Take me or leave me
June 21st, Nine AM, Greenwich Mean Time (+8). From here on in, I shoot without a script. See if anything good comes of it. Instead of my old shit.
First shot -- blueREP, CTC 115. There was a voice, talking to me. I'd been trying to suppress it to one of my brain's deep recesses, but, as usual with these voices, I failed.
So, I did the audition. I was feigning confidence, nonchalance and bravery. It's hard to be three things at once. In fact, two more things too many for a room that echoes everything with good acoustics.
It went faster than the rain droplets did. Before I knew it, the screening was over. I walked out in a daze, paused, re-winded and replayed what just happened. I hope I didn't suck. Wait, no. I hope I didn't suck that bad.
I went past umbrellas, puddles, people. I didn't realize it was raining, I didn't realize I was getting wet, I didn't realize I was crossing the street. At that moment, they weren't real. With peripheral vision and motor skills, that's how I managed to stay uninjured.
I hadn't said anything. I didn't have anything to say, didn't have anyone to say it to. Not yet. Somehow, I ended up on the overpass - the one I wrote a really shitty first draft about - eating my cereal and carrying my Math book. I don't remember how I got to eating the cereal, I don't know why I bought the book. My mind has a way of knowing what I need, but it only does this with trivial things. If knew what (or who) I wanted, what I really needed, wow, I would be so much better off now.
I had to stop. I had stepped on a puddle, and my foot was soaked in (what I hoped to be) water. Fuck. Hello world, you win. I was conscious again.
--
It takes a ten minute audition to make me aware again... I ask myself where I am going. I don't know the answer. At least I asked, and maybe I can get somewhere.
I walk away alone, down the sidewalk, towards Jude, stumbling only a little from time to time. I zoom in and I see people from sometimes, walking the same chapter, awkwardly too.
--
This isn't a performance. Not yet. From what I've learned, I am trying to discover, trying to articulate. This is a feeble attempt at documenting life for that past few minutes. How I wish it was getting more like fiction each day. That way, it could follow a formula and I might just catch a happy ending.
First shot -- blueREP, CTC 115. There was a voice, talking to me. I'd been trying to suppress it to one of my brain's deep recesses, but, as usual with these voices, I failed.
So, I did the audition. I was feigning confidence, nonchalance and bravery. It's hard to be three things at once. In fact, two more things too many for a room that echoes everything with good acoustics.
It went faster than the rain droplets did. Before I knew it, the screening was over. I walked out in a daze, paused, re-winded and replayed what just happened. I hope I didn't suck. Wait, no. I hope I didn't suck that bad.
I went past umbrellas, puddles, people. I didn't realize it was raining, I didn't realize I was getting wet, I didn't realize I was crossing the street. At that moment, they weren't real. With peripheral vision and motor skills, that's how I managed to stay uninjured.
I hadn't said anything. I didn't have anything to say, didn't have anyone to say it to. Not yet. Somehow, I ended up on the overpass - the one I wrote a really shitty first draft about - eating my cereal and carrying my Math book. I don't remember how I got to eating the cereal, I don't know why I bought the book. My mind has a way of knowing what I need, but it only does this with trivial things. If knew what (or who) I wanted, what I really needed, wow, I would be so much better off now.
I had to stop. I had stepped on a puddle, and my foot was soaked in (what I hoped to be) water. Fuck. Hello world, you win. I was conscious again.
--
It takes a ten minute audition to make me aware again... I ask myself where I am going. I don't know the answer. At least I asked, and maybe I can get somewhere.
I walk away alone, down the sidewalk, towards Jude, stumbling only a little from time to time. I zoom in and I see people from sometimes, walking the same chapter, awkwardly too.
--
This isn't a performance. Not yet. From what I've learned, I am trying to discover, trying to articulate. This is a feeble attempt at documenting life for that past few minutes. How I wish it was getting more like fiction each day. That way, it could follow a formula and I might just catch a happy ending.