I used to write letters. Long letters. Not because I had a long distance pen pal. In fact, most of the letters I used to write were to people who lived within 10 miles of me. I wasn't trying to recapture a lost art (although now that seems oddly worth doing). The thing was, my shyness used to make it impossible for me to tell people how I felt. What I couldn't imagine at the time (though now it seems so obvious) was that people, for the most part, were not generally interested in hearing it...or reading it.
People never seemed to fit my expectation of what a Friend was supposed to be. And I suppose that I didn't fit people's own idea of the same. I was terrified of the phone: what if I interrupted something important? What if I woke them up? What if I dialed a wrong number? And if we happened to meet somewhere, I would either clam up and be a total bore or else I would unleash this explosion of pent up feeling, like I was in a shrink's office, leaving the other guy to feel like he had to dispense some Wisdom, which he didn't really have to give.
So I never got out much. And whenever I felt drawn to a person, I would write to them. I knew it was strange and probably unwelcome. But I just couldn't help myself. There was a time that I just felt a desperate need to reach out like that. What would I tell them? Well, I'm not going to relive all that here. Sometimes, it was something that they did not want to know, or should not know, or did not need to know. Sometimes, I just felt like I needed them to know for my own peace of mind. But I was lying to myself, because it didn't give me peace of mind. When people didn't respond, or when they responded badly, it just brought more sadness, confusion, loneliness and desperation. Sometimes it would become a cycle and I would write again and again, even though it was obvious that it was the wrong thing to do. In the midst of revealing heavy emotions, I would also just talk about normal friend things. I would talk about songs I liked or movies, books, other culture. I used to quote a lot. When I could not think of what to say, I let Tori Amos or Smashing Pumpkins or Foetus say it.
And what did I hope to gain from all this? Writing a long, heart-felt letter is like a leap of faith because you're investing time and emotional energy into the idea that this person you're writing to is going to read what you've written, and that it will affect them in some way that is favorable to you. I wanted people to understand me. I wanted them to like me. In some cases, I wanted them to help me. Because a lot of these letters were written in a very dark time when I didn't know what to do.
There's really only one person that I still write letters to. He resides in a prison a long ways away. I've never met him. I think I've mentioned him here before, but I haven't identified him, and I won't. (I have a feeling that people would judge me for wanting to correspond with this person.) But it's amazing to me how much my motives for writing him seem the same as when I wrote those letters to all those other people years ago. I seem to be looking for a friend, for understanding, for love even. And here's a captive audience, although that's not really true; he doesn't have to read them, and if he told me to leave him alone, I would. But he's written back only a few times in several years, and it's very hard to keep it up. It's that leap of faith, a faith that seems to grow weaker as time goes on, because I never know if I'll hear from him again. Do I really want to spend the time and energy on this? Do I really want to feel things for someone who is really not accessible to me? How do I know when to stop?
Some of what I used to write in letters, I put in blogs like these. It's not the same. It's still a leap of faith because who even reads this? But it's not personal. It's not "from me to you". When I wrote letters, it's like I was trying to touch a person's soul. But this here is just...food for thought, followed by forgetfulness. Go back to Facebook, go back to your emails, Twitter, your online games, your porno, whatever. I don't try to touch people hearts because I don't think they want that. I have to find a sexual partner for that. And that has always been exceedingly difficult for me.
As I've grown older, I've learned about boundaries. I can say whatever I want here because you chose to open this document. But if I send a letter...If we're talking and I say something deep or emotional, I know it tends to be off limits. When I was growing up, I was guarded (shy), and then I found a way to be unguarded (letters) but then I realized it went too far, and now I'm guarded again. I don't say what I want to say. I feel things, and I keep them to myself. It's how you're supposed to do. It's what's expected.
I still don't get out much.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
flow
Okay, here's the thing: I love you, but I want more followers. Gotta figure out how to promote this thing. Of course, I shot it in the foot by taking away its central focus, so now even I don't know what the heck it's supposed to be about, so that doesn't help.
I think that what will come in the future is a new blog that focuses on my work as an artist. That way, it can appeal to other artists, who can relate and comment about their own similar experiences. But that will probably be on the Wordpress Book of Dreams site, which is technically up but not updated since the failed production of last fall's What Connects Us.
