Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Theatrical Discontents.

There's some serious brain-damage in my head. There're so many ideas and very few of them I am able to express and present.

I have this feeling that theatre has been misunderstood. It's misunderstood. I see all those performances in which one actor tries very hard to stand out and ends up almost killing the play and I blame it on capitalism. I know it's a strange take on it but, bare with me.

How many faces and bodies can you fit on a screen each with a personality and not just general by-passers with blank faces? Very few.
How many faces and bodies can you fit on a stage each with a personality and not just general by-passers with blank faces? Few but more than on a screen.

When we go to the movie theatre we look at these portraits, usually there are close-ups of a couple or of one person. For a moment, according to so many theorists whose names I forget, we lose our sense of self and we unite with the character.
Can we unite with a bumch of characters? Can we unite with a whole play?

When I was younger I used to like being alone, I thought it gave more meaning to my thought and was more productive in terms of finding "answers" to all those hypothetical questions and depressed teenager thrives to find answers for. Back then, I liked novel and poetry. I especially liked novels told in the first person, from one point of view.
I liked them because they were about me and my room and my imagination. Poetry was also about me and my room and my imagination. Even if I read a novel on the beach, the beach never takes part in the novel. A place is situated in space that is inside my imagination and all that is written is mine.

A play gets out of hand. There're many characters. It's much more enjoyable to read it with someone. I read The Comedy of Errors when I was 11 in Arabic. It was in my mothers collection. She said it was funny. I didn't find it that funny.
I tried reading it again with a friend. Then, it was funny. I was not a loner anymore when I started liking theatre because for the imagination to be alive in a world with too many voices, my imagination will definitely be short on a couple of even a few of them and then they melt together and it's not funny anymore.

Looking back at it, the more I enjoyed company the more I liked theatre. I can read play when I'm alone, but it still doesn't feel like I'm completely alone because it seems as though there's no dominant point of view from which it's told. (there's an opinion of course but I will not get into that right now). Different characters speak differently, act differently and are always kept company by one another.

To make a play that has no design and no sound and no nothing, you still need a lot of people. One person can't carry a play that has more than one actor. (maybe if they have multi-personality disorder but that's not what I'm talking about right now!) and it seems that there has to be a lot of people involved with this type of thing and they have to work together.

If a character didn't like company, wanted to be alone, how would the play unfold then?
And if an actor wants to be alone and shine in the limelight where did the characters around him go? And how will they help him go through with his action if he doesn't let them speak?
There's a sense of community in this. The way everyone has a certain job and not the other, the way every person completes something that has a beginning, a middle and an end. Also, in the way that only if you stop talking over me will I be heard, you have to stop talking so I can be heard.

And you will stop talking or else you will stop making sense if I don't talk back.
It's a limited space in which we step over one another, nothing is just but most things are needed. If one actor doesn't care about the other person at all, a play might end up being completey dysfuntional. There is a general worry about the play as a living thing and actors as parts of it that move like mobile puzzles, completing one another, and in the way, completing a whole picture, overlapping and contradicting.

How would a puzzle be if one person wanted to be a leader? to compete with the others? to be best at something? or to want to outcast others that he doesn't like? Aren't these the concepts and basics on which a self-interest based system is built and fed? And aren't those principles that are growing in different societies every day?
How will theatre survive if each person thinks that their sadness only belongs to them and is not to share? How will it survive if each person thinks that their happiness only belong to them and is not for sharing?
It would be a play where each character talks at the other, does not listen, and therefore, goes nowhere.

It would be this word-vomit'y blob of speech on a stage that no one would like to see.
Self that exists alone just might kill theatre.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

A New Decade

I just realized that in a couple of months, I would be entering a new decade of my life. So now I have no option but to stop and start asking what I had accomplished (just because the list would be ridiculously (did i spell that right) shorter and what I did not accomplish-list).

Once I think about the accomplishment and all this, I just want to scream (at myself), cut this crap! I don't really strike myself as the accomplishment type. My life goes on. I learn stuff, mostly the hard-way; and my life goes on.

There's no accomplishment, there's just much less days to live.

And there's still no meaning attached to so many things that others claim to have meaning.

And I'm still not half as wise as I thought I, five years ago, thought I would be when I'm this age.

And I still give a wrong answer to "how old are you?". I feel at least 7 years younger. It's absurd.

Age is a strange concept, adopted and nurtured by humanity itself.

I remind you, this is not the diary of me going insane.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

So Much to Do So Little Time.

I have so much to do in so little time!
I have to read more philosophy. I loved reading philosophy (when I did). It was brain-scrambling but it gave me more to think about, in less time... If I had read Kant's ethics eight years ago instead of four, it would have saved me a lot instead of rationalizing ethics with my own effort.
He sums it up, one has ethics because one is free to do everything. And therefore, the law is of the rational thinking.

And then, I stop reading philosophy and I stumble in my daily life. And I stumble. And I don't know where the idea of morality came from. I had forgotten.
Being me, I forget the most basic things, and hold on to the very details of events in my life. That's being me.

