Archive for November, 2012

One last post about Adam

Tuesday, November 27th, 2012


My name is Sandy.  I think Adam mentioned me a few times before on this blog.  I was looking through his writing and didn’t realize just how hurt he was.  I didn’t realize how much he was suffering.  Maybe I could have been there more for, as a better shoulder to lean on.  I know he put up with my griping enough.

It’s been a struggle to come to this post.  Maybe a little background would be appropriate.  I only knew Adam for a short time, but in that space he was a good writer and a better friend. Let me tell you, it is rare to find someone that nice in a city like this.  Everyone at the playhouse definitely liked him, and no one could lug the sandbags around like he could.  He was quiet, but when he spoke up, he always had something good to say.

Sure, his play was a little silly, but trust me, I’ve seen Master’s students from some of the best dramatic institutions in America put out work that was absolute trash compared to Adam’s play.  As a freshman effort, it was a promising start.  I guess we weren’t able to help him realize that.

A few days ago, he received a special email.  He didn’t want to read it, so I decided to read it for him.  At first I thought maybe it was a positive review, but it wasn’t anything like that.  It was a story, about Adam.  It was a happy story, one where he had someone who truly cared about him, and where he didn’t feel the way he did now.  It was funny, and the format threw me off at first, but   As I was reading it, something was changing in him.  He seemed happier, content even.  He even laughed once, though I think he was being a little sarcastic.  He probably thought of it all as a stupid game, not something that could possibly help him.

Sorry, I don’t really know how to describe what happened next.  He just…disappeared.  The moment I finished the story, he was gone.  It was like, there was electricity in the air, and there was a brief burst of fire, and then he was gone.  Shelley jumped into my lap and wouldn’t move, no matter what.  She’s living with me now (well, me and my two other cats).  Seriously, sometimes I’m worried that I’m going to end up like a crazy cat lady or something, hahaha.

Oh god, this is insane.  Adam was my friend.  I was pretty freaked out when he disappeared.  I thought maybe I’d gone crazy or something.  I still don’t really understand, but I did some research, and it seems like this was intended to happen.  I don’t know where he is now, but I hope he’s happy.  I liked the story I read to him.

So that’s about it.  I don’t think I’ll be sticking around this blog.  It was Adam’s, and I’d like it to remain as a testament to him.  You all seemed to genuinely care about him, so I thank you for that.

This is as good a place as any to end this post.  Thank you all for being such good friends to Adam.  I know that’s what he wanted more than anything.

Maybe I was a fool

Monday, November 19th, 2012

Maybe I was a fool. Coming here, trying to find something new. What does it all matter? I’m still the same, the same monster, stitched and mangled. I still have to hide my face, I still have to skulk and take the insults and the jeers and the hate. And for what? Those were all the things I wanted to get away from.
All I wanted was to not be alone. I wanted companions, love, respect, happiness, the fundaments of a fulfilled life. All I got was a curse and a fistful of change. Rage has given me no satisfaction, as I know not what to rage at.
I feel now, more than ever, that I have lost. It’s over. Everything, from birth to now has been torturous. Every time I try to move forward, to better myself, to reach out, has always ended in disaster. I could live my life in secret, skulking and keeping to shadows, but that is no life I want to live. I wanted to live like the people I see out in the streets do. They don’t live half-lives. They take the world by the throat and wring what they want from it.
But I wonder, don’t I, in a way, deserve this? Have I brought this upon myself, through crimes and through vengeance? Many of you have guessed that my past is not quite as clean and that I am not merely a victim.
It shames me to say that you are right. I am not guiltless, and by my name I am cursed. I am a slave to impulse, to rage, to my own stupid naivety. I am afraid of the world, afraid of fire, afraid of being hated.
God, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can stay here, but I don’t know if I can even muster up the strength to go. Should I stay here and rebuild, or should I go back, and confront the source, the very thing I fled from? I’ll be leaving all the things I have here, and God knows I won’t be able to Shelley with me. She’ll have to be abandoned again…
I had a dream, readers. Was that so terrible? All I wanted was to be loved, to have friends,  to laugh as other men do and not be pointed at in horror.  I wanted to be a man, with all a man’s hopes and dreams, and what did I get?  Failure, shame, the monster I really am bubbled to the surface.
I look to your kind words and think, maybe there is hope for me yet.  Maybe I could rise to be more than the monster I am.  But then I remember that life isn’t a story.  Life isn’t fair, and no one ever said it was.  Some need to suffer so that other men might live their lives.  I guess I was only ever meant to be a monster.  I’m sorry, friends, you have meant the world to me.  I’m going to keep trying, and someday soon I might finally claw my way from this blackness I find myself in.   Until then,