I've been keeping pretty busy, more so than I have in a long time. I worked on a monologue for Part Time Playhouse. Their summer series, In Theater, focuses on work written by and/or performed by military veterans. The piece I did was a 7-page monologue, which was very well written and well acted. (I withhold names of people in this blog to protect their privacy if they don't want to be blogged about.) But I had trouble directing it. First, I felt like a fish out of water in two ways: 1.) I was not a vet, and could not relate to a lot of the experiences discussed among the playwright and actor. And 2.) This was for a filmed public TV production, which was new to me, and I didn't know all the ins and outs of how that worked. Both elements made me lack confidence in my abilities to both direct and be respected. Very early on, the actor nailed the performance of this piece, with a real understanding of the character, and for most of the rehearsals, I just kind of sat there, not knowing how to improve upon it, which left me feeling redundant. But then the broadcast day came, and the finished product was wonderful. I don't know how much credit I can take for it, but it felt good to see the piece succeed, because it was really solid. I also had a chance to hang out with an actress who I directed in a show a couple years ago. She was starring in a different monologue, also very good.
So it's been nerve-wracking, getting things arranged for my project grant that I'm applying for. You have to try to figure out when and where you're going to perform the piece that you want to do, but often to do that, you have to pay a deposit to reserve the space. I have assured various people whom I love that I will be careful about taking financial risks. And so I have to really watch what kind of arrangements I make with people. I have to know that I'll be able to follow through. I have to either have an escape clause in case I don't get the funding, OR I have to have a plan B for how to fund the project. I already know I'm gonna be doing other types of fund-raising in addition to the grant, even if I get it. But the pressure is on; the complete application and supplemental materials (whatever those turn out to be) are due before the end of the month.
Tonight was a very significant night for me because after a few years of working on my new play, "para physin", which I wrote with a good friend of mine, I finally had it read in a public setting by PDX Playwrights. Mostly it was a good experience. Even when people are trying to make your script better, their suggestions are made in such a way that is thoughtful and considerate of your hard work and your feelings. I know that all my work comes from a place very deep within me and it's really hard to stick your neck out there for people to chop it off. But this is a good group, a thoughtful group, and I appreciated the feedback. I hope to be able to showcase it in Fertile Ground 2014, but there are some changes that need to be made first. Again, money is an issue. And rehearsal space. Last year's attempt was such a miserable failure, I don't know if I can bear trying again so soon.
So in the next weeks, I'll be working on the grant and helping out in a play for Wilsonville Theater Co. Been trying to find some nice people to date online, but it's not been very successful. The guys that seem great tend to be con artists. And I used to be gullible, but not anymore. The day you realize you've become a realist is worse than the day you realize you're a man and childhood is gone.
I think that what will come in the future is a new blog that focuses on my work as an artist. That way, it can appeal to other artists, who can relate and comment about their own similar experiences. But that will probably be on the Wordpress Book of Dreams site, which is technically up but not updated since the failed production of last fall's What Connects Us.
I've been keeping pretty busy, more so than I have in a long time. I worked on a monologue for Part Time Playhouse. Their summer series, In Theater, focuses on work written by and/or performed by military veterans. The piece I did was a 7-page monologue, which was very well written and well acted. (I withhold names of people in this blog to protect their privacy if they don't want to be blogged about.) But I had trouble directing it. First, I felt like a fish out of water in two ways: 1.) I was not a vet, and could not relate to a lot of the experiences discussed among the playwright and actor. And 2.) This was for a filmed public TV production, which was new to me, and I didn't know all the ins and outs of how that worked. Both elements made me lack confidence in my abilities to both direct and be respected. Very early on, the actor nailed the performance of this piece, with a real understanding of the character, and for most of the rehearsals, I just kind of sat there, not knowing how to improve upon it, which left me feeling redundant. But then the broadcast day came, and the finished product was wonderful. I don't know how much credit I can take for it, but it felt good to see the piece succeed, because it was really solid. I also had a chance to hang out with an actress who I directed in a show a couple years ago. She was starring in a different monologue, also very good.
So it's been nerve-wracking, getting things arranged for my project grant that I'm applying for. You have to try to figure out when and where you're going to perform the piece that you want to do, but often to do that, you have to pay a deposit to reserve the space. I have assured various people whom I love that I will be careful about taking financial risks. And so I have to really watch what kind of arrangements I make with people. I have to know that I'll be able to follow through. I have to either have an escape clause in case I don't get the funding, OR I have to have a plan B for how to fund the project. I already know I'm gonna be doing other types of fund-raising in addition to the grant, even if I get it. But the pressure is on; the complete application and supplemental materials (whatever those turn out to be) are due before the end of the month.
Tonight was a very significant night for me because after a few years of working on my new play, "para physin", which I wrote with a good friend of mine, I finally had it read in a public setting by PDX Playwrights. Mostly it was a good experience. Even when people are trying to make your script better, their suggestions are made in such a way that is thoughtful and considerate of your hard work and your feelings. I know that all my work comes from a place very deep within me and it's really hard to stick your neck out there for people to chop it off. But this is a good group, a thoughtful group, and I appreciated the feedback. I hope to be able to showcase it in Fertile Ground 2014, but there are some changes that need to be made first. Again, money is an issue. And rehearsal space. Last year's attempt was such a miserable failure, I don't know if I can bear trying again so soon.
