Monday, September 7, 2009
a prayer of sorts
If the sum of what I am in this life never amounts to be anything more than yet another attempt at the soul-bending search for the true self, my efforts will not be in vain. I am confident in my findings thus far, that if nothing else, I will remain human, subject to pain, misery, heartache and loss. In a world that revolves around the self, subjugated by monarchies of misrepresentation I stake my claim. I have not lived well, quite the contrary, I have been to the bottom of the barrel, down to the depths of the unknown. A journey that has led me through twists and turns, ups and downs, and left me with an unfulfilled hollowness that resonates through my entire being. Though a resounding hope is offered, though a deliverance from the doldrums of depravity exists I have eluded its rescue and eloped with the iniquity of my own misguided desires. My impiety has left me used up, dried out, and cast from the eyes of the righteous in likeness to an ember tossed into the sky by flame only to vanish into the blackness of the night and fall to ash under the weight of the world. At my wits end I have developed a newfound desire to shroud my soul from existential extinction and to safe guard my heart from heresy and it gives me purpose. I am here to embrace sovereignty as deemed necessary by the Lord God. It is my thirst for the true and unmitigated life of a servant of the Devine that I have come to distinguish as my sustenance. I have made the choice to begin again, to embrace a most undeserved second chance. I want nothing more than a clean slate. My journey has been amended, my malady has been apprehended, and my soul has been atoned for. I thank God for my life.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
theatre and life
this is a paper i submitted to my scene study class on the importance of theatre and life
i thought that it would make a good blog entry. enjoy
It is a difficult task to begin to define why it is that theatre holds a place so dear to my heart. Without it I feel that my life would be utterly empty, a vacuum that feeds endlessly upon the mediocre in an attempt to come into some form or sense of completeness.
My life continues to be a never-ending struggle as I search without rest for meaning, for purpose, and for an inkling of comfort.
In observation I have uncovered what I believe to be an undeniable truth. We as humans live a life that is void of purpose. We search with great effort in hopes that one day we will undergo the great revelation, if you will, and hence forth be baptised anew in the waters of purpose, able to take our new found salvation and spread it like seed over the fields of the dreams, passions, and inspirations of others.
Let me simplify what I believe to be truth into a question. Why does the child wish to grow up to fight fires, or why does the banker fantasize about riding his horse through the mountains? We all spend our lives searching, seeking for that one moment where we feel complete, content, and carefree.
Thus we create; a means by which we can all unite in our differences and for a brief moment in time connect with one another on a level that is so unbelievably personal that all manner of labels or separations disappear. The Jew is no longer the Jew, neither is the Gentile the Gentile, the mother is no longer the mother; the son is no longer sibling. We become silhouettes of our selves, separated from the slavery of titles. We come together to simply exist.
We exist together as we share in experiences that parallel our lives.
We exist together as we share emotions that directly affect some and through nothing more than a human connection indirectly affect others.
I believe that we exist to coexist, but in the entirety of our existence we fail to exist in a means that allows for coexistence. Therefore, theatre, art, and music serve as the means to an end; the end of our independence, which is directly connected to our loneliness and thus fosters the feelings of incompleteness.
There is magic in the power of a play and there is mystery in the brush strokes of a painting, just as there is memory in the melody of music. We cannot deny ourselves what we need to survive. We cannot go without food or without water or we will cease to exist. We cannot go without passion or without love or we will cease to remain alive. We cannot go without theatre, without art, or without music or we will cease to be human.
That is the beauty of life. The plight of evil men can strip from us our possessions, our wealth, and even our appearance. Yet we remain superior to any attempt of anyone to belittle us. Nothing can take away our imagination. Nothing can take away our passion. Nothing can take away the defining characteristics that make us who we are. In some senses I find humour in mans attempt to define his life by his accomplishments or titles. When the only thing that separates the doctor form the lawyer is a man made system of
rules, of knowledge, and of desire. Let me explain. If you were to take form the doctor
his white robe, or the framed paper on his wall that gives proof to his studies. If you were to take from the layer the courtroom, or the briefcase, or the corner office that bears his name upon the door, most would consider this to be taking from these individuals everything that makes them who they are. Wrong, have you take from the doctor his personality or his emotion, his passion, his love? Have you taken form the layer his humour, or his character or his morals?
