Saturday, August 19, 2017

c.s. lewis, wordsmith

been reading a lot as of late. re-reading one of my dearest books: a severe mercy. reminded me of my once passionate love of all things c.s. lewis. so, in reading some of his work, and came across this beautiful quote:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

― C.S. LewisThe Four Loves

it sparked in me real joy. and real frustration. because real vulnerability is not something that comes easily, to me or anyone else. but vulnerability begets vulnerability. like all things worthy in life, it's a chicken versus the egg scenario. a catch 22.

and just like my chosen career path as an actor, writer, creative -- there is a catch 22.
and just like with all relationships -- there is a catch 22.

Monday, August 07, 2017

tired bones

My feet hurt, do yours?

We danced for a long, long time

But we love to dance

Friday, July 08, 2016

Full Episode HERE

"This is an American problem. Everyone is involved...You can't fix something until you admit that it's broken."

I can't say anything that hasn't already been said, but I can agree.

Our government is corroded from the inside out. Everything is affected by everything else. We can't have actual change until everything is addressed. We have a problem with the people who are charged to serve and protect; we have a problem with communities (both those who are physically more affected and those who turn a blind eye); we have a problem with family dynamics; we have a problem with schools/education; we have a problem with drugs, violence, rape violence, and guns. 

It's a problem that as a whole, we are a country so broken that pulling the trigger equates to just a regular walk in the park. It's cops killing citizens — it's citizens killing other citizens — it's politicians killing citizens. We have a problem with respecting life. 
So, I agree.

Tuesday, July 05, 2016

raison d'ĂȘtre.

College feels like a million miles away. It feels so far that it nearly feels like it didn't happen, or barely happened. I don't remember it. I didn't drink heavily. I didn't party hard. Sometimes I'm shocked by the amount of "doing" that I just didn't. I went to class; I auditioned for one play (and got so embarrassed by forgetting my monologue that I dropped out of the theater school entirely); I wrote for the Daily Iowan; I hosted a weekly radio show for three years on KRUI 89.7. I  called it "The Early Morning Airstrike."

Higher education — it's supposed to be this time of self-discovery, learning, adventure, finding out what you're good at, trying things — but I don't really think I did those overarching things. I was busy doing this and then that, creating friendships that when looked at closely these days aren't all that close (at least not anymore). Both of my college roommates ended up in Los Angeles post graduation, yet we seldom get together. It's no ones specific fault. We just lead different lives, have different interests, different priorities. We're different, after all. When I really think about it, it's unbelievable that we've made it this far because we are so different.

This time last year, I was just ending a sub-chapter back in a University setting. I was behind a desk, working in an office, watching students linger outside classrooms, skateboard past signs that say "No Skateboarding," and wear business suits as an assignment — And now a full year after that, I'm left wondering, where did it all go? Even if you're in the same decade, it's unbelievable how different a 20-year-old is from a 30-year-old. The incremental change each day of those 365 days from 29 to 30 hits you the day before your birthday. It isn't incremental at all. And now that I've hit this painful number, it feels like I've somehow moved further away from something rather than toward something else. I don't think I'll ever feel my age again. Maybe when I'm 80. By then my hips, knees and eyes won't let me skip past the truth like they do now.

I'm not old. I'm not. I'm really not. But, I feel old. I feel left behind. I have this overwhelming sense that my life is passing me by. I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Like I didn't just waste a couple decades. It seems that for most people their job is where they find their satisfaction, their reason to be, "raison d'ĂȘtre." And as a performer, it's tough to know that my career is somewhat in the hands of others. Yes, I can create my work — I can write for myself — I can join teams and perform shows, and so on, and on, and on; I can do all of these things, and that is amazing. But what does it matter if no one sees it. If no one thinks it's good enough to pay for. Where is my worth? I have so much control, but what is control anyway?

Google defines it as "the power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events." But this is only a half definition to me. Control can direct, sure, but when you're out of control there is also a direction, and it's not always down. The relationship between control and success is a lie.

I have so much less "control" than I think. I can do what I can to direct the course of my life, but life will do what it wants, and other people in their lives are doing the same, and my life will intersect with theirs, and there will be "right time and right place," and then the less popular, but more common, "wrong time and wrong place," followed by the confusing, "wrong time and right place," and then of course, the ever frustrating "right time and wrong place." If we're looking at life as a Punnett Square based on life situations: Time and Place as the main variables — "right time and right place" accounts for just 25 percent of what life hands you, the rest, darlings, is unfortunately 75 percent the mismatching of everything else. We cannot control time. So inevitably control is for nothing.

If I want to make any money at my creative craft, that alleged control I love to have so much, goes to the birds. Others write my paycheck. It's incredibly tough.

Where does that leave me?

It leaves time as the constant variable that won't allow itself to be controlled.





Willows

I like them when they fall down
like weeping willows
They’re crisp and together at the same time
as being
wispy, faint, there and then gone

Crackle down the barrel
of a gun
But not a gun gun.
A finger lost
A holiday to remember

I like them when they fall down
like bodies
like Tina Turner’s 80s hair
like everything and then nothing.

Happy Birthday America
You did it.

Friday, October 09, 2015

That Moment When...

This post is in response/coordinates with moments ago when I made a joke Tweet that started with the familiarly annoying "When you..." which is like those garbage sentences that read, "That moment when..." It's the start to a Tweet in which I read it and then just want to punch a person (Read: My mirror if it didn't cut my fingers up. They are delicate so that would be bad, so I don't and never have.)

Anyway, the Internet, gees.


Wednesday, July 29, 2015

summer violence.

when the sheets
crumble
beneath your sweating body
damp

ugh—
how gross is that word?

but that's all it—

you're cut off—

it's just a bit of moisture

sick, i said stop.

what?
...moisture?
moisture. moisture. moisture.

pushed to the ground
crumble
why don't you just buy a fan
you dumb motherfucker?