So in the next weeks, I'll be working on the grant and helping out in a play for Wilsonville Theater Co. Been trying to find some nice people to date online, but it's not been very successful. The guys that seem great tend to be con artists. And I used to be gullible, but not anymore. The day you realize you've become a realist is worse than the day you realize you're a man and childhood is gone.
Friday, August 2, 2013
If you're reading this, I want to know who you are.
When I was shamefully attending voc rehab sessions twice a week, I would sometimes have to go "upstairs" to talk to one of the counselors. It was very irritating the first time I started to walk that double flight of stairs, and I heard this loud yell from up above: "ANNOUNCE YOURSELF!" It was a man's voice. I didn't know who he was, but obviously in charge. At first I wasn't sure if he was talking to me. How could he even see me? I didn't see him. Then he yelled it again, so I sheepishly said my name and stated my business. Then I was allowed to come upstairs. I learned this was always necessary, no doubt for security reasons. Maybe there were some whacked-out druggies at the voc rehab. I sure didn't feel like I belonged there, but I did because...well, I was afraid of work. (I don't mean that in the same way you say a lazy guy is afraid to work; I was afraid of it like some people are afraid of heights or closed-in spaces.)
Well, anyway, the point of that whole opening paragraph is that now I'm the guy saying to you (saying, not yelling): announce yourself. If you read my blog, subscribe to it, comment on it (please keep it friendly), let me know who you are so that I don't just think I'm talking to myself. I mean, I realize that above all, that is exactly what I'm doing, but I'm also trying to connect here.
Thank you.
Well, anyway, the point of that whole opening paragraph is that now I'm the guy saying to you (saying, not yelling): announce yourself. If you read my blog, subscribe to it, comment on it (please keep it friendly), let me know who you are so that I don't just think I'm talking to myself. I mean, I realize that above all, that is exactly what I'm doing, but I'm also trying to connect here.
Thank you.
Monday, July 22, 2013
a sea change
As usual, the title of this entry is deceptive. Yes, there's a change in the wind (maybe even in the sea) but it's not a change of monumental proportions. I still remain the same man I was when I wrote the last entry, but I'm tweaking the direction and focus of this blog just a little bit. Up until now, the pretense was "one man's gay Christian journey." But then I realized that I had a really hard time sticking to that specific criteria. So I'm broadening it a bit to free me to write whatever I want, although the downside may be that I no longer have an audience per se, just people who know and care who I am. Which is a very small number. Oh well. That's the way it has to be, at least for now. Telling people this is a "Christian-themed blog" just feels like a bait-and-switch. Not gonna do it anymore. This doesn't mean that God won't come up because I'm still a Christian. But generally, what you read here is not intended as spiritual discourse.
So who gives a shit about Matt Russell? I'm going to put a new caption beneath the title of this blog that says, "writer, director, producer"...That's not complete. Maybe I should add "alien." Part of what makes me interesting (and yes, I dare say that I am an interesting fellow) is how unusual my life is, how skewed my perspective, how unknown my feelings and how foreign my thoughts to the general populace. This does not make me feel proud or superior in any way. In fact, it makes me feel like I don't fit in anywhere, and it is, in fact, the whole impetus for writing, to cope with the ubiquitous feelings of isolation and loneliness. It's the mechanism by which I try to survive.
For example, a few weeks ago, I finished a play I've been scratching out for a long time. Little by little for years, and then the last 80% just eked out all at once. And in this play is all the things...or at least almost all the things I wish I could say to my straight friends, particularly the ones I like a little more than I should. It's the long bear hug that none of them want, but hidden in the form of a drama. Sometimes that is what you have to do.
There is no organization to this entry. To you new folks, be patient. I'm just getting used to this new format. It will be more coherent next time. I want to take a moment to mourn the loss of actor Cory Monteith. Of course, everyone has already had their cry on Facebook and Twitter, but it seems only appropriate for me to say a few words on here. I first saw him on one of my all-time favorite TV shows, Kyle XY. (If you've never seen it, I urge you to check it out because it's very well written, acted, etc.) And as has been the case before (as in with Matt Damon) I recognized his greatness before he became famous and so watching him on Glee was a terrific pleasure for me. Glee itself is a mixed bag. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. But when it's good, it's great, and has the power to touch hearts in a very meaningful way. And Cory was just like the guy next door that you have a crush on. You know you can't have him, but you also know that he's not going to hold your feelings against you. Completely harmless...except to himself.