A title means nothing. The theatre knows this. The theatre does not demand that you show proof of accomplishment to be able to sit in its seats. The theatre does not care if you are a king or a bum. The theatre only cares that you come into its house as a human, with the ability to connect to others regardless of rank, race, or salary. The theatre will not judge you. The theatre will not demand that you give back to it. The theatre will only give to you what you take from it. The theatre will save you in your search for completeness. You will be fulfilled in the connection that exists when the souls of the suffering, the searching, and the satisfied sit in simplicity fixed upon the story that seeks to unite the separations that exist when men forget the importance of our coexistence.
"By whatever means it is accomplished, the prime business of a play is to arouse the passions of its audience so that by the route of passion may be opened up new relationships between a man and men, and between men and Man.”
-- Arthur Miller
(http://www.entplaza.com Quotations on theatre)
i thought that it would make a good blog entry. enjoy
It is a difficult task to begin to define why it is that theatre holds a place so dear to my heart. Without it I feel that my life would be utterly empty, a vacuum that feeds endlessly upon the mediocre in an attempt to come into some form or sense of completeness.
My life continues to be a never-ending struggle as I search without rest for meaning, for purpose, and for an inkling of comfort.
In observation I have uncovered what I believe to be an undeniable truth. We as humans live a life that is void of purpose. We search with great effort in hopes that one day we will undergo the great revelation, if you will, and hence forth be baptised anew in the waters of purpose, able to take our new found salvation and spread it like seed over the fields of the dreams, passions, and inspirations of others.
Let me simplify what I believe to be truth into a question. Why does the child wish to grow up to fight fires, or why does the banker fantasize about riding his horse through the mountains? We all spend our lives searching, seeking for that one moment where we feel complete, content, and carefree.
Thus we create; a means by which we can all unite in our differences and for a brief moment in time connect with one another on a level that is so unbelievably personal that all manner of labels or separations disappear. The Jew is no longer the Jew, neither is the Gentile the Gentile, the mother is no longer the mother; the son is no longer sibling. We become silhouettes of our selves, separated from the slavery of titles. We come together to simply exist.
We exist together as we share in experiences that parallel our lives.
We exist together as we share emotions that directly affect some and through nothing more than a human connection indirectly affect others.
I believe that we exist to coexist, but in the entirety of our existence we fail to exist in a means that allows for coexistence. Therefore, theatre, art, and music serve as the means to an end; the end of our independence, which is directly connected to our loneliness and thus fosters the feelings of incompleteness.
There is magic in the power of a play and there is mystery in the brush strokes of a painting, just as there is memory in the melody of music. We cannot deny ourselves what we need to survive. We cannot go without food or without water or we will cease to exist. We cannot go without passion or without love or we will cease to remain alive. We cannot go without theatre, without art, or without music or we will cease to be human.
That is the beauty of life. The plight of evil men can strip from us our possessions, our wealth, and even our appearance. Yet we remain superior to any attempt of anyone to belittle us. Nothing can take away our imagination. Nothing can take away our passion. Nothing can take away the defining characteristics that make us who we are. In some senses I find humour in mans attempt to define his life by his accomplishments or titles. When the only thing that separates the doctor form the lawyer is a man made system of
rules, of knowledge, and of desire. Let me explain. If you were to take form the doctor
his white robe, or the framed paper on his wall that gives proof to his studies. If you were to take from the layer the courtroom, or the briefcase, or the corner office that bears his name upon the door, most would consider this to be taking from these individuals everything that makes them who they are. Wrong, have you take from the doctor his personality or his emotion, his passion, his love? Have you taken form the layer his humour, or his character or his morals?
A title means nothing. The theatre knows this. The theatre does not demand that you show proof of accomplishment to be able to sit in its seats. The theatre does not care if you are a king or a bum. The theatre only cares that you come into its house as a human, with the ability to connect to others regardless of rank, race, or salary. The theatre will not judge you. The theatre will not demand that you give back to it. The theatre will only give to you what you take from it. The theatre will save you in your search for completeness. You will be fulfilled in the connection that exists when the souls of the suffering, the searching, and the satisfied sit in simplicity fixed upon the story that seeks to unite the separations that exist when men forget the importance of our coexistence.
"By whatever means it is accomplished, the prime business of a play is to arouse the passions of its audience so that by the route of passion may be opened up new relationships between a man and men, and between men and Man.”