You are all beautiful people.

Oh, and about the Phantom…

Tuesday, November 13th, 2012

I’m done with the Phantom, for good.  I had a little chat with him and his accomplices many days ago.  Mad, the lot of them, and madder still for trying to involve me in their petty struggles.  I will have no more dealings with any of them, and the Devil take them if they ever try to contact me again.

That is all I have to say on the matter.

Saturday, November 10th, 2012

Shelley is hiding behind the couch.  She won’t come out to see me.  There are many broken bits of furniture scattered about the room.

I am lost.

Everything be damned

Saturday, November 10th, 2012

Damn it Damn it Damn it Damn it Damn it Damn it Damn it. Why?! Why? They hated it. The first reviews are in and I have yet to read anything more vitriolic. Take this particular gem:

- Self-aggrandizing, petulant, faux academic. These are just some of the words one could use to describe “Walls and Flames”, the premiere work of an auteur credited only as “Adam” on the playbill. Sigh, as if this production couldn’t get anymore pretentious.
The production itself was adequate, though somewhat sparse. Indeed, I often found myself at a loss for the intent of the set design, and the dramaturg responsible should go back to studying Munch’s sketches for the first productions of the works of Ibsen if they truly feel so compelled to use curtains as an integral part of the scenery.
But perhaps the most stupefying blunder of the performance was the choice for main character. Also named Adam, I cannot interpret his character as being anything other than an unmitigated power fantasy. The character is beautiful, beloved, perfect in every way, but with a profound sense of ignorance of what those things actually mean. It’s as though the author learned everything he knows of human relationships and character from prosaic old works.
Not that he’s not erudite. Quite the contrary, perhaps a classically trained thespian would have made better sense of the dialogue, but there is only so much an actor can do. This one act play runs the gamut of awkward scene writing: cloying romance scenes, cheesy moments of action, and a hammy, bombastic finish that sends this production’s cholesterol into the stratosphere. Though it’s obvious that Adam (the writer) possesses a wealth of refined knowledge, he seems largely ignorant of something as basic as warm human interactions.
In closing, unless you’re looking for a cholesterol heart attack inducing performance, stay away from “Walls and Flames”.

Self-aggrandizing? Self-aggrandizing?! This arrogant fop doesn’t know the first thing about self aggrandizing. Yes, the protagonist might be based on me, somewhat, but that’s not to say that this is a work of narcissistic fancy. I am a man, and I’ve suffered, known suffering, so that’s what I wrote about.
God, they don’t understand. It’s not just words up on stage, it’s me. It’s me right down to my very soul, all my fears and all my hopes. And they thought it was trash. I can’t even explain what I feel right now. It’s as though a weight has been foisted upon me, crushing my shoulders, grounding my feet and halting my pace. I don’t even want to continue writing this post, but I’m doing it for you, dear readers.
I cannot stand for this. This man, this worm, has not only insulted my work, but has assaulted my very character. Who does he think he is, that pathetic, spineless waste of a man? Who doe sjso-

(UPDATE: In my rage I struck at the keyboard and forced a restart. Luckily, the post was auto-saved. Shelly seems afraid of me and won’t come down from the top of the kitchen shelves.)

What are words in times like these?