This is a time of some stress, and I'll be trying to work through it by writing through it. 1.) I'm directing a short monologue for Public Playhouse to air on Aug. 4. It's a 7-page monologue. Rehearsals every day for a week and half before the air date. I've never done anything like this, and so it's a learning experience. 2.) I'm applying for a grant from Regional Arts and Cultural Council. This is will be for a project I wish to produce in the year 2014. There are many guidelines to this application process and it feels like an SAT test or something. I don't make a lot of money from my job, and so I can't generally afford to produce the projects that are on my heart to produce, and so I need funding. This is my first attempt at that. 3.) I'll be helping out with the fall production of Wilsonville Theater Co.'s Miracle on South Division Street by...okay I can't remember the playwright, I'll tell you later. I'll be kind of a 2nd pair of eyes for the director...unless she wants me to act in it, which might be fun because it's been a long time. It would be fun but SCARY!!! 4.) My new play which I mentioned earlier is being read by PDX Playwrights on Aug. 6 and if all goes well, I want to produce it for Fertile Ground. Well, some of you know I tried to produce one of my works for FG last year, and it was a complete disaster. I know the mistakes I made, and I honestly am not going to make them again...I'm wiser, but I'm still gun-shy, because what happened last year really hurt. 5.) I've given up any notion of producing the Christmas show. It's okay because I feel like it's all in God's timing, you know, but it's hard too because it can only be produced during one season in the year. If I don't do it this fall, it has to wait another year. And I just think it's a really damn good show, but I may be the only one who thinks that.
At some point soon, I'll write about my addiction. It's not drugs or alcohol or sex. It's the search for love and affection, and you would be surprised by the different ways in which it manifests. But not tonight. This is a good start to the new direction. If this was live, you'd all be throwing rotten fruit at me. Thank God for the internet.
So who gives a shit about Matt Russell? I'm going to put a new caption beneath the title of this blog that says, "writer, director, producer"...That's not complete. Maybe I should add "alien." Part of what makes me interesting (and yes, I dare say that I am an interesting fellow) is how unusual my life is, how skewed my perspective, how unknown my feelings and how foreign my thoughts to the general populace. This does not make me feel proud or superior in any way. In fact, it makes me feel like I don't fit in anywhere, and it is, in fact, the whole impetus for writing, to cope with the ubiquitous feelings of isolation and loneliness. It's the mechanism by which I try to survive.
For example, a few weeks ago, I finished a play I've been scratching out for a long time. Little by little for years, and then the last 80% just eked out all at once. And in this play is all the things...or at least almost all the things I wish I could say to my straight friends, particularly the ones I like a little more than I should. It's the long bear hug that none of them want, but hidden in the form of a drama. Sometimes that is what you have to do.
There is no organization to this entry. To you new folks, be patient. I'm just getting used to this new format. It will be more coherent next time. I want to take a moment to mourn the loss of actor Cory Monteith. Of course, everyone has already had their cry on Facebook and Twitter, but it seems only appropriate for me to say a few words on here. I first saw him on one of my all-time favorite TV shows, Kyle XY. (If you've never seen it, I urge you to check it out because it's very well written, acted, etc.) And as has been the case before (as in with Matt Damon) I recognized his greatness before he became famous and so watching him on Glee was a terrific pleasure for me. Glee itself is a mixed bag. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. But when it's good, it's great, and has the power to touch hearts in a very meaningful way. And Cory was just like the guy next door that you have a crush on. You know you can't have him, but you also know that he's not going to hold your feelings against you. Completely harmless...except to himself.
This is a time of some stress, and I'll be trying to work through it by writing through it. 1.) I'm directing a short monologue for Public Playhouse to air on Aug. 4. It's a 7-page monologue. Rehearsals every day for a week and half before the air date. I've never done anything like this, and so it's a learning experience. 2.) I'm applying for a grant from Regional Arts and Cultural Council. This is will be for a project I wish to produce in the year 2014. There are many guidelines to this application process and it feels like an SAT test or something. I don't make a lot of money from my job, and so I can't generally afford to produce the projects that are on my heart to produce, and so I need funding. This is my first attempt at that. 3.) I'll be helping out with the fall production of Wilsonville Theater Co.'s Miracle on South Division Street by...okay I can't remember the playwright, I'll tell you later. I'll be kind of a 2nd pair of eyes for the director...unless she wants me to act in it, which might be fun because it's been a long time. It would be fun but SCARY!!! 4.) My new play which I mentioned earlier is being read by PDX Playwrights on Aug. 6 and if all goes well, I want to produce it for Fertile Ground. Well, some of you know I tried to produce one of my works for FG last year, and it was a complete disaster. I know the mistakes I made, and I honestly am not going to make them again...I'm wiser, but I'm still gun-shy, because what happened last year really hurt. 5.) I've given up any notion of producing the Christmas show. It's okay because I feel like it's all in God's timing, you know, but it's hard too because it can only be produced during one season in the year. If I don't do it this fall, it has to wait another year. And I just think it's a really damn good show, but I may be the only one who thinks that.
