Fight The Dawn
An Abstract Legacy

Archive: Apr 2017

Forgotten Heart

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As I rise from this half empty bed the memory of you lingers on my heart as my eyes adjust to this transfer of worlds. My legs have no will to stand up on themselves. Reclining back I wish again for the world I awoke from. Phantom sensations spread through my hair and down my neck; my hand reaches out for the warmth it once knew but now only finds solemn chill. These pools of blue find only darkness enticing them back again to deep slumber.

I try to speak out but find hollow words filled with no breath. I look to write but every word fails just as pen reaches paper. This love has blossomed in a desert: containing nothing worth sharing. There is no forward direction to go. I am utterly alone with a profound longing for her, who can never see this place. This cruel mistress of the heart has cursed me to wander ever close, hiding in her shadows; never a path to come out into the light.

Her eyes search for something that is not there. She smiles at the globes of light encircling her, illuminating her splendor. Their soft rays being dwarfed by the beauty that enfolds her. Her hands make contact with solid instruments of the heart providing a resplendent aura that further casts out shadows of her soul. Deep within a longing grows for a hidden feeling within; something foreign and untouchable, deep and subconscious—an unknown taste on the back of the tongue.

I move with every move she makes. I rise with every jubilant exaltation and fall with each dispirited moment she encounters. I am closer to her than anyone can ever know but cursed to be farther than anyone will ever know. If only there was a way for shadow to mix with light. The smile in her eyes when all the lights around her dim and she is alone in the shadows entreats my soul. A slow drift off into the only world we can come together in.

With eyes afresh and open I examine my own irradiated state. Destined to always be a faded reflection of that which I can never know. These ill-starred eyes enraged by the fact that our worlds cannot collide. This heart must be torn and tossed to the side, left to be forever forgotten. Even wholly hollowed out their exists a yearning for your eyes in mine. Forever haunted by the three words we can never share.

Hot Mess

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Where do I even start for this? I feel like I have to type this out before I get too emotional and sentimental. I also feel like I could write a whole book on the past 3 days, so this may be a little long. Let’s start from the beginning, where everything starts anyways.

I first auditioned for this film more as of a practice for auditioning. I thought it might be nice to get the part but didn’t expect it, as I didn’t think I was a good fit for the role, but it sounded interesting. My audition process was unique and fun, as they always are, and I walked out of there that Tuesday night pretty confident I didn’t get the part. Fast forward to Thursday of that same week and I was pleasantly surprised to get the part. I was invited to a Saturday lunch potluck for the cast and crew to meet each other. That Saturday was a foreshadow of things to come. It started late, which is alright, but then it continued to be late, with no communication happening. I eventually had to leave, 2 hours later, which is when the meeting began. That was good flow and explanation for just the general consensus of this past weekend. No communication and hurry up and wait.

Three days before filming was to commence the Assistant Director quit. Taking with her many key locations, and key crew members. I was pretty sure at this point that the film wasn’t going to happen. Which, I was initially fine with because I had begun feeling generally DGAF (don’t give a fuck) about myself as an actor and didn’t really want to act. Everyone in the film was scrambling around to fix these issues and ultimately my costar, or film wife, saved the day by offering up her house for the shoot. We were back on for shooting.

“Aw shucks” I thought. I was so close to wallowing away in self misery and now I have to go and be an actor. Some day I will grow up, or maybe not. Friday’s shoot was back on and it was back to the regular schedule of a full 3-day long weekend of filming. I was still DGAF over it but hey I made a commitment so lets see this through and run through the motions. Although the professional in me did a little more than just run through the motions. I made my character arc breakdown, scene breakdown, and made sure to have all my lines down for the first 3 scenes we were going to shoot on Sunday.

No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.
Helmuth von Moltke

The enemy here was the business of entertainment and shooting films. The production started off as a hot mess. Shots all had to be re-worked and re-planned and scenes were cut and re-written. Our first night we were scheduled to shoot 3 scenes. We made it out of there shooting one scene. Could we have shot more? I’m pretty confident we could have but I’m just an actor. People were doing the best they could with what little control they had.

