making cracks in the sidewalk so i have something to step over;
��������� �����the slow swelling, like a wound that needs to be lanced.low piano. christopher o'riley is inside of my computer on a very small instrument wheedling away radiohead's "let down" and meaning every note, with no pretention, no obfuscation -
then switch into something like dave matthews' "halloween," full of rage & wiry crackling vocals, like cellophane being crumpled into one fist ...
the broken-link picture at the top is beginning to irritate the hell from me. in general, my hackles are up. i am unresponsive to much of anything, regardless of who or what - a few people are still allowed inside this shield. it's my own sanity, i think, that allows for the presence - some very great cancelling force entering into my life recently, rendering blankface & shrug. i find myself needing, needing a connection so badly. stretching out for it, thinning myself to the ground, willing to trust this person, or that person - and then for one reason or another i just get so irritated by that person that i snap back and snap at them, like an untrustworthy rubber band wrapped 'round their forefinger & thumb.
angry like mars tonight, big & bloated and seething, but for no reason entirely. garrulous despair perches at the base of my sternum and presses down as hard as it can, wildly, and i feel the thrumming of it all the way down in my stomach. i become a muted theremin, a wavery human voice stilled due to frustration. it's not the tech for the show - that's going fine. i'm on top of things, or so it seems, and now i just want it to be done with. even before the actual productions. for some reason, i don't even care. i'm happy it's such a good show. i'm glad the actors are feeling it, that the tech is there (mostly: murphy the stupid lightboard ate all of michaela's glorious cues tonight, and we were not pleased - )
but i'm not feeling it. it may be because i'm removed from the situation - there's a few cues that i goddamn LOVE, like the one at the end of the birnam woods dance, with the green light going out and the white light spotted down on corey's upturned face, howling out his rage - and then, blackout. oh jesus, the instruments are like the end of holst's "mars" - low, shuddery drums. that cue makes my head hurt it's so great. i don't know what i'm feeling about it, though. for all the glory & splendour of it .. maybe it's that i'm so far into wanting to direct my own show now.
overwhelmed with weird thoughts & - oddly enough - debris from obsession thoughts of last year. good god, please, remove this redundancy. i'm on a strange yearly cycle that occurs ... isn't this when i began the ridiculousness of last year? i think it was, nearly to the day.
halloween / burial, burial, burial, burial
i wish to god that my doubt was a bus i could just pull the brake on and disembark into a new city of - confidence? my jaw is clenched tightly against the coming storm of wintering melancholia. i feel as though i'm going to fighting a huge battle ... what's inside of me? this hibernating worm that uncurls itself and begins to gnaw at the coarser fibres of my heart - i find myself shrinking inside, a twofered silence that grows in distaste - a huge wave of crushing acid reflux. ironically enough, heartburn creeps up on me, neon lighting the way up my oesophagus - i feel tragic, bentover. occasionally, disjunct from the world. maybe in my last life i was a tree. and this is why seasonally i find deficit in the temperature ...
just this immensity - i can't put words to it, in the shadow of a tidal wave - empty apartment rooms - abandoned skies with one wisp of shorn cloud - dangerous sunsets more & more grey every passing hour - arresting breath and the slow darkening of voicetone.
i wish i were drunk.
i've been smoking too much. i feel inhaled & exhaled all at once. 150 days of unrelent. the jealousy of a tender dark eye, the shifting, easy step, the way an article of clothing falls across a shoulderblade, a rough patch.
i'm waiting for - halloween, i guess. all hallows & saint's. try to stay away from anything - remarkably energy-siphoning. i don't want to be fragile. fucking --
moving on.