I sucked it hard and long and painfully and fully tonight. I drunk richly from the pond scum that generally I choose from which not to drink. But it is nonetheless, now, it is the scum I have chosen. Stage, comedy and being something which I am and am not. But I failed.
I love the moments in which I don’t feel it. I love the moments in which I do not understand that my job is to not mind the pain. I love the waffling. Honestly, I do love a good waffle.
Tonight, I let myself get thrown by the elephant that is not in the room. Earlier today, I hated what I had to offer. I could not read, struggling, I heard different words. I did not know these words. I swallowed my pride, I listened, I took direction and I allowed f0r other’s words to be my words. I acted. I was an actor.
When I listened, and I took direction and I abdicated my own control, it was OK (or okay, as I am told a screeenwriter would write). Finally, after how many times? It felt like ten, but probably three, I listened and I replied and the group felt what I felt and I was the character and I acted.
Tonight, though, in contrast, the words were mine, the control should have been mine and I was ready. I knew from one degree of separation that the thing I cannot mention was known. Or maybe not known, but close. Like warm breath is close whether or not you want the attention. I planned for it. I was ready. Until the associataion I am not allowed to say or make or want to say or make was made.
“Wait, aren’t you, don’t you….”
“NO.”
Everything I thought I knew is thrown. The rhythm is thrown. I don’t know whose elephant is in my room anymore, and I don’t know what to say.
BAsically, and far less obtusely, I knew what my words should be, but I wasn’t prepared for moments before someone aiming at me what I wasn’t going to say. FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK. I jumped on the grenade. My words suffered. My writing suffered. My timing suffered. I HATED IT, but I did it. And, I knew exactl;y what I was doing.
Afterwards, someone who didn’t know who could not possible in seventy thusand moons or years or deaths understand, saw my failure and took it at face value.
So now, the humility, the buddhist lesson, my chance for salvation intellectual or otherwise presents itself. Can I live with idiots not knowing that the fact that I ignored the elephant doesn’t mean the elephant isn’t there.
AAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH. I hate my own coyness. AND I HATE WORSE, Someone misunderstanding my coyness for lack of comprehension.
Next time, I stick with dick and fart jokes. Universal themes have their place.
By the way, if I were not as funny as I think I am, and instead were as funny as it appears I were tonight, no doubt I would have an amazing fucking years as any accountant living large with 35 cent mileage and receipts for it all. Fucking hate me for having the temereity to thing my funniness and insight had just a tad bit (a soupcon) more.
By the other way, I can’t decide which is worse — comic advice from a comic who I will never share a comic sensibility and the humility of listenting to his “older” “wiser” experience OR dancing with the questionably oriented, crooked teeth gal who just wanted to teach me how to feel dancing to shit music I don’t know. Shitty dancing or shitting comedy? Now, wait, why do I even try again?