-- Arthur Miller
(http://www.entplaza.com Quotations on theatre)
Monday, July 21, 2008
escaping from the need for escape
if only there were words. i only i could speak with clarity about what it is that i feel inside myself. if only i understood. there is a mysterious quality of my mind that is moving throughout my head with such force that it has twisted my sanity into something sick, a soul bending, search for the true Taylor.
i am weak. i cannot stand to the knee breaking blow that temptation takes. and so i fall. fragile, fearful, fake, i fall. is there some great knowledge that i do not posses in understanding why it is that i am so hung up on the escape. that exit from reality. the brief burst of the bullet as it breaks the bond of the realms of rationalism and eludes the limits of everything that is existential. only to eventually stop it movement towards fantasy and return lifeless to the ground from which it was formed. i hold that very gun in my hand. barrel still smoking from another attempt to violently vindicate what i thought to be the victim. my soul.
yet i remain prisoner to nothing more than my own lack of clarity. i have let the world wear me down. i have subjected myself to self-induced dissatisfaction.
now i must make a choice. i must realize that everything that i wish to escape is everything i have created by placing importance on issues that do not define, dictate, or mean anything. by removing the focus i remove the need for escape. i holster my weapon, if you will, stop the shooting. stop slinging bullets. in hope that the fire fight has not left me limp and unable to i live life lacking the lust for the ability to relive.
“Self-acceptance comes from meeting life's challenges vigorously. Don't numb yourself to your trials and difficulties, nor build mental walls to exclude pain from your life. You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems, but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial, but in victory.” J. Donald Walters
i am weak. i cannot stand to the knee breaking blow that temptation takes. and so i fall. fragile, fearful, fake, i fall. is there some great knowledge that i do not posses in understanding why it is that i am so hung up on the escape. that exit from reality. the brief burst of the bullet as it breaks the bond of the realms of rationalism and eludes the limits of everything that is existential. only to eventually stop it movement towards fantasy and return lifeless to the ground from which it was formed. i hold that very gun in my hand. barrel still smoking from another attempt to violently vindicate what i thought to be the victim. my soul.
yet i remain prisoner to nothing more than my own lack of clarity. i have let the world wear me down. i have subjected myself to self-induced dissatisfaction.
now i must make a choice. i must realize that everything that i wish to escape is everything i have created by placing importance on issues that do not define, dictate, or mean anything. by removing the focus i remove the need for escape. i holster my weapon, if you will, stop the shooting. stop slinging bullets. in hope that the fire fight has not left me limp and unable to i live life lacking the lust for the ability to relive.
“Self-acceptance comes from meeting life's challenges vigorously. Don't numb yourself to your trials and difficulties, nor build mental walls to exclude pain from your life. You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems, but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial, but in victory.” J. Donald Walters
Friday, April 25, 2008
Hope
i have seen it. tonight my soul aches.
there is no hope.
the world is a dark and dismal place and we are nothing more, we have no worth greater than that of a rain drop thrown from the sky to fall without effort to our demise. to come face to face with the cold hard cement that tears us apart, breaks us and leaves us to puddle and stagnate.
we are so fragile. yet we force ourselves to be strong. afraid to let anyone around us know that death promises a blissful escape.
i have seen man at his bitter end. crawling in the dirt, screaming for the darkness to vail his eyes forever.
alone, we are all alone. we only truly care about ourselves. back any man into a corner, threaten him force your cold steel blade of hatred against his throat and the only thought that keeps him sane is that of selfishness.
how do we live, how do we go day after day after day with ourselves, tolerating ourselves?
blackness, bitterness, betrayal...human.
when i see what we have become. when i look deep in to the eyes of brokenness when i share tears with torment. when i hold the hand of hopelessness. when i fall to me knees this existence gives way to the truth that we are all so very confused.
show me a man that understands his life that truly knows who he is and i will show you a man that is rotting, decayed with lies. i will show you a man in which evil and sin darkens his heart to the extent that his blood runs black. his wounds bleed without ceasing and it drips and drowns every single righteous aspect of his soul.
can you see it
the good extends its arms upwards breaking the surface its voice gargles and gasps for a chance at breath. soaked with the blackness it sinks. its cries are lost. and the liquid surrounds it until it cannot be distinguished until it becomes the darkness.
hope?
there is no hope.
there is only truth and that truth is that there is only death
If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death. ~Charles Sanders Peirce
there is no hope.
the world is a dark and dismal place and we are nothing more, we have no worth greater than that of a rain drop thrown from the sky to fall without effort to our demise. to come face to face with the cold hard cement that tears us apart, breaks us and leaves us to puddle and stagnate.
we are so fragile. yet we force ourselves to be strong. afraid to let anyone around us know that death promises a blissful escape.
