm. caffeine. my bank account is overdrawn, gotta deposit the $20 billy gave me for agreeing to watch his gats*to try to avoid the late fee. he's getting married this weekend, his bachelor party is tomorrow. it is going to be the weirdest affair ever. i promise.

however, this week is turning out to be pretty terrible. i'm not sure why i'm not fully depressed yet. THON is this weekend at Penn State and I know that one of my old residents was totally into it. She had to leave last semester because she was diagnosed with leukemia. i checked up on her once in awhile and i went to go write on her wall. she passed away last week. they said she went peacefully. she was never depressed when i talked to her about her illness. she was always saying "i'll be back...i'll be back soon...just taking a break." 

RIP Jillian. <3

*gat (noun): abbreviation of the spanish word "gato" meaning cat in English. 

two roses & a phone call.

i went in the old freight elevator again. it doesn't have a number 13. i only noticed because it's my birthday number. i had went to look for it and low and behold 11, 12....14? people thought it was unlucky and decided to omit it rather than run the risk of not being able to rent out that floor. i googled it and apparently they sometimes used the letter "m" instead of 13 because "m" is the 13th letter in the alphabet. my name is melissa and i was born on the 13th. but there's no such thing as luck, remember?

well, maybe there is. in the case of the number 13.

this past friday was the 13th, which i completely failed to realize until now. my mom had been having some minor issues which a simple surgery could fix. she was all set to get it done on the 13th. i spoke to her that day and said i would call her on valentines day when she got home. i went to spend the weekend at adams. i didn't want to see my mom in the hospital because, well, i don't like seeing her weak and it was a routine procedure anyway. 

adam gave me two roses. i felt like a real girl. two is my favorite number you know. wow, i just realized that. i wonder if he did that on purpose. he also gave me the chance to lose the lottery for the first time, which i did...twice. it was awesome nonetheless. 

so the 14th rolls around and my mom calls me. that was weird, because she knew i was going to call her in the afternoon. she sounded terrible. i wasn't sure why she was calling me and not my dad or if you're even allowed to use a cell phone while lying in a hospital bed. i almost started crying. her voice was crackly and i couldn't completely understand her. i thought i heard her say that she was going home monday. "monday? why monday?" they needed to do a few more things because during the operation, they found cancer. i felt my throat tighten and my hands started to tremble as i struggled to understand what she was saying. they had found cancer in her uterus and the treatment for it included the procedure she just underwent. then she talked about how when she got better we could go see shows in the city and all these different things. i didn't want her to hear me crying (she probably knew anyway because mom's always know). after we hung up. i sat there, i may have still been trembling. i was staring straight at the wall in front of me next to adam's closet door. i felt tears run down my cheek. 

sure i'm an actress but there's something very intimate about crying in front of a person for the first time. at least for me. this was a different cry though, this was a "what if my mother isn't there for my wedding or my first child" cry. the "what if" cry is what a cry is always seen as: something sad. 

and it was sad. i don't think he liked it very much. i'm not so sure i would have been able to make myself feel better if i was in brooklyn when i got the news. i'm not so sure i would have been able to hold myself together for patrick and my dad if i was at the hospital with them when the doctor came out. but i wasn't in brooklyn and i wasn't at the hospital. i was there. i wasn't expected to be strong for anyone and i wasn't allowed to stay in bed and sleep all day. and the day went on. 

i called my dad today (i was a bit worried because he hates hospitals) but my mom answered. "where's poppa?" 

"oh he's outside having a smoke." 

 she sounded a lot better when she told me that they had taken everything out and the doctor was going to run some tests. we'll find out next week what stage it's in. 

the doctor seemed pretty positive, apparently he saw the cancer while they were doing the procedure and called in the oncologist. i wonder if he told her she was lucky. 

when you have money, you spend it. when you don't, you don't.

still trying to grasp that concept. 

anyway, today was a good day because i realized how much i like my internship because everyone is an actor (well the majority) and they are all friendly and funny and laid back. today, nick brought us a valentine's day game and some banana bread cake. 

now if you know me, you know i only eat fruit in it's natural form. and bananas DO NOT come in bread form. but i felt it would be rude to not eat it after he spent his hard earned broadway show producing money to purchase it. i came to a conclusion. maybe bananas should come in bread form. it was quite delicious. it was much like my experience with rice pudding. 

now if you know me, you know i don't eat foods with the consistency of throw up. but adam brought some up to his room and i made the sad face while i watched him eat it. then he said, "have you ever tried it?" and i said "of course not". so then i tried a little bit. and it kinda wasn't bad. then i ate half of his bowl. the rice pudding, not the bowl. yeah.....

anyway, i've started a pattern. on purpose. well, not on purpose. it was my intuition to say "now if you know me" and then go back to "anyway" but i almost didn't do it. you know why, because it's probably not the best way to write but fuck it. 

