Sep 06 2009
Stage Right, Whatever the Fuck that is.
Day has become a new sensation of seeking something worthwhile, while night is blurred into a composition of emotional instability and my attempt toward redirection.
What has my life turned into? It is not what I thought it would be, but what is? It has all changed, all been so different, and how can one tell when it is for the better, or for the worse?
I look toward the window and watch the branch of a tree shaking in the wind. The sky is a pasty white, tiny droplets of water provide the illusion that it is foggy outside. How can condensation, moisture, and glass do such a thing? I compare it to my life, and realize there has been this same window in front of my eyes for months.
Everyone thinks they’re in love. Everyone pretends to be in love. Life… A huge act, a performance… But what happens when one isn’t pretending? They are back-handed by the unrelenting hand of the director, he shouts “exit stage right! Stage right god-damn you!” And you can’t exit. You spin around and everything becomes confusion. You can’t see a single thing, stage right becomes center becomes left becomes up down right up left and so you just stand on stage while everyone stares at you in dumbfounded disbelief. And he looks at you, “You poor mother-fucker.”And she looks at you “Fuck off and go to hell.” she says.
Welcome to the stage, where in some Sister Carrie replication, your dramatic performance turns out to be a fucking joke, a fucking joke everyone’s in on but yourself. Where the actress you weren’t acting to spins you around so hard you can’t exit. “You poor mother-fucker…”