Thursday, November 8th, 2012

Wow, just wow. That was an amazing night. Oh, readers, I wish you could have been there. It was magnificent. It wasn’t a full house, but it was close enough, and the whole production went off without a hitch. The leads both hit their beats just like I told them to, the stage production was perfect, and the critics in front row seemed to enjoy it. They had goofy smiles on their faces, even during the serious scenes, which confused me.
Bah, best not to dwell on it. The afterparty was as amazing as I’d expected it to be. Libations, a smoke machine (which frightened me at first, until I realized it produced its vapors with dry ice), and a great cake for all the crew to partake of. It was magical. And it seems that my physicality has granted me another boon. I outdrank every other man at the party with only a mildly vertiginous sense of the world moving to show for it. Before long they were shouting my name in a drunken exultation. Now all that’s left is to check the forthcoming reviews I’m actually quite excited to read what the critics thought of it.
Anyway, it’s off to bed for me. Until next time, dear readers, you scribes of the interwebs, you cataloguers of the vast unknown, supporters of the hidden, you who raise the nameless unto digital godhood, until next time.

Edit, this is it. Opening Night is Nigh Upon Us!

Wednesday, November 7th, 2012

(Edit.  In my haste and profound lack of sleep, it seems I quite simply reposted my previous post.  I’m not the most savvy auteur when it comes to even posting my work, and my lack of sleep has only exacerbated the problem.  As always, pardon me for this terrible mixup.)

I’ll keep this short and sweet, but know that I’ve read your compliments and it touches my heart.
I bought a suit, just for the occasion. No suit would fit, so I had to get it tailored, which was a nightmare in and of itself. One man shooed me out of his store after I removed my pants to be measured. I couldn’t tell if he was frightened, or insulted that I’d come to see him.
Anyway, I’m really looking forward to tonight. You guys don’t know ho much a windfall this has been. It’s really been unlike anything I’v ever done. I made it! God it feels good to say that. I have a performance. I might even talk to Sandy at the afterparty (Hopefully she won’t, you know, die.)  Thank you, all of you for being with me on this harrowing  journey, and wish me luck!

P.S.  I’ll keep you informed of any developments, so expect my report on the actual staging later tonight!

Pardon my silence, but THIS HAPPENED!

Friday, November 2nd, 2012

“Funds have been deposited to your account.  A special deposit was also made in your name with explicit instructions to begin production immediately.”

The Phantom came through.  He actually came through.   Oh friends, when I received the news, I could hardly contain myself.  My heart was all aflutter, my heart palpitating.  Oh friends, I set to work immediately.  My bosses at the playhouse were more than ecstatic.  The Phantom’s capital, it seems, has proved quite the windfall for them as well.  We’ve been working ’round the clock since last I wrote.

The following may be somewhat difficult to follow, but please bear with me. Staging this play has been a harrowing experience, but immensely satisfying. It’s difficult to explain, a kind of brutal, choking sensation, of seeing my word, MY WORDS, being spoken aloud, by beautiful voices emanating from beautiful people.
Oh, it’s quite unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. They say that musicians often feel a sort of connection to their work more intimate than any other. It supersedes children, lovers, and strikes at the very heart of being. I’m no musician (though I might pick up an instrument in the future), but I feel that now that I might have an understanding of that feeling. Maybe this is the feeling an artist has of their creation, or at least, the feeling an artist should have.
I feel proud in my work, and of myself for actually seeing it done. That’s not something I can say too often, at least not out loud. Sometimes I feel this is all a delicate dream, one that I will wake from at any moment, and all I have will be lost. It’s a terrible feeling, this sense of dread, and I can’t help but feel it lingering over me like some grim spectre, or perhaps a revenant.
Either way, it’s been a whirlwind of emotions for me. The hours have been long and my nights have been sleepless, and more than once I almost lost control over myself. That was the hardest part, controlling myself. It’s odd for people to be ignoring me one day, then obeying my orders and stage directions the next. What an interesting sensation, this power is. I think I like it. Either way, my next post should concern the actual staging.

Smiley Face =) (Sandy taught me that one)