i have seen man at his bitter end. crawling in the dirt, screaming for the darkness to vail his eyes forever.
alone, we are all alone. we only truly care about ourselves. back any man into a corner, threaten him force your cold steel blade of hatred against his throat and the only thought that keeps him sane is that of selfishness.
how do we live, how do we go day after day after day with ourselves, tolerating ourselves?
blackness, bitterness, betrayal...human.
when i see what we have become. when i look deep in to the eyes of brokenness when i share tears with torment. when i hold the hand of hopelessness. when i fall to me knees this existence gives way to the truth that we are all so very confused.
show me a man that understands his life that truly knows who he is and i will show you a man that is rotting, decayed with lies. i will show you a man in which evil and sin darkens his heart to the extent that his blood runs black. his wounds bleed without ceasing and it drips and drowns every single righteous aspect of his soul.
can you see it
the good extends its arms upwards breaking the surface its voice gargles and gasps for a chance at breath. soaked with the blackness it sinks. its cries are lost. and the liquid surrounds it until it cannot be distinguished until it becomes the darkness.
hope?
there is no hope.
there is only truth and that truth is that there is only death
If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death. ~Charles Sanders Peirce
Thursday, April 24, 2008
untitled
sorry to all whom log on to my blog each day expecting a new post.
please understand that when i post on this blog it is in the apex of my creativity.
usually it covers something dramatic that i have been pondering or something meaningful that i have experienced. So one could say that i am inspired at the exact moment that finger touches key.
Creativity is not an ongoing process. Usually in the early hours of the morning when most are writing their experiences deep with in their dreams i am in the process of sharing mine with you on the pages of this blog.
inspiration comes to me and in that inspiration the unknows are revealed to me.
please stay faithful. it is my hope that your soul is satisfied with the reading of my reactionary revelations
please understand that when i post on this blog it is in the apex of my creativity.
usually it covers something dramatic that i have been pondering or something meaningful that i have experienced. So one could say that i am inspired at the exact moment that finger touches key.
Creativity is not an ongoing process. Usually in the early hours of the morning when most are writing their experiences deep with in their dreams i am in the process of sharing mine with you on the pages of this blog.
inspiration comes to me and in that inspiration the unknows are revealed to me.
please stay faithful. it is my hope that your soul is satisfied with the reading of my reactionary revelations
Creativity is the sudden cessation of stupidity.
-Edwin Land-Friday, April 4, 2008
in darkness
it seems that in the deepest darks of the night we find our true character. and it would seem that in the depth of this night i have found my own.
i do not wish to live my life wanting for my desires, regretting that i do not hold them firmly in my hand and lock them away within my heart, only to receive them and then regret the gaining.
some how my mind is clouded and i do not see another option. we regret because we lack only to never be satisfied when we gain.
man has placed himself between himself, that is, we prevent ourselves from ever truly knowing what it is to be... complete. i fear that i stand in my own path blocking the desires of my heart from ever completing their journey. i am at war with my own.
fear stands together with ambiguity like solider with sword daring me to attack and taste the might of its blade.
and i tremble on the battle field, knees knocking, with the footsteps of fear's formation. how do i overcome? how is this battle won?
i can see the victory it flashes before my eyes. but what of regret for the destruction of the foe. does not any man tremble with remorse at the sight of his enemy (no matter how evil) bloodied and broken at his feet.
then should we be so caught up in the victory that we forget the fight?
and with the dawn of the next day regret that our struggle did not achieve us more.
i want to get what it is that i want. i am bold, i am brave, and i can. fear is nothing more than a pebble ground into the soil of the footprint of desire.
i find my self tonight
i find myself
and i will not lose to fear. i will not regret because i will gain and in gaining negate not having more because i will have achieved it all.
i do not wish to live my life wanting for my desires, regretting that i do not hold them firmly in my hand and lock them away within my heart, only to receive them and then regret the gaining.
some how my mind is clouded and i do not see another option. we regret because we lack only to never be satisfied when we gain.
man has placed himself between himself, that is, we prevent ourselves from ever truly knowing what it is to be... complete. i fear that i stand in my own path blocking the desires of my heart from ever completing their journey. i am at war with my own.
fear stands together with ambiguity like solider with sword daring me to attack and taste the might of its blade.
and i tremble on the battle field, knees knocking, with the footsteps of fear's formation. how do i overcome? how is this battle won?
