monsters in the closet

sometimes I get the feeling it is the need to distract from so much pain so, I just make myself do outrageous things …. otherwise I would go back to what I used to do…. I think that’s why I keep running but—you know, I can’t run away from it because…. it is—in here 

 [desperate hour/to delete later]

thoughts of the legend ‘project e.d.’

 

E….

MM tells me to come up with the final rough draft scripts for thirteen episodes so the synopses can be completed ….while D has me practicing horrors drawn of my life in monologues as I wonder over his point in my doing this 

….as I begin the mammoth work of breaking things down into thirteen episodes, dragging myself, I think about an earlier conversation last week —as we discuss approaches forward, funding, possible theatre house ideas…. and whilst discussing money, agents, etc R tells me that someone has showed interest in E.D. and said they wanted to do it but —we’d have to get funding— of course —never! —as it is my project! 

he says I should take it as a good sign my film concept is a good idea (but I knew that) 

then later as we chat, he suddenly tells me that he has just realized he knows someone in the Swedish symphony who might know ~him; yes that would be interesting, I think

&, no I could not just see it once, I’d have to go back again and again 

notes from a crypt

 det verkar tragiskt jag kan inte se det.  som jag kan se skulle du göra en så sexig demon

thoughts on a Celf left on the shelf

 

in this whole theatre of mine 

….. it is all about …..this searching for meaning 

                                              But even more, sometimes it is also about identity ….

How many times as a child did I have to reinvent myself whenever we moved….changing schools; peer pressures, bullies…. new mask, new shield ….a kind of artistry to it but…. you get so lost in there

I stumble over —what do I call myself 

and return to Electra as the natural conclusion 

born of illegitimate secrets and a pinned on name that was never my own that …. I could not wait to discard it…. then each name I hence acquired by marriage carried their heavy shackles but …. 

what’s in a name?

and so, yet again

 —a rose by any other name….

and…. 

am I not who I created after all? by intention or weird fortune this Frankenstein born of unheard of sums of algorithms…. but then so aren’t we all ?

never simplify 

maybe I am just a satire with its own natural conclusion 

 

so it seems I can still stop traffic —for boys in muscle cars. 

or maybe it’s my h&m shorts 

“hey baby,” out the window at me 

I think I have found my director. we studied theatre together. like a century ago