[561] Evacuation

I’m either too high or not high enough to hit you with what the opening line originally was.

I think a lot about acting. I think about how sometimes no matter how hard I look I don’t know if I can tell the difference between good and bad. I think about method acting. As if faking it real hard is as real or more real than faking it sorta. I think about what motivates an actor. Is there some deep relationship they have with life they feel better portraying verses actually living? Or is it much simpler? They want to be seen!

The person starving for the limelight wants every bit as much to be seen as the 19th assistant programmer wants to be listed on the credits with dozens of film studios that added glossy to droids on the latest Star Wars. Stand and be recognized. To put on the show of human emotions must be evidence of one’s capacity to feel them, right? Or to make them into the be all end all grand celebration! Endless love! Noble heroes! It’s the mythology; the lifeblood.

Whether we talk about it coherently or honestly, we’re always pressed to mock ourselves up against “ourselves.” I have as much a mythology about “Nick P.” as you might. I’m still influenced by the naive child with a new internet connection reading about what Leos are like or people born in the year of the Dragon. I remember that my name means “victory of the people.” I mean, I have a mane.

And even while you’re sitting right in the middle of it, it can be hard to tell who you are. I took some very old acid earlier tonight. It had/has me tweaking out just a little bit, but enough to know that I shouldn’t have stared too long at myself in the mirror. Yet, not enough that it had me breaking the glass so I could use a shard to cut out the crazy person behind my eyes. So we can call it a win.

In the midst of my doozy I’m watching art. I’m taking in, what in some circles, could be considered the very pinnacle of human achievement. To conceive of and tell a story that’s entirely “fictional” yet oh so real. Can we only access ourselves ironically? I’m searching for a way past my anxiety about never getting into another study and wasting money on land in a dying country and I can approach it “rationally” all day that I should “just show up and take the money,” but I genuinely find the more productive course of action was to see what the acid could tell me. Truthfully, I only regret it wasn’t a more powerful dose.

Just like the actor, I want to be seen. It’s not enough to just call me an egomaniac, as I’m fond of referring to myself. I want to shine for all of my character flaws. I want to be scared first by my eyes before I show them to you or try to tell you about them. I want you to feel my heart pounding every beat through every hesitant breath trying desperately to figure out a way to calm the fuck down and just handle business. I want you to feel as scared and alone, even when the danger isn’t real.

I don’t understand it. I clearly barely even know how to approach it. But I know I have to. I know I have to either combat and subdue this change or construct a new mythology to cope with it. I need to stand and be seen as someone trying as he doubts it’s worth it. I need to be so convincing at acting it out you can’t tell if it’s real anymore. I need to feel like my star on the walk is worthy. I need to know I’m contributing something only I can to the roll. I need to be absolutely sure I’m not gonna get recast by some fobish bloke.

Alas, we can’t be miscast or ever denied the part. Every flop registers as loudly if not moreso than every hit. I don’t know why I’m picking so many bad roles. Who’s casting this thing? Tell that guy to go back to the good old days when things were easy and my mind was elsewhere. Back before I had any illusions I could be a star and was just kidding around with some friends. Just hit reset and let me play that again.