i don't mind being invisible, i suppose, although both the idea of being such, and the means of our communicating, are both exceedingly unfamiliar to me.
i started reading "tender is the night" on a flight from new york the night before last. forgot the novel on the airplane. now what am i reading?
last night i had a nightmare that a man hurt my younger sister. i jumped awake and the girl next to me wanted to know what i was dreaming but i was too angry and sad to tell her. i hope tonight both of our dreams are nice; dreaming should be a tender retreat, like revisiting the thoughts and ideas that in wakefulness you thought pleasant but unfitting.
i'd like for you to post more. i like this place you've made. it's old and involved and it feels real and it echoes with your shifting mind. good luck with your show. i once saw a show that you directed, at lsu, and i didn't realize it was directed by you until many weeks after i saw it. then i wished that i had paid closer attention because i faintly knew some incomplete idea of you. the show was promenade. i thought that the guy that played the mayor was funny, and i found him one day in hatcher and asked him if he didn't mind replicating that funny way of speaking.
i'm well. i have a long drive in the morning, after a long drive today, and i have no decent reason to still be awake.
i shall post more, during a process of directing...i have dreams that are so vivid that im not sure if im awake or sleeping. my mom says i focus too much on dreams "everyone dreams..its just something that happens when you sleep, dont look into it too deep"
but i still am fascinated.
im glad you responded. im glad you're well.
promenade was my favorite show to develop...and zach, the mayor, was my favorite character as well. he has a beautiful imagination and his work ethic is uncomparable.
i'm stuck in an uncomfortable place and all of my technology is dying. i haven't slept in a few days, but i had a friend's coffee recently. she's worked at multiple coffee shops and was disappointed in the way that i drink coffee. she offered me a place in her bed but she is drunk. i don't know why i came to your livejournal. i think i was looking for a voice. yours carries.
i am fascinated by dreams as well. they're the only unmediated and memorable interactions that we get to have with our subconscious minds. whether or not you believe they offer insight, you get to see and feel what's "under the hood." that is singular. for me the moments before fully falling asleep are often prominent. i think of the things and the people that are significant to me and as i teeter on the uncertain ledge of wakefulness and sleep, i feel that i am with them. the realism is startling.
why do you want to know if i draw? do you want clues as to my identity, or something drawn? if you want to know who i am, then i wonder if it's sincere fascination, or egotism that drives your curiosity. after all, while i'm sure that writing the way you do here is cathartic, the medium is certainly egotistical; you think that your thoughts are worth being read by others. but then in that regard most art is egotistical. i like your journal, and i like your art. some egotism is warranted.
somewhere in this apartment a drunk girl is listening to an audiobook and turning in her bed like a door on its hinges. hours ago this was a party. i was trying not to get too drunk, and i wondered if you had responded to me.
fitzgerald and hemingway are two of my favorite authors. do you draw? draw me.
"egotistical"- people who disgust me. making a squished-nose, squinty-eye,look to the right gesture when continuing the thought.
thats why i stopped auditioning, my confidence just isnt sticking around long enough. it has become so difficult to stand in front of an audience and be 100%.
most days i feel 89% real, not opposite of fake. more like...not whole or breath-taking, or capturing the attention of walker-bys. its a nice feeling to receive attention, but i much rather people watch.
i asked if you drew...because i like to.
ive been dog-paddling in school papers all evening, but no time to draw. i have 50 theatre students and keeping track of their work...is almost more uncomfortable than dodging a drunk door.
but, of course, i would enjoy knowing who i speak to.
ive returned here, cause no one does. dont you like places that once had alot and then become quiet again.
i can come back here and see if ive grown...people watching. most of my long journals are saved documents in my laptop, written in white type with a white background.
i could try to draw you... youd obviously be facing away from the onlooker. i see dark blues. and gray-greens. a very symbolic scene it would be. doors, of course, surround you. and you hold a book. youd probably be reaching for a string that hangs above you. but you're calm.