My greatest saving grace was in my costar. I haven’t had the luxury of working with a wide variety of actors, just my colleagues in our mock conservatory training, so I don’t expect too much from other actors because I don’t have a lot of experience. I was pleasantly surprised by my costar though. She is amazing. Anytime I can sit down with a fellow actor and “do the work” I count it as a blessing. I continue to hope that in every production I do I will have that, for I had that as well with my colleagues in the play I did, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.

Amidst all the craziness going on around us I was just very thankful that I could talk with another actor in the same vein. There were so many problems with the script and our character’s relationship but we were able to figure them out and fix them. I am convinced that this movie is being made in spite of this script and direction. That seems like a harsh critique but I don’t think it’s far off. There is an amazing crew here and an all-star cast that are working in adverse conditions to make this thing work. We’re down to a skeleton crew and I’m not sure who we will have next weekend if anyone but I hope we can continue to just piece this thing together. It’s a hot mess.

That aside there are so many characters in all this. I begun by not wanting to have done this production and sitting here on an off day I really just wish I was shooting again with these people. I miss my kids that called me A-Daddy for actor daddy. Working with child actors has been an incredible experience. They are so incredibly gifted, curious, and adorable. They have taught me so much. I miss my costar, my wife, who I can improvise a scene with and have so much fun and make some incredibly strong and real moments with. I miss the characters of people that make up certain crew members and other actors. Their individual charm and quirkiness that just lightens the mood and makes for glorious moments of real life.

It has been 3 grueling days of things constantly going wrong, long days with limited sleep, and lots of alcohol, courtesy of my loving wife, but it has been 3 truly fantastic days that I will not forget. You really get close to people in such a short but intense amount of time. I do not get to see my kids next weekend and that was a hard goodbye. I mean I’m sitting here laughing because this film is such a mess. I truly am frightened by what I think will come out of it at the end but in all honesty I love it. I’m looking forward to this coming weekend and continuing to shoot. Even in all the horror I’m addicted.

I think that is the most important thing to walk away from this with. There will always be production problems. There will be many different types of crew and actors but this process is something magical. I have no idea what my future holds but I am very thankful that for now I get to work on this film. Despite any and all of it’s flaws it is something gorgeous. People might see this and judge it and critique it for its merit as a snapshot but I will know the whole. And while the whole can only be described as a “hot mess” it is a beautiful and glamorous “hot mess”.

Despondent

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Should I write about a new insight gained tonight? Should I write about some new big breakthrough that happened on stage? Should I write about the push through a struggle to overcome and excel? Or should I write about the truth? About despondency?

I’d rather talk in riddles and metaphors that hide the true feelings inside. I’d rather wield a pen such that my thoughts became so jumbled that I could have a bit of peace in their confusion. Unfortunately, everything clicks neatly together like a jigsaw puzzle but with no scenery to behold.

What about the truth of a black hole that fills my heart? Would that be interesting enough to satiate one’s curiosity? I think it would be rather boring and mundane but at least truthful. How there is a void that seeks and longingly desires, no, absolutely craves validation. That without it, it looks in the mirror and seeing its blackness reflected back stares waiting for something to emerge out of that hole, knowing full well nothing can.

Or that in the event it does receive validation, it gobbles it up before it can even process it. Erasing the validation beneath its dark interior as though it was never there at all. How can the insatiable be satisfied? It is a futile task. So it sits there, waiting. Hoping for one day when something brave, something strong. . .something beautiful, emerges from its odious core. All the while knowing full well, that nothing ever will.

Grateful

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Gratitude – Open Your Eyes

More often then I would like, I forget why I do any of this. I lose focus of the bigger picture that is unfolding and taking place around me. I grow inward and selfish in my views and ambitions. Which only leads to frustration, bitterness, and a feeling of self-destruction. How can we exist just in it of ourselves?