i can see the victory it flashes before my eyes. but what of regret for the destruction of the foe. does not any man tremble with remorse at the sight of his enemy (no matter how evil) bloodied and broken at his feet.
then should we be so caught up in the victory that we forget the fight?
and with the dawn of the next day regret that our struggle did not achieve us more.
i want to get what it is that i want. i am bold, i am brave, and i can. fear is nothing more than a pebble ground into the soil of the footprint of desire.
i find my self tonight
i find myself
and i will not lose to fear. i will not regret because i will gain and in gaining negate not having more because i will have achieved it all.
 | I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weekness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. -Henry David Thoreau, Walden (chapter 18) |
Monday, February 25, 2008
its been to ordinary
it would seem that i am at a loss for words. i cannot for some reason transfer my thoughts from this tangled web i call a brian to the ten now some what uninspired fingers that are pecking lifelessly at my keyboard. I want nothing more than to sit back and effortlessly communicate with the few whom frequent the pages of my blog.
however some force beyond my understanding seems to be at work turning every idea that i have from a discussion into nothing more than a wisp of words that wafts from my lips, is carried about, tossed to and fro and lost in the winds of translation.
so i leave you now having given you nothing more than what you came with.
as i remain silent somehow struck with a brain complication, may you be found in anticipation of the return of my communication. where in i hope to discuss in detail and in length the decisions that i am deciding, the thoughts that i am thinking, and the life that i am living.
until we meet again on this screen of sight based and thought provoking conversation
i wish you well in all of your endeavors. may they be less complicated and easier communicated than mine.
You perceive the force of a word. He who wants to persuade should put his trust not in the right argument, but in the right word. The power of sound has always been greater than the power of sense. I don’t say this by way of disparagement. It is better for mankind to be impressionable than reflective. Nothing humanely great—great, I mean, as affecting a whole mass of lives—has come from reflection. On the other hand, you cannot fail to see the power of mere words; such words as Glory, for instance, or Pity. I won’t mention any more. They are not far to seek. Shouted with perseverance, with ardor, with conviction, these two by their sound alone have set whole nations in motion and upheaved the dry, hard ground on which rests our whole social fabric. There’s “virtue” for you if you like!… Of course, the accent must be attended to. The right accent. That’s very important. The capacious lung, the thundering or the tender vocal chords. Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the world.
What a dream for a writer! Because written words have their accent, too. Yes! Let me only find the right word! Surely it must be lying somewhere among the wreckage of all the plaints and all the exultations poured out aloud since the first day when hope, the undying, came down on earth. It may be there, close by, disregarded, invisible, quite at hand. But it’s no good. I believe there are men who can lay hold of a needle in a pottle of hay at the first try. For myself, I have never had such luck.
-Joseph Conrad-
however some force beyond my understanding seems to be at work turning every idea that i have from a discussion into nothing more than a wisp of words that wafts from my lips, is carried about, tossed to and fro and lost in the winds of translation.
so i leave you now having given you nothing more than what you came with.
as i remain silent somehow struck with a brain complication, may you be found in anticipation of the return of my communication. where in i hope to discuss in detail and in length the decisions that i am deciding, the thoughts that i am thinking, and the life that i am living.
until we meet again on this screen of sight based and thought provoking conversation
i wish you well in all of your endeavors. may they be less complicated and easier communicated than mine.
You perceive the force of a word. He who wants to persuade should put his trust not in the right argument, but in the right word. The power of sound has always been greater than the power of sense. I don’t say this by way of disparagement. It is better for mankind to be impressionable than reflective. Nothing humanely great—great, I mean, as affecting a whole mass of lives—has come from reflection. On the other hand, you cannot fail to see the power of mere words; such words as Glory, for instance, or Pity. I won’t mention any more. They are not far to seek. Shouted with perseverance, with ardor, with conviction, these two by their sound alone have set whole nations in motion and upheaved the dry, hard ground on which rests our whole social fabric. There’s “virtue” for you if you like!… Of course, the accent must be attended to. The right accent. That’s very important. The capacious lung, the thundering or the tender vocal chords. Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the world.
What a dream for a writer! Because written words have their accent, too. Yes! Let me only find the right word! Surely it must be lying somewhere among the wreckage of all the plaints and all the exultations poured out aloud since the first day when hope, the undying, came down on earth. It may be there, close by, disregarded, invisible, quite at hand. But it’s no good. I believe there are men who can lay hold of a needle in a pottle of hay at the first try. For myself, I have never had such luck.
-Joseph Conrad-
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