At some point soon, I'll write about my addiction. It's not drugs or alcohol or sex. It's the search for love and affection, and you would be surprised by the different ways in which it manifests. But not tonight. This is a good start to the new direction. If this was live, you'd all be throwing rotten fruit at me. Thank God for the internet.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
my creation
I once sat listening to a pastor who said that people shouldn't claim to "create" things; people can make things out of the vast material that God provides around us, but the word "creator" should only apply to Almighty God. Well, I don't really agree with that. I agree that He's the Supreme Creator, and I would never try to equate myself with His glory and majesty. But we're also created in His image and as an artist, I know what it's like to fashion something where there was nothing there before. You could say that God sometimes plants a seed of inspiration, but that doesn't really diminish it in my book.
Last time, I tried to describe to you (whoever YOU may be, my readers) what a perfect world would be like, if I ran it. Actually, it was more like the world that I do in fact run in my writing. But the words eluded me, and I was unable to capture the essence of this thing, you could call it Mattopia, where people always listen and treat you the way you want to be treated and people don't have to worry about arbitrary social rules and boundaries; they can be completely honest with each other, and in doing so, they come one step closer to fulfillment.
It's not a perfect vision; there are bits of hypocrisy hiding just below the surface. For instance, I would like to be honest with Joe Blo about my feelings for him, but if that grosses him out, then I would not want him to tell me that, at least not in those words. Maybe in my perfect world, he wouldn't have to like me back, but at least it wouldn't gross him out. People wouldn't be grossed out by stuff like that. On the flip side, if Flo Joe tells me she's into me but it grosses me out, under my "perfect world" standards, I would still want to be friends with her, but that's not really the way I feel. So you see, it's a perfect world when it suits me. And I feel like a really big man that I can admit that.
The things I write (and I mean, creative writing projects, not like this blog) do not represent a totally artificial world, like Leave It To Beaver. Rather, it shows the world like it is, but then presents some element of different-ness, a way that things aren't but ought to be, in my humble opinion. And I'm not the only writer who does this. I seem to recall Stephen King's emotional reaction to seeing Stand By Me, the film adaptation of his great novella, The Body. He was greatly moved, but had to admit that the kind of friendship shown in that story is more the way we'd like it to be than how it is in real life.
So as I reflect on finishing the first draft of my script, para physin, which I've worked on for 4 years (all tiny bits and pieces until the last week when the majority of it just fell in my lap, like a giant elephant from the sky), I realize that the real world is certainly represented, but so too is Mattopia, a place where some really sweet and wonderful things can happen, things that don't generally happen in real life. Does this make me a more honest or less honest storyteller? Less honest, perhaps, from the viewpoint of the cynic and the realist. But more honest in terms of what my true heart hopes and dreams for humanity. And I have to think there is an important place for that in the arts.
Last time, I tried to describe to you (whoever YOU may be, my readers) what a perfect world would be like, if I ran it. Actually, it was more like the world that I do in fact run in my writing. But the words eluded me, and I was unable to capture the essence of this thing, you could call it Mattopia, where people always listen and treat you the way you want to be treated and people don't have to worry about arbitrary social rules and boundaries; they can be completely honest with each other, and in doing so, they come one step closer to fulfillment.
It's not a perfect vision; there are bits of hypocrisy hiding just below the surface. For instance, I would like to be honest with Joe Blo about my feelings for him, but if that grosses him out, then I would not want him to tell me that, at least not in those words. Maybe in my perfect world, he wouldn't have to like me back, but at least it wouldn't gross him out. People wouldn't be grossed out by stuff like that. On the flip side, if Flo Joe tells me she's into me but it grosses me out, under my "perfect world" standards, I would still want to be friends with her, but that's not really the way I feel. So you see, it's a perfect world when it suits me. And I feel like a really big man that I can admit that.
The things I write (and I mean, creative writing projects, not like this blog) do not represent a totally artificial world, like Leave It To Beaver. Rather, it shows the world like it is, but then presents some element of different-ness, a way that things aren't but ought to be, in my humble opinion. And I'm not the only writer who does this. I seem to recall Stephen King's emotional reaction to seeing Stand By Me, the film adaptation of his great novella, The Body. He was greatly moved, but had to admit that the kind of friendship shown in that story is more the way we'd like it to be than how it is in real life.