There is so much more to this craft and journey than just ourselves. There is so much more to the beauty of this entire world that we are apart of. It’s all too humbling. In our craft it is our job to dive in and explore the lives of these very real people. To hold back self-judgements and criticisms and to explore freely and curiously the inner working of another that is not so far removed from ourselves.

It is good to be reminded of the beauty for which we strive to hold a mirror to, both good and bad. As well it is good to gaze into that mirror of ourselves and challenge our own faults. For me that is the inward separation of myself and the world around me. Yet I cannot continue to wallow in my own destruction and instead must embrace the beauty of that which I am a humble partaker, and be grateful.

This battle I write of is not a one off occurrence and I know all too well it will continue to happen again in the future. What I take solace in is the fact that the beauty and grandeur of the world and universe will always pull me back in. Reminding me that I am not alone, nor apart, nor forgotten, but a gorgeous part of something more vast than I could ever conceive alone. For that I will always be grateful.

Forget Every Breath

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If only history could change I would soar over these prison walls.

There is this wall that rises forth from the ground in front of me. Staring up at it, it seems to reach so far as to kiss the sky. With no tools to dig it matters not as I fear there is equal height underground. Everything comes to a complete halt in front of this dead stop. Turning ever so slowly I find myself enclosed on all sides by this grand behemoth. There is no escape.

The sky seems so warm and inviting but as I reach out to grab it I come to grips with my inability to achieve anything. I sit down. The air stinks down here being musty and old; the exhales of those that rose above and beyond. This light would be so much brighter if only there was something to illuminate. Worth is not a factor when there is nothing to barter for.

Eyes peer out at me watching my next move wondering if I will try to climb again. A harsh lesson learned earlier that will not be repeated I smile back at the unblinking eyes. Safe inside my own empty skull as my eyes were clawed out long ago. If we could heal these war torn wounds we could be Pegasus in flight. For now the dream is staring into the abyss and losing one’s self to vertigo to fall endlessly onward into the dark.

I awake to find myself encased in a pinewood box buried six feet under; my home.

Hunger of the Soul

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It was once remarked to me that in training to become an actor you will have no life. Or rather your life will be consumed with acting. I’m in my second week of 5 days a week classes, while working full-time, with rehearsal practices on Saturdays and Sundays, so I’m basically in acting 7 days a week, and I’m asserting the truth of that remark. I’m not in a conservatory training program, as cool as that would be, so it’s not a full time 8-10 hour day of acting but it gets pretty close. It’s basically a part-time job of 20-30 hours all on the side.

Yet those are the hours solely dedicated to acting, as I said before, my life has become consumed with acting. My time at work is consumed with acting. Whether it be looking at a potential audition piece or going over a monologue or reading a play on a break, acting breathes its way into every moment. It’s always on the mind, it’s always with you. Even when I go out to Chipotle to get some much needed fuel the eye is observing people, watching their behavior; everyone becomes a character study.

Breakthroughs don’t just happen in class or in rehearsals. Suddenly an epiphany comes while you are alone sitting on the toilet, that’s where most of mine happen anyway, and you are thrust forward with excitement to get up and play, hopefully wiping first. In all of this I have not grown tired of acting or even close to burnt out. Instead the opposite is happening, my appetite and hunger for this craft continually grows to new bounds.

I’ve been plotting a character timeline for Shakespeare, rehearsing monologues for class and auditions, going to auditions (which is a whole other story), writing my own work, rehearsing scenes, and reading for new monologues. I get home late at night and fall asleep to Stanislavski. I awake early, bleary eyed and zombie in to work, and come alive again at night with whatever class is scheduled that day. It’s fantastic. Some say I’m crazy. Some say I’m going to get burnt out. Some say I need to rest or take a vacation.