there may be a pair of glasses on the empty ground, but definitely no coffee cups.
but most importantly...you are faced with a much older kinder woman who smiles back at you.
it's strange for me to imagine you lacking confidence. i feel like you have a "big" presence; commanding rooms without trying, speaking emphatically without opening your mouth. but i don't know, i just have ideas. you're a dark room to me. my ideas aside, it kills me that you don't audition anymore. i think sometimes we forget how amazing we are. we forget to see, in everything beautiful, suggestions of our own selves, heralded in the absolute symmetry of the world. i wish you'd remember. i would prefer your happiness over my own, i think.
i can't draw. i think that you could guess my art in a single try.
i am content to remain anonymous to you indefinitely. i don't really want that at all, but it is not without value to retain a nameless, faceless conversationalist toward whom you feel no obligation, nor any particular attachment. maybe i am what i am because one or both of us felt it was warranted. if the idea you have of me ever grows annoying or exhausting, you can delete my comments, and i'd just sort of waver and dissolve. i don't like overstaying my welcome.
it's impossible for me to say if you've grown. i think once this was a social thing for you, and it gradually morphed into something personal and abstract. the younger you seems fun-loving and curious and hungry for experience. over time you grew darker, like you mourned the loss of something i can't guess at. but periodically you seemed to stop and write because that day you remembered that life is overwhelmingly exquisite. what can renew you?
i'm glad you can see the doors that surround me, even without seeing my face. i feel you see me clearly, like a dream remembered, but with missing details. the book in my hand is navy blue and ancient; it is marquez's "100 years of solitude." i'm reaching for many things, though i don't understand the significance of a string. partly i am reaching for you. partly i am not.
i want to know who the woman is. it's all so sad and stately.
is it too late for a reappearance? has too much time passed?
who are you, anyway? and why do i come back here? do you know i am the same anonymous? i will listen interminably without knowing how or why. do you know, i never left? i've been here (doing something like waiting) for five long years. sometimes i think i see you places, but then--no, the nose is all wrong, the cheek bones are too low, the eyes too light; we see what we want to see.
tell me about your dreams, and i hope you're happy whatever you're doing.
Anonymous, I'm sorry if I gave a wrong impression of friendship. I do not know who you are. Your last message scared me more than flattered.
Who are you?
I'm sorry if I seem frantic; I just had a nightmare about someone stalking me because secretely they hated me. I had read your message a while back and it has kinda haunted me since.
i started reading "tender is the night" on a flight from new york the night before last. forgot the novel on the airplane. now what am i reading?
last night i had a nightmare that a man hurt my younger sister. i jumped awake and the girl next to me wanted to know what i was dreaming but i was too angry and sad to tell her. i hope tonight both of our dreams are nice; dreaming should be a tender retreat, like revisiting the thoughts and ideas that in wakefulness you thought pleasant but unfitting.
i'd like for you to post more. i like this place you've made. it's old and involved and it feels real and it echoes with your shifting mind. good luck with your show. i once saw a show that you directed, at lsu, and i didn't realize it was directed by you until many weeks after i saw it. then i wished that i had paid closer attention because i faintly knew some incomplete idea of you. the show was promenade. i thought that the guy that played the mayor was funny, and i found him one day in hatcher and asked him if he didn't mind replicating that funny way of speaking.
i'm well. i have a long drive in the morning, after a long drive today, and i have no decent reason to still be awake.
Reply
but i still am fascinated.
im glad you responded. im glad you're well.
promenade was my favorite show to develop...and zach, the mayor, was my favorite character as well. he has a beautiful imagination and his work ethic is uncomparable.
do you draw?