I have so much to do in so little time. I have so much to think about and resolve before it's too late. I feel that the years get shorter. I get older. I need to feel safe before I die. I need to feel as if my eyes see in more than one direction, or else it's wasted time. And after that, comes the nothing.

My life is the time for me to make the choices.
I die, and then people make them for me. They burry me, and visit me (maybe), and talk about me in a certain way (maybe). Or forget me.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Question to Self.

Isn't it a bit too early to notice the white elephants?

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I look at myself in the mirror and I know I see a completely different person than the one everyone sees. How can they see a white elephant?
There arent white elephants.

I hold my hands together tights when I watch happy couples go by and I wish that they wouldnt go into too much political discussion!

Many, many white elephants. Is Hemingway still alive?

Saturday, December 16, 2006

حياة

فكرة مخيفة جدا، ان مش كل حد عايش بجد حي. فكرة مخيفة ان اليوم مش يوم لو ما خدتش بالي انه بيعدي. ان الحياة كلها ممكن تعدي منغير ماخد بالي... مش عارفة ازاي! ماهي سنين عدت و انا لسة بغلط ف سني...دايما بقول اني أصغر لأني ما خدتش بالي ان كل السنين دي عدت، فكرة مخيفة

Monday, December 11, 2006

On Being Old, Dying and What Not.

Sitting with Dr. E makes me depressed, but it's addictive. He says he lived too long, a bitter old man. It's funny how he's one of the people I feel most comfortable being around, and talking to.
Maybe one of the reasons why I have been feeling old and dying is because I have been hanging around too many old people lately. I feel a bigger gap between me and anyone who's less than 27 getting bigger. My mother is 50, and she doesnt feel like she's dying. I keep dreaming that I have lived too long that my teeth are falling off. It's very nighmare'ish in a threatening way. I know I am not dying, but it's doesnt stop me from feeling it.
Maybe my subconsconsious wants me to be more alive by making me feel threatened by the idea of me dying. It's strange.

Check this:

http://postsecret.blogspot.com

It's inspiring.

Friday, December 08, 2006

طريق اللي يروح، و ينسى

أنا صعبان على كل الناس اللي بيقروا البلوج دة، بأمانة. بفكر اني امسحه خالص. صعبان على انكو تقروا كل القىء الفكري اللي أنا بعمله ف البلوج دة. يمكن تكون فكرة حلوة اني اكتب كل حاجة ف كراسة مكتوب عليها من برة: سارة في طريقها للجنون.

يمكن فكرة مريحة بالنسبالي اني ابقى عارفة ان في شخص ما في مكان ما سمعني، أو يمكن فاهم الهسس اللي انا بقوله دة.
غريبة انني مستريحة في كتابة العربي مع اني اسرع بكتير لما بكتب بالانجليزي.

مسافرة يوم 24 ، و مبسوطة اني هاشوف اخويا اللي بقالي أكتر من سنة ما شفتوش. اعتقد ان سفر شهاب هو بداية الفوبيا اللى عندي من الرحيل بشكل عام. فكرة انني اسافر و انسى بلدي، فكرة الوطن الغبية و الحقيقية ف نفس الوقت. هو ما نسيش بس مين عارف مش يمكن أنا لو سافرت انسى؟ انسى أنا مين. أنسى أنا كبرت ف انهي شارع، انسى عربية الفول اللي على أول الشارع اللي فيه بيتنا، التفاصيل. الفكرة نفسها مرعبة.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

I Shall Be Relieved

It will never get better till I make it so, or so I realized. I can get lost in the life I lead, or I can stop and think about it so I figure out a way to enjoy my stay better. And i say stay because I know even though one thinks one will be staying here for 60 years, they have all the time to think about the way their lives will turn, they dont. Time passes by quickly, ask me about that.
I have all I need. I have few people I can talk to, feel familiar around, I have a family that can undrstand a lot of me, I have me.
All I need.

Lovely.

P.S for readers, Yah, I too think that this is a diary of someone turning insane. lol

Thursday, October 26, 2006

One's Own World.

I can help people, but I cant help myself.
I probably need someone to help me...but they're probably too busy getting my help.

I said I needed to get away, I needed to get away from everything and everyone...then I discovered that I had forgotten how to. I thought of getting away by being absent in the mind, it kind of works.

I still need to create my own world. I loved my own world. I miss it.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Once for Yourself, and Once for Your Dreams

Existing, I have to ask myself...what have I done with the years passed? What will I do with the years to come?
Will I ever fulfill childhood dreams, absurdities? Will I, ever?
It makes me scared to think that one day, I will have to be scared, and live life as if a phase of waiting. Live life as if the days are separate from one another, I just have to get through my days. It makes me scared.
The days to come.
Will there ever a given, something to hold on to? What will happen when I leave? Will I, really, come back?
What are the fact? Are there any?
Where's the guarantee that I will be happy? Where's the guarantee that I will enjoy life today, or tomorrow, or the days after that?
If I think that life is all there is, then I'd better make something out of it.
Once for yourself, and once for your dreams.