I say, bring on more. I’ve been less involved in other things and walked away from them, or been severely burnt out on them. They were not for me, my life was just fine going on without them. Acting though, I cannot do without. It’s not something one can understand unless they share the passion, or they have passion for something else in a similar vein. Acting isn’t a hobby. I’m convinced it cannot function as a craft one just dabbles in. Acting is an art that consumes your entire being and your entire life. If you are not prepared for that, if you do not wish for that, then the craft is not for you.

I don’t mean that anyone who isn’t a working professional or doing acting as their primary focus is a hobbyist. I firmly believe you can be doing community theatre and hole in the wall productions while maintaining a paying day job and still be in this craft. There are many cases, I believe, where the craft of acting burns brighter in those unknown side actors than those that we watch on the big screens. It’s an art, a craft, and it demands the full passion and embodiment of every soul that wishes to enter into its domain.

There Is No Meaning

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I hate myself, but find these empty words more repugnant

A silver lit face glitters in the shadows; a secret kept so expertly it has all but been forgotten. The sun creeps up to steal the shadows away, looking to expose their villainous enterprises and burn their plights down into fine grains of sand. His feet dig ever so slightly into the graveyards of hearts saturated in blackness. Fragments of ambition cut shallowly into his skin as he absorbs their expired deeds.

Snuff the wick of this dear heart or suffer the burden of its pain

A shadow is still cast by the man as he peers out upon the landscape of the world; his domain. The sun beats across his skin warping the curves and folds of war worn hide. Energized light battles to break through to the last shadow remaining but the guardian stands breathing in the tainted air around him.

There can be no chalk outline for that which was never alive

Black veins creep up ever so slightly to find their way to the promise land of emptiness. As the blackness grows the shallow cuts open up to deeper wounds. Blood pours forth freely engulfing the blackened sand around the man. Rivers and tributaries of blood as black as the night frantically stream forth. Crystallized dreams break down and sprout forth veins like vines that slowly twist and turn, gnarling their way back towards the source of this river.

Freedom comes in many forms and for me it’s the release of this body

Greeting the sinking man they twist and tighten around his limbs growing in strength and vile. Splitting and fracturing they spawn forth new growths that all immediately drive forward into the man, staking their claim and share of the blood. His face disappearing beneath a sea of jet black veins like hair he is pulled down further and further into the abyssal sand.

Let me sink to the bottom of the confines of my soul

As the man slips beneath the gooey void the silver lit face takes control, shining brightly forth in full match of the sun. With no shadow to protect its glistening smirk the sun attacks with a full bout of radiance. The silver lit face smiles deeply as it matches the brilliance of the sun. Darkened vines burst forth with great speed stretching out like great anchors towards the sun. With great power they strike forth and berate the benevolent glare of the sun. As they infect and dampen the glow of the sun the silver lit face’s smile broadens.

Hope is the greatest lie told by man

As quickly as the battle begun the sun is extinguished and all turns to black. Darkness consumes all. Time ceases to exist. The void is infinite. Lost among the void is the smallest spark; too fragile to behold. After eternity a brief flash of light is ignited and with great fury, pours forth, feeding off all the darkness. A supernova ensues to crush and blind the abyssal void that has taken over. The silver-lit face is dispatched, burned out of existence, and all that remains is a golden hue.

Chains of Ego

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True self-confidence never needs to degrade the confidence of others in order to grow and survive. If it does, it’s not confidence at all. . .it’s ego.
– Charles F. Glassman

There is a monster inside me waiting to devour those I lay eyes on. It seeks out to find those that are weak and punish them, consuming them in raw fire; taking their energy to feed its ugly endeavors. For those that are stronger it lays patiently dormant, waiting for the exact moment when they fail or grow weak. On that note it discordantly strikes and greedily feeds on the poor misfortune of that once kingly soul.

In any achievement or acclaim it feigns humility in reverential bows considering itself low while it sits with its nose on high looking down at the world. In hardships and failures it disappears into the shadows waiting to strike on the misfortunes of others to rise again; a King sitting on his throne elevated to his status by the bodies which he has devoured to get there. It is jealous of its own endeavors and envious of other’s successes. It can never be contented and is always famished, needing to feed on the misfortune of others.