Reply
i am fascinated by dreams as well. they're the only unmediated and memorable interactions that we get to have with our subconscious minds. whether or not you believe they offer insight, you get to see and feel what's "under the hood." that is singular. for me the moments before fully falling asleep are often prominent. i think of the things and the people that are significant to me and as i teeter on the uncertain ledge of wakefulness and sleep, i feel that i am with them. the realism is startling.
why do you want to know if i draw? do you want clues as to my identity, or something drawn? if you want to know who i am, then i wonder if it's sincere fascination, or egotism that drives your curiosity. after all, while i'm sure that writing the way you do here is cathartic, the medium is certainly egotistical; you think that your thoughts are worth being read by others. but then in that regard most art is egotistical. i like your journal, and i like your art. some egotism is warranted.
somewhere in this apartment a drunk girl is listening to an audiobook and turning in her bed like a door on its hinges. hours ago this was a party. i was trying not to get too drunk, and i wondered if you had responded to me.
fitzgerald and hemingway are two of my favorite authors. do you draw? draw me.
Reply
"egotistical"- people who disgust me. making a squished-nose, squinty-eye,look to the right gesture when continuing the thought.
thats why i stopped auditioning, my confidence just isnt sticking around long enough. it has become so difficult to stand in front of an audience and be 100%.
most days i feel 89% real, not opposite of fake.
more like...not whole or breath-taking, or capturing the attention of walker-bys. its a nice feeling to receive attention, but i much rather people watch.
i asked if you drew...because i like to.
ive been dog-paddling in school papers all evening, but no time to draw. i have 50 theatre students and keeping track of their work...is almost more uncomfortable than dodging a drunk door.
but, of course, i would enjoy knowing who i speak to.
ive returned here, cause no one does.
dont you like places that once had alot and then become quiet again.
i can come back here and see if ive grown...people watching. most of my long journals are saved documents in my laptop, written in white type with a white background.
i could try to draw you... youd obviously be facing away from the onlooker. i see dark blues. and gray-greens. a very symbolic scene it would be. doors, of course, surround you. and you hold a book. youd probably be reaching for a string that hangs above you. but you're calm.
there may be a pair of glasses on the empty ground, but definitely no coffee cups.
but most importantly...you are faced with a much older kinder woman who smiles back at you.
this may be a painting one day
Reply
i can't draw. i think that you could guess my art in a single try.
i am content to remain anonymous to you indefinitely. i don't really want that at all, but it is not without value to retain a nameless, faceless conversationalist toward whom you feel no obligation, nor any particular attachment. maybe i am what i am because one or both of us felt it was warranted. if the idea you have of me ever grows annoying or exhausting, you can delete my comments, and i'd just sort of waver and dissolve. i don't like overstaying my welcome.
it's impossible for me to say if you've grown. i think once this was a social thing for you, and it gradually morphed into something personal and abstract. the younger you seems fun-loving and curious and hungry for experience. over time you grew darker, like you mourned the loss of something i can't guess at. but periodically you seemed to stop and write because that day you remembered that life is overwhelmingly exquisite. what can renew you?
i'm glad you can see the doors that surround me, even without seeing my face. i feel you see me clearly, like a dream remembered, but with missing details. the book in my hand is navy blue and ancient; it is marquez's "100 years of solitude." i'm reaching for many things, though i don't understand the significance of a string. partly i am reaching for you. partly i am not.
i want to know who the woman is. it's all so sad and stately.
Reply
fitzgerald reminds me of when i was 16.
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It seems that no one really wants to listen anymore
Reply
who are you, anyway? and why do i come back here? do you know i am the same anonymous? i will listen interminably without knowing how or why. do you know, i never left? i've been here (doing something like waiting) for five long years. sometimes i think i see you places, but then--no, the nose is all wrong, the cheek bones are too low, the eyes too light; we see what we want to see.
tell me about your dreams, and i hope you're happy whatever you're doing.
Reply
I'm sorry if I gave a wrong impression of friendship.
I do not know who you are.
Your last message scared me more than flattered.
Who are you?
I'm sorry if I seem frantic; I just had a nightmare about someone stalking me because secretely they hated me.
I had read your message a while back and it has kinda haunted me since.
Reply
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