I had a revelation walking to the subway from work on tuesday. earlier in the day, i didn't know which way to turn to go to work (i'm too stubborn to ask for directions in a city i've lived near my entire life) and my intuition told me to go right. but then i stopped and thought about it then walked left instead. only to find out that i should have walked right. 

i've always been lucky and things have always just seemed to fall into place for me. i think it always stuck around because i never actually relied on it. it just kept me from feeling anxious because i knew somehow, everything would work out. that started to fade, especially during college. things still somewhat fell into place but sometimes they had to be forced to fit. 

i stopped trying to force them. and shit kind of just fell into place again. i stopped thinking and followed my intuition again. thus my revelation is this:

there's no such thing as luck: only intuition. 

and the quotes go on...

i do this thing where i write down all the hilarious things i hear in class from both classmates and professors. Mostly, James Price quotes (he's my Miesner teacher). Sergei & Adrian also provide me with some good material as well. Let's reminisce.

DURING REPETITION (LOST IN TRANSLATION):

Billy vs. Sergei

B:"You have a nice face."

S:"I know I have a nice face."

B: "You know you have a nice face."

S: "I know I have a nice face."

B: "You know you have a nice face."

S: "I know I have a fancy face."

B: "You know...you have...a fancy face?"

S: "Don't look daisy."

B: "What."

Some other time...

B: Getting Angry

S: Getting Angry

B: GET ANGRY!

S: WHAT ARE YOU? MY FUCKING DOCTOR?

"Your hair looks strange."

-James Price to Greg in the middle of explaining something else.

"Why would he be making a clarinet...out of a carrot?"

-James Price on Camillo bringing in a large carrot, hollowing it out and creating a clarinet for his difficult task during repetition and it's lack of reason.

"We can't go into an audition and play a carrot."

"You all, when your partner says 'Fuck You', you HAVE to stop taking it sexually."

-James on us.

"It was a soap holder...it was enamel. She's been to my apartment before, she should have known!"

-James on a gift he did not like. 

"She was ambivalent towards beards."

-James Price on recapping my answer to a 3 moment exercise. 

"Your making me feel very very frustrated....and....navigated?"

-Adrian, he meant to say aggravated. 

"If I didn't commit, I'd just be the guy holding the rubber." 

-Sergei...he was holding a yoga mat. 

"You suck ONE dick in college and..."

-Our acting for film teacher (Bob Goodman) to Alex

"It's 4am and your friends are dead."

-Text Analysis teacher on creating an environment 

"Some people like to kill people, some people like to open their mail on the floor...you twisted fuck."

- Bob 

"I forgot James Earl Jones was in this movie."

- Billy while watching the closing scene from Field of Dreams

"Um. He's kind of an important character."

-Alex's response

 And I shall leave you with not so funny ones,

"Don't be anything until something happens to make you do it. Because what you do doesn't depend on you, it depends on what the other person does to you."

"I can't know what I can't possibly know yet..."

-Mr. James Price

wind chimes.

right now. i feel happy. the kind of happiness that comes from a pure place. it's not a fake happy, it's not forced. it isn't the happiness you see in the movies or the kind you see in other people. it's personal and it's freeing. its smiling at something simple and laughing out loud when nothing funny happened. it's feeling romantic without candle light. its like the soft sound of silver wind chimes sliding past each other and touching ever so slightly. its the sunlight through your window on my face in the morning. the gargle of your snores that don't seem to bother me at all. it comes from the same place these words were born. without thought. just feeling. 

ps. i hate how eblogger is never accurate with my posting time. its 2:41am dammit.

me. myself. and i.

the search continues...

been looking through monologues, found one i do like but it's very short. check it out:

"you don't see it. you just don't see it. how can i possibly love you when you don't see it? you don't see anything! you don't see me, you don't see beauty, you don't see grace and goodness and hope.

when the moon shines down on the lake and the ripples in the water are delicately highlighted by the translucent light, and every single color shines in one magnificent streak of greatness, you don't see it.

and when i look at you , and my eyes are filled with so much pain that i can barely keep them open, you don't see it.

you don't see the sun, you don't see the way rain trickles down the glass and makes streaks so that it's almost impossible to distinguish a face on the opposite side.

why can't you see?! I can't love you if you close your eyes to the world- to the birds, the sky and the water- and the people who love you.

