Sunday, February 20, 2005

Theater is Life, Death to Theater!

I love being an actor.

In a way that transcends words, time, place, existence. My life in theater is a metaphysical elevation that can defeat death.

Tonight I did a staged reading of a play written by a friend of one of my old directors. It was about a family's loss of the father due to Alzheimer's.

I've been doing theater in Seattle since 2003, which is not a long time, but the great thing is how many people you end up knowing and working with when you are in back-to-back-to-back shows for 2 years straight.

It's better than anything else I know in life. I can't explain why - I think some things that are bedrock to our existence can't ever be known in words.

I feel like I want to explode when I'm onstage. When I do a show, it's like I'm hooked up to some monstrous, crackling generator that's sucking up energy from the core of the Earth and using my reality as a conduit.

When my performance ends, or a run is over for the weekend, I exist in some out-of-body timeless state for a few hours afterwards. Almost as if I've woken up outside as an amnesiac wandering the streets. Everything is kind of quiet and pale.

But I must sleep. It's late now, and I'm sitting in the dark with the only light in our apartment being from the typing of this entry. I have to stop now, and rest up for tomorrow.

Theater is the fire-headed God crouching atop a blazing altar, and I was robed in the temple tonight, bowing low with burnt offerings.

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