So as I reflect on finishing the first draft of my script, para physin, which I've worked on for 4 years (all tiny bits and pieces until the last week when the majority of it just fell in my lap, like a giant elephant from the sky), I realize that the real world is certainly represented, but so too is Mattopia, a place where some really sweet and wonderful things can happen, things that don't generally happen in real life. Does this make me a more honest or less honest storyteller? Less honest, perhaps, from the viewpoint of the cynic and the realist. But more honest in terms of what my true heart hopes and dreams for humanity. And I have to think there is an important place for that in the arts.
Monday, June 10, 2013
a perfect world
I daydream. I probably don't do it as much as I used to. But I still do it a fair amount. I pretend I'm on some nation-wide news program, being interviewed about my feelings on everything from music to film to politics and spirituality. I go on and on, expressing my viewpoints and pretending that people are interested in what I have to say. I imagine media personalities saying in their own interviews that they heard what I said about this or that, and agreed whole-heartedly. I've never confessed this outright before, though I did write a play once in which the protagonist does the same thing.
Of course, with daydreams you get the instant gratification of that imagined recognition. You can play pretend, and if you have a good imagination, you can almost make yourself believe it's really happening. Just don't daydream any place where people can see you and your lips move as you play out a scene that is all in your head. They might check you into the mental hospital.
There are other ways to have a voice. I've always thought of myself as an artist (if you imagine the term "artist" covering a wide spectrum of visual art, music, literature, theatre, film, etc), and artists use their work to express what they think and feel about the world. Of course some people are just looking for entertainment, but I honestly think that art exists for the purpose of expressing a point of view. And I've always tried to push myself to produce content that will be noticed and could make some kind of difference in the world. But I can be lazy and I can have creative dry spells, and when I do, it's easier just to play one of these movies in my head. Like it's easier to go to bed and imagine someone cuddling up with me than to actually go out on a date and risk rejection. And so certain things can paralyze you, and make you feel like you're stuck in a place you can't get out of.
It could be argued that every artist has his/her own universe that's distinctly theirs. Tolkien had Middle Earth. C.S. Lewis had Narnia. But in a more general sense, an artist fashions an environment that is either a reflection of what he/she sees in the world (and sometimes it's presented in the form of symbolism) or a picture of what that artist would like the world to be. I have done both of these. But usually, I deal with the world I desire to live in. And I thought, I wonder if I could write a blog entry in which I describe what that is. I don't know if I can. I can paint a picture of it in script form, but can I just state it outright? I'm about to find out.
Well, I'm an extreme romantic, which no one would know because it's mostly bottled up inside. It comes out whenever I try too hard to be friends with a guy I like. I'm not trying to get them into bed, but I think they sense my romantic nature, and it's threatening to them because they don't know I can respect their boundaries. That's why you see deeper relationships among men in my stories than you find in real life, even men who are heterosexual, because in my world, people are not scared of being liked, or even loved.
People listen to each other, and they actually understand what the other person is saying. There are not the barriers to communication that exist in real life. In real life, a person can be talking to you, but because you're only listening with 25% of your mind and using the rest to think about yourself, you often miss the point of whatever your friend is trying to tell you.
A lot of the cultural norms that exist in the real world do not exist in mine. People in their 20's are not freaked out by the idea of spending time with people in their 30's or 40's. Everyone can learn from one another, and consider other people's lives to have value to contribute to their own, no matter what age, race, sex, orientation, etc. Prejudice and fear disappear, as does favoritism.
Okay, I've written 3 paragraphs trying to describe my perfect world, and I don't really like what I've written. I mean, I don't feel like it captures my heart. I feel like I'm preaching or writing some lunatic manifesto, and that's not my intention. I'm also not trying to make it so personal, but it obviously is. I look at the things in my life that I've been hurt by, and basically try to fix them. I try to show people another way of looking at things. But this isn't coming out quite right. I'm better at pretending to articulate thoughts than actually articulating them.
But, um...let me try to say one more thing. U2 did a song called "Where the Streets Have No Name", which I love, but I don't think that idea is what I'm striving for. Because individuality is important. I think what my heart pines for is a world without walls...or at least a world with much fewer walls. The walls that people put around themselves to prevent real connection with people. In my life, I feel I'm surrounded by endless walls, tall and impenetrable in every direction, caving in, crashing down upon me, and I rarely see into the light of a person's soul because it's just walls, walls, and more walls.
