Some days I wonder if I will go from stepping forward on a lit stage, slating my name and role to a table of bored looking men and women then taking a deep breath and leaping over the precipice of my self into the heart of another character…
Will I ever go from that, to sweating under bright lights as an audience hangs on the words of my co-star, the thick make-up feeling light as air while this person who is, and is not me retorts, replies, responds…
Will I feel my stomach lurch as the stage goes dark and I, now myself, must flee without bumping into any of the black-clad magicians who create the world this not-me lives in?
Will I feel my heart catch in my throat as the cast comes together, sweaty hands clasping one another as we bathe in the thunderous wave of applause?
Or will I take another deep breath, look up from the last line and realize once again that I have not caught the imagination of these people?
I will speak a quiet ‘Thank you’. And hear, ‘We’ll call you in a few days’.
Some days I cannot gather up the courage to try. And other days I cry because I want so desperately to go out into that world, wear my heart on my sleeve and say ‘Look! This is me, I can be all these people, if one of them is what you want then please…put me to work!’
I am a coward.
Some days I feel it quite sharply.
Today is one of those days.
Be overjoyed at college acceptance.
Discover mandatory Math Placement Test due in four days.
So I was talking to my brother…
One of our cats is thirteen, and she doesn’t eat as much as we’d like. So we get excited when she does.
Bro: Yes my darling, FEAST.
Me: You know, it sounds like we’re trying to train a cult beast and it’s just not working out.
Bro: Oh god can you imagine. “YES FEAST ON THE FLESH OF THE NONBELIVERS!” And it’s just this fluffy little kitten who goes ‘lick lick lick….mew’.
Me: *dying of laughter at the impression*
Bro: You know, I just don’t think this is going to work out sir….ahem, sorry, supreme grandmaster of the ninth order of the eighth subset of seven clogs.
Me: *still dying, fumbles to get this up on tumblr*
So I was talking with my brother…
Some of you may recall our discussion about human pain and empathic aliens and such, well we saw this article: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/10486479/Phobias-may-be-memories-passed-down-in-genes-from-ancestors.html
And my brother said “Wait, what if our DNA also contained the PAIN of our ancestors?”
And I said: “Holy shit…”
Imagine: Generations of pain, layer upon layer up to the present day. Earth is drowning in the silent agonized shrieks of our cells.
First contact would definitely have to be aboard a spaceship, and likely only the most centered and controlled Aliens would be strong enough to even enter our atmosphere.
So my brother and I were talking…
You may recall that we like to talk about humans and aliens, well my brother had this pretty awesome idea: What if humans have an aura of decay?
It makes sense, a room or a house can fall apart in one human life time if it’s not taken care of and repaired. We’re constantly breaking things, hell we invented duct tape. But what if it’s just us?
The Aliens come from a solar system, a galaxy, hell a UNIVERSE away, meet us…and suddenly their shit is breaking in months instead of centuries. And humans would just look at them like: “What the fuck do you MEAN you came all this way and only brought two spare parts? Are you stupid?” On the other hand, this means we’re a LOT better than them at fixing things, and while we’re some of the best repair persons in the multiverse, we’re ALSO the reason things keep breaking. It’d be like a kind of catch 22.
"You have a human fixer?"
"Yeah, it’s kept us running with no problems for thirty decacycles."
"But how do you keep it from…you know…"
"It stays in cryo stasis for the rest of the trip."
But that could easily lead to worker exploitation, but all we’d have to do to fight back is break things on purpose. We’re a violent species when provoked and that could work in our favor, unless the Aliens that discovered us were also warlike…guerrilla warfare maybe? Oh the possibilities.
A stone in a coffee shop: part 2
In interesting symmetry now I’m kitty corner a group of adults, aged 40 and upwards, talking about their children, Teen children, and how the choices they make need to be discussed, not automatically shut down. But also how they don’t understand what prompts some of the more dangerous or upsetting decisions. I wonder if we forget, at a certain age, how immediate and painful everything is when you’re a teenager. It’s like infancy all over again, all these stimuli and irritants but not enough world experience to express them in ways that the older generations can fully grasp. Your year mates can understand because they live it with you but your parents, teachers, grandparents they are removed. Much like a scientist observing an experiment. They’re invested in the outcome, they worry and fret and try to produce an ideal testing environment. The couple on the left talk about how they try and converse with their children but it takes a while to understand what their progeny are trying to get across.
It’s humbling, to see that not all talk of children is bragging. That parents need advice as well. That there are some who strive to understand and nurture their children. It gives me hope that those children will grow up to be adults who communicate well, who will better understand their own children. And maybe someday communication will be the norm instead of “Well, have you tried talking to him/her/them?”
I tried to thin out my likes again.
I crashed my browser.
For the third time.
I like too many things.
So I’m in a coffee shop…
And I’m floating in the conversation around me, it passes like water flows around a stone until I hear two girls, discussing family problems. One has obviously been crying but they’re just as obviously best friends. Probably ducking out of the winter chill. I want to tell them that it gets better, as you get older you find that strength in the pit of your belly to make your own decisions. But that’s not quite true. Some people never find that little pit of stubborn bitterness that motivates you to stand up to the people who raised and nourished you. I am blessed with a family who respects my autonomy as a human being. My own choices are my own fault and while I welcome their input they cannot hold me back or command me. They’re smiling now, swapping embarrassing stories and the tears are a fading memory. How can I give people my strength, small as it is? How can I help those whose families are clipping their buds before they flower? For now, I can’t. Maybe when I perform, if I can give the audience one modicum of courage, a single ounce of the motivation to be themselves…then I will consider myself the luckiest of human beings.
It’s strange to be a stone in a coffee shop.
My transfer application is compete and submitted.