LOOK AT ME! WATCH ME! LOOK AT ME STAND HERE! LOOK AT ME WATCH YOU!

Look at me leave."


Thus the search continues. Kendrea is in Oklahoma for the week so I have the room to myself. Adam stayed for a few days. Now it's just me- dancing in my underwear, singing at the top of my lungs and searching for monologues. 

I'm also in a wedding party. Congrats Will & Michelle! 

2.2.09

My favorite day. The 2nd day of the 2nd month of the year.

Fabulous.

then i cried. hard.

Well, this week was fun times. I did awesome in my acting for film "moment" but not so well on Friday's scene. I went to Union Bar & Mansion the night before and got a matching bruise on my other knee.

Oh, where did I get the first bruise you ask? Let me provide you with some background information.

I started my internship this week. It is fabulous times and all the people who work there are really quite nice. It's located in the garment district so I'm surrounded by fabric stores and fashion designers. Only one elevator was working so this man (I guess he works there, I don't know) let everyone ride in his old fashioned elevator. It's so old that he can actually manually stop it at the floors he wants. Of course the beauty of it was slightly tarnished by the random cleaning supplies and tools but it was still beautiful. I asked him what the building used to be. Of course I was imagining some gorgeous apartment complex or hotel in a time when women wore their hair in pin curls and smoked cigarettes with those elegant holders. You know, that time when men wore hats, suspenders and shiny shoes on a daily basis.

"A factory! Every building was a factory! When people used to work hard, people don't work hard anymore."

Sigh. It was a nice thought.

Anyway, I had to go buy some fabric for a display at one of the Broadway shows we merchandise for and I had noticed eariler in the day that my right boot was slightly slippery. Anyone who knows me knows I walk a million miles per hour. so I was doing that as the don't walk hand kept flashing in my direction then I felt my right leg go a little too far forward and my left leg buckled and bent underneath me. I landed in a half split. I'm a graceful faller. I wasn't embarrassed. I never really am when I fall. I just got up and kept walking. My knee bruised the next day.

I fell over the rope at Mansion. My other knee bruised the next day, so I wore a dress that way everyone could see. Fun.

So I had been feeling shitty (emotionally) all day and my Acting for Film teacher noticed. I had started to cry when I was getting into character but I held it in when I was on camera. He didn't like that. I held onto it all day until my improv scene for Acting Technique. I had choosen "coming home from an affair." I got all these props: a ring, a wedding magazine, a picture frame, perfume. But all I did when I walked in...was cry. I walked in carrying some high heels- washed my make up off furiously in my fourth wall mirror then sat on my bed and thought. I thought about how shitty I would feel if I fucked up my situation now (though my character's situation was that she was newly engaged which makes the stakes higher). I lost it. I'm pretty good at fucking things up and I never was really one for relationships (at least being good at them) but I'm really trying this time. The thought of ruining it was killing me.

so i cried. hard. i cried like i used to cry when i was by myself. when i felt so depressed and didn't want to move. like that time i skipped class for a week. i haven't cried like that in awhile and i credit that to the people i've let into my life and reconnecting with the people who have always been in my life. i cried so hard that i actually started to feel it. the tightening of my throat, the screaming in my mind of "what the fuck is wrong with me?!", the extreme despair weighing down on my chest. I wiped my tears the way I did. I looked up the same way. Like looking at something you want so bad but can't have. I forgot I was in class and that everyone was staring at me. I forgot that maybe they wouldn't understand what my character was going through or that maybe they would thought I was just raped instead. I curled in a ball and hid under my blankets. Bela said "cut." And I laid there. She made me sit up, I think she could tell I was falling into too much and needed to be pulled out immediately. The class didn't look at me like i was crazy, they looked at me like i was human and they understood.

"I know she messed up, she's really upset she fucked something up."

"She had an affair."

I just exposed myself to these people completely. And I felt safe. I have never felt so close to a group of people in such a short period of time. Sure, I've had that feeling one-on-one but not with a group like this. I have never felt so alive.

I'm done now. I have a film shoot in the morning. Good Night.