And I lie on the ground, beneath dozens of caved-in walls, and I'm looking up through a small keyhole.The stars in the sky are so far away, as far as your eyes, through which I would be able to see into your heart.
Of course, with daydreams you get the instant gratification of that imagined recognition. You can play pretend, and if you have a good imagination, you can almost make yourself believe it's really happening. Just don't daydream any place where people can see you and your lips move as you play out a scene that is all in your head. They might check you into the mental hospital.
There are other ways to have a voice. I've always thought of myself as an artist (if you imagine the term "artist" covering a wide spectrum of visual art, music, literature, theatre, film, etc), and artists use their work to express what they think and feel about the world. Of course some people are just looking for entertainment, but I honestly think that art exists for the purpose of expressing a point of view. And I've always tried to push myself to produce content that will be noticed and could make some kind of difference in the world. But I can be lazy and I can have creative dry spells, and when I do, it's easier just to play one of these movies in my head. Like it's easier to go to bed and imagine someone cuddling up with me than to actually go out on a date and risk rejection. And so certain things can paralyze you, and make you feel like you're stuck in a place you can't get out of.
It could be argued that every artist has his/her own universe that's distinctly theirs. Tolkien had Middle Earth. C.S. Lewis had Narnia. But in a more general sense, an artist fashions an environment that is either a reflection of what he/she sees in the world (and sometimes it's presented in the form of symbolism) or a picture of what that artist would like the world to be. I have done both of these. But usually, I deal with the world I desire to live in. And I thought, I wonder if I could write a blog entry in which I describe what that is. I don't know if I can. I can paint a picture of it in script form, but can I just state it outright? I'm about to find out.
Well, I'm an extreme romantic, which no one would know because it's mostly bottled up inside. It comes out whenever I try too hard to be friends with a guy I like. I'm not trying to get them into bed, but I think they sense my romantic nature, and it's threatening to them because they don't know I can respect their boundaries. That's why you see deeper relationships among men in my stories than you find in real life, even men who are heterosexual, because in my world, people are not scared of being liked, or even loved.
People listen to each other, and they actually understand what the other person is saying. There are not the barriers to communication that exist in real life. In real life, a person can be talking to you, but because you're only listening with 25% of your mind and using the rest to think about yourself, you often miss the point of whatever your friend is trying to tell you.
A lot of the cultural norms that exist in the real world do not exist in mine. People in their 20's are not freaked out by the idea of spending time with people in their 30's or 40's. Everyone can learn from one another, and consider other people's lives to have value to contribute to their own, no matter what age, race, sex, orientation, etc. Prejudice and fear disappear, as does favoritism.
Okay, I've written 3 paragraphs trying to describe my perfect world, and I don't really like what I've written. I mean, I don't feel like it captures my heart. I feel like I'm preaching or writing some lunatic manifesto, and that's not my intention. I'm also not trying to make it so personal, but it obviously is. I look at the things in my life that I've been hurt by, and basically try to fix them. I try to show people another way of looking at things. But this isn't coming out quite right. I'm better at pretending to articulate thoughts than actually articulating them.
But, um...let me try to say one more thing. U2 did a song called "Where the Streets Have No Name", which I love, but I don't think that idea is what I'm striving for. Because individuality is important. I think what my heart pines for is a world without walls...or at least a world with much fewer walls. The walls that people put around themselves to prevent real connection with people. In my life, I feel I'm surrounded by endless walls, tall and impenetrable in every direction, caving in, crashing down upon me, and I rarely see into the light of a person's soul because it's just walls, walls, and more walls.
And I lie on the ground, beneath dozens of caved-in walls, and I'm looking up through a small keyhole.The stars in the sky are so far away, as far as your eyes, through which I would be able to see into your heart.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
It's my party
"Sing along with me, this is 40..." says Bono at the end of U2's 1983 Red Rocks concert, Under a Blood Red Sky. They always used to close with this spiritual hymn of sorts, taken partly from Psalm 40 which is about God putting a new song in people's mouth, and then Bono sort of adds a "but" line to it: "How long to sing their song?"
I have no reason to begin this blog with that, except that as I'm about to turn 40 in a couple days, I find myself longing to have people to "sing along with me". It's lonely to grow older, especially when you feel a strong affinity towards people younger than you, something I've wrestled with all my adult life. I always just enjoy the company of younger people, and yet culturally, I idolize people my parents' age.
It's an interesting time for Richard Linklater's third part in his Before Sunrise/Sunset series to be coming out. Some of my favorite movies of all time, and the most romantic, bar none. It's all about making a connection with someone through talking and listening. (And there may be a bit of sex thrown in for good measure.) And how that connection changes--or does not change--over the course of many years, how aging changing us, but we're still fundamentally the same. People who like car chases and explosions don't appreciate films like this. It's all talk, talk, talk. But one of the best nights of my life (June 1, 1995) consisted of a talk much like the ones in these films, the likes of which I've almost never had again. That this person and I became bitter enemies just a short time later makes it all the more fascinating to wonder what would happen if we saw each other again, after all these years.
