June 08, 2009. 2254.
I'm so freakin' stressed. I'm too freakin' stressed to do anything.
I can't get it to character and it's so frustrating. And not being able to get into character is so distracting that it prevents me from being able to do anything else.

The only way I can get into character is with a bottle of beer.

June 08, 2009. 1111.
Emotions?

June 08, 2009. 0042.
I always find that when I think of a post while walking home or being in a bus, words just flow easily. Whereas when I’m sitting in front of the computer, I suddenly lose that stream…

In the schedule today is Electra, a Japanese adaptation of a Greek play by Suzuki Theatre. But of course, I didn’t read up on it so I was taken by surprise by the sudden quick syllables and subtitles. The play was technically perfect and artistically profound. That portion comes obviously. But…

I have recently developed a low tolerance for Japanese (This has nothing to do with you Khairi, Cass or Zaff. I swear.). And it’s something I can no longer explain now, unlike how I did awhile ago in the bus on my mind cause the stream had passed… And therefore I shall simply write what I have on my phone…

A barrage of Japanese words in very emphasized, very bold and very harsh tones momentarily overtook my being. And as it did I turned my eyes away to the lull of the light spill playing in the background. It seemed beautiful, and for a moment I was under the delusion that it could successfully distract me. Slowly, I drifted off to a half sleep half consciousness but even then ever so subtly but ever so painful it struck. My mind was elsewhere, thinking of a thousand other things related in part; things full yet empty, things empty yet full, things that don’t really make much sense. A kick. A scream. A smile. A reaction. Any reaction that would set off the fraction left of a world never once whole and yet never once empty. Sigh…


Not today
Yes, a narration. We have to have them once in a while.

Today, I entered the Blackbox to an unexpected sight. Apart from the usual dark, Colin stood, not really lighted except for spill from dim blue floods hanging from a back fly bar and a CSR sidelight. Sidelight? I didn't know we had sidelights. Strange.

Awkward. I didn't know. Why didn't I know? I didn't know Colin was coming today. And that the channels were changed and a whole bar of lights was shifted to the back and that we had poles set up for wings and rigging sidelights and why the one eight boy with white specs who I mistook for Wen Bin was standing behind the lighting board. For a moment he was the only thing that seemed familiar. It felt so strange and different that I was compelled to just sit in the darkness for what felt like a timeless moment, taking in whatever's left of the knowledge Colin was imparting. I was scared. Scared that there might be some tiny bit of information I didn't know, that I didn't catch. And while I was absorbed in the blue line casted around Colin's silhouette, a sudden thought came to me: Why do I need to know?

Do you want to study under Colin?
Yes.
Are you taking Theatre Studies in JC?
I don't know.
Then what's the point?
I don't know. I just want it. Passion.
Passion? Or possessiveness.
Both.

I suppose if I wasn't possessive it would be bad. Because people often say the fact that you're possessive shows that you care about something a lot. Then my eyes shifted to Zhan Rong, who had this look of mild curiosity in his face, perhaps a fraction of the hunger that was in mine. But I suppose it would do. For now. I have to teach him everything. But he's fun anyway. Can tease.

I was still in a soliloquy about our slow drifting from ATC when I entered the storeroom. Our rehearsals to be judged by Mrs K and Mr Smith were dawning, and as I did my articulation warm ups I took a moment to stop and smile at Colin, who said, "Hey, Carmina! The strong one. How are you?"

Yes, it brought a smile to my face. He couldn't remember anyone else! Ehe.

It proceeded to a small conversation, after which I restarted with warm-ups. Getting into character wasn't difficult, but it was exhausting. It felt good to have that familiar rush of cold blood to my fingers. Haven't felt it for a long time. And on one occasion when we were seated I touched Zaff's arm with my fingertips and muttered "Cold." Since he was getting into character, he gave me sexy eyes and in turn said, "Hot..."

No, Zaff. You still look gay. -___-

*****



-He said, 'Are you afraid?' I said, "Well yes, Morry, of course I'm afraid. I dont seem to be able to move and this stone is devouring my heart. When I get up from this stone, what if my heart has gone?What if I have to spend the rest of my life simulating love?

Phone rings.

And Morris said, 'I'm sure you simulate love very well. I'm sure the two of you will simulate love immaculately.' faint laugh He's a character.

-Am I not then?

-Not what?

-Am I not a character?

-Oh yes - you're a character - very definitely a character - but quite a different character. Kiss me.

The phone continues to ring.

-I have kissed you.

-Then kiss me again.

Martin Crimp. The Country.