People ask me why I have a hard time taking compliments and it’s because I am scared that this ugly mangy wolf will come out from hiding. I have been so scared of my own ego that I have killed all ambition lest it grow to feed it. So anytime success becomes a reality, anytime dreams seem to be within grasp, I self-sabotage for the sake of ego. I was a runner because of ego.

If another gets an audition over me how will I react?
Will I paste a fake smile on my face and offer half-hearted congratulations while stabbing them in the back with my talk of them later?

If I find another is going for the same audition will I hold back from auditioning as well?
Will I self-sabotage myself to save face lest I lose out or feign benevolence for not taking a risk to fail? Is self-sabotage anything but fuel to the fire of ego?

What a coward I have been. I act so low in feigning ignorance of keeping my ego at bay, yet while I cower it is only my ego I am feeding. Through not addressing it I am enslaving myself to its hidden desires. For it is ego to sit lower than where you are – thinking you are truly higher – as well as to be higher than where you are. Instead will I bravely sit exactly where I am?

Self-confidence is the true counter-part to ego. Achievements, acclaim, and compliments do not need to be dodged for ego’s sake but accepted for self-confidence’s sake. For as self-confidence grows the ego will be beaten back. In being confident with who and where I am I can truly admire and make soar those that rise above me, as well as lift and pull up those that are below me. The measure of a man is not found solely in his ambitions and desires but how he treats others. For what is it worth to gain the world’s possessions and fame and lose my own soul.

Nothing I can dream of for myself is worth more than the enjoyment of sharing with others. The elation in collaborating with others. The delectation of watching others succeed and prosper. The gratification of watching or helping one to rise higher than where they were yesterday. My coach has given up so much to see the future of this craft progress forward in her actors she has brought up. She has struggled with her own ambition, yet all I see is a 10 plus year program of empowered talent that is unstoppable. There is something worth more than its weight in gold of Oscars or fame.

If there is anyone who exudes self-confidence and has rooted out her own ego it is her. For now I might struggle, but one day I will win out, and every day I currently do it grows weaker. Every day I stand taller and confident in my own skin and ability is a break in the chain of the slave master of ego.

 

Truth In The Eyes

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I dreamt that I was in a movie about a future dystopian world that was run by warlords. These warlords ran great empires by use of machines to enslave the masses and propagate their will and desires. It was all an allegory to method acting. Patsy Rodenburg was the heroine in this movie, who was also the main assassin and bounty hunter for one of the warlords. She had found and retrieved a defector, myself, and brought me back before the warlord to stand judgement. I was mercifully forgive and spared by the warlord, who of course was played by a well known method actor, because he dreamed of a different future for this world. One where warlords didn’t run great empire by use of machines, but rather the people could all be enlightened and contribute themselves. I was tasked to be under the tutelage of Patsy Rodenburg to help realize this dream.

Shifting, I was now apart of a team that dealt with artificial intelligence. It was the future and AI had progressed far beyond the point that humans envisioned. There were growing reports that some had become sentient. My team was a task force to root out these supposed new creations and shut them down. We were dispatched on this one raid to find an AI that had been reported to go against its self-preservation code to never endanger another human. It was reported that it had killed humans to protect another robot it had developed feelings for, another malfunction in its core systems. My partner, who was also my wife, and I tracked this robot team down. A battle ensued and it went after my partner. In saving my wife’s life I took down this robot and before shutting down he looked in my eyes, “You see, you’ve done the same as me. Am I not you?”

Shifting again, I awoke in my dream, to myself standing in front of the mirror. I had grey hair peppered throughout and an undeniable feeling inside that I was old. I did not seem older as my mind still felt young, but it seemed like my body had betrayed me. I was confused and partially saddened, asking myself, where did my youth go? I still feel young inside. Why must my body wither while the mind stays sharp? There was a small feeling of happiness though. A small budding feeling that I had become more sagely and wise.