Fight The Dawn
An Abstract Legacy

Archive: Oct 2020

Ramblings

In Corde Meo Memoria

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I always envisioned myself as some archangel battling demons across clouds of crimson that streaked the skies. Everything was so straight forward; everything made sense. Two sides, good and evil, pick one or the other and make that the good side. Even in that fantasy hell could be heaven.

As I flitted through life I found no strong connection to either side. For both were born from inside me. Machinations that tie the history of humankind together. And yet, even in that I found no belonging. I wished to fight both sides which bears no fruit and could only lead to one outcome: my destruction. A single man pitted against to towering ideologies that existed before me and will continue to after me. How could I hope to win?

I loved it all the more. Incessant in nature to fight the losing battle. Further forward in life the colours swirl and black and white was simply an illusion. A way to make the chaos of the world seem somewhat manageable; as us versus them is an easy concept to hide behind. I dip in all the colours and taste their delights with no one colour hitting that sweet tooth of my soul.

It is not the black I hide in. Nor the white I use to blind others. It isn’t the myriad of millions of colours that dress me in their spirits. It’s the vacancy of verisimilitude; a vacuum vivacious in its viscosity, and venereal in its vernacular.

Look, I gave away my heart and it will not return. The sea is my only friend, far swept from any land or dwelling place. No one to visit me and no place to call my home. I am not lost…I simply do not belong.

Ramblings, Truth

Quis Scit

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One of my favorite moments is right before a show, hanging out alone: hidden in the wings, as the audience gets settled. Feeling the energy and buzz of the crowd as they stream into the theatre and settle into their seats. Where I am unnoticed and they are all that their day has led them to be. It fills me and feeds me and I can sit in those moments into perpetuity.

My other favorite moment is when the show is over and the stage is empty. The crowd has all gone home and even the crew, and I have the stage and theatre absolutely to myself. Sometimes it is showing up early to a rehearsal, sometimes staying late: either way, when I and the stage are alone. Most often it is when I am not involved in any production or cast or crew. Just visiting a stage of past: a raised platform of wood, or stone, or rock; or an entirely new stage. I love to grab those moments by myself.

To sit alone on stage and let its history or dreams of its future swirl around me. Everything else has its moments and they are brief in time. A play goes for ninety minutes on average, and maybe I get a run of a month; how I would long for a year. Even then it would serve its time and move on. The stage however remains, and I with it.

People come and fill the stage with a variety of sets and decorations. Many lives are carried out on its surface. Sweat, blood, and tears stain its grain and it absorbs it all. Carrying each life and production lived deep into its core and there lie the memories and experiences of all time. It serves its many parts as I play my many parts.

Those are the moments I often ruminate in and sit in more and more. My heart has heard the roars of love. A spell which lifts me up towards the greater sky and sails me to different heights. The stage though, absorbs all heartbreak.