Many my age are balding. Many have gained weight, as have I. I look at people I had a crush on in high school and it makes me sad to think how they've declined. And they have families, many of them, kids, and boring jobs, and typical lives that can't be anything close to what they once dreamed of when they were young, lives of distinction, lives that seemed to matter, to make a difference in the world. I'm not trying to put them down; to them, this is what life is about. I hope it's pure joy. But for me, I always wanted something different.
I haven't achieved such a young person's dream life either, but the difference is, I'm still trying. I still consider myself an artist above most all other things. And someday maybe I will be recognized as someone with something important to say and contribute. But will I end up more happy for it than all my classmates who just settled into a life of normalcy? At least they fit in somewhere, at least they feel like they belong to something. They've been in romantic relationships (I have not), they have experienced their own version of the American dream with their house, their car, their career. My life has the appearance of something much more lowly than that, especially for someone my age.
But what matters to me has never really been the same as what mattered to many of those around me. I once joined a church and tried to get to know some of the young men there by emailing them and inviting them to coffee. The pastor, upon hearing of this, acted like I had committed one of the biggest social gaffes ever in the history of man. People don't get acquainted that way. Well, I do. I've never cared much for social rules and pretense, but as a result I've been generally ignored by 95% of the people I ever wanted to get to know. And most people realize we don't choose our friends, but our friends choose us. That doesn't mean I don't love my friends or would not actively choose them now, as opposed to someone else. In fact, I have a feeling if I had the ones I once thought I wanted, they would disappoint me. But life is so much about expectations, and growing older is about the ability to reconcile those expectations with reality. But it's not easy.
So I may cry, if I want to. Because it's my party, and I can.
I have no reason to begin this blog with that, except that as I'm about to turn 40 in a couple days, I find myself longing to have people to "sing along with me". It's lonely to grow older, especially when you feel a strong affinity towards people younger than you, something I've wrestled with all my adult life. I always just enjoy the company of younger people, and yet culturally, I idolize people my parents' age.
It's an interesting time for Richard Linklater's third part in his Before Sunrise/Sunset series to be coming out. Some of my favorite movies of all time, and the most romantic, bar none. It's all about making a connection with someone through talking and listening. (And there may be a bit of sex thrown in for good measure.) And how that connection changes--or does not change--over the course of many years, how aging changing us, but we're still fundamentally the same. People who like car chases and explosions don't appreciate films like this. It's all talk, talk, talk. But one of the best nights of my life (June 1, 1995) consisted of a talk much like the ones in these films, the likes of which I've almost never had again. That this person and I became bitter enemies just a short time later makes it all the more fascinating to wonder what would happen if we saw each other again, after all these years.
Many my age are balding. Many have gained weight, as have I. I look at people I had a crush on in high school and it makes me sad to think how they've declined. And they have families, many of them, kids, and boring jobs, and typical lives that can't be anything close to what they once dreamed of when they were young, lives of distinction, lives that seemed to matter, to make a difference in the world. I'm not trying to put them down; to them, this is what life is about. I hope it's pure joy. But for me, I always wanted something different.
I haven't achieved such a young person's dream life either, but the difference is, I'm still trying. I still consider myself an artist above most all other things. And someday maybe I will be recognized as someone with something important to say and contribute. But will I end up more happy for it than all my classmates who just settled into a life of normalcy? At least they fit in somewhere, at least they feel like they belong to something. They've been in romantic relationships (I have not), they have experienced their own version of the American dream with their house, their car, their career. My life has the appearance of something much more lowly than that, especially for someone my age.
But what matters to me has never really been the same as what mattered to many of those around me. I once joined a church and tried to get to know some of the young men there by emailing them and inviting them to coffee. The pastor, upon hearing of this, acted like I had committed one of the biggest social gaffes ever in the history of man. People don't get acquainted that way. Well, I do. I've never cared much for social rules and pretense, but as a result I've been generally ignored by 95% of the people I ever wanted to get to know. And most people realize we don't choose our friends, but our friends choose us. That doesn't mean I don't love my friends or would not actively choose them now, as opposed to someone else. In fact, I have a feeling if I had the ones I once thought I wanted, they would disappoint me. But life is so much about expectations, and growing older is about the ability to reconcile those expectations with reality. But it's not easy.
So I may cry, if I want to. Because it's my party, and I can.
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