Transcribed from my book (non-elec-tron-ic) journal:
Jet-lag I used to enjoy, because I've always liked the selective company, misty visions, and distant sounds of early mornings.
Now at 2:58am, this sucks, because I actually have a busy day ahead.
But I am not unhappy at the fact that I am kept up equally by creative anxiety and the writing impulse. Little segues here -- beginning and follow-up unexplored --, an opening title there, projects, projects, fantasies, dreams in my world of one as it happens to be right now.
I have an active imagination.
I would like to think that I have the imagination, but not the illustrative skill, of an animator, which to me also means having the heart of a child and a willingness for laughter and magic.
I imagine it would be terrific to be able to call oneself an animator by trade, rather than simply character. To wear that label. To be worn by it. To have that on your namecard.
It does sound ... dominating, in the heroic sense.
"I ... am ... an ANIMATOR" (stress: "-TOR"), much like "GLADIA-TOR", or even: "THOR".
What excites me most about this is that behind every name is its verb, and in being an "animator" one animates, how terrific is that?, as opposed to analyzes, or markets, or "academes". That one brings images, stories, characters to life by giving them shape, movement, and surrounding.
3:18am. I am hungry! But I want to be able to go back to sleep! Or keep writing -- that's also OK.
I love writing. I love reading. I adore even the idea of having an idea. Even now, this almost felty touch of nib to paper, it's scritchy-scratch and the fertile white plain of paper soaking ink ... it's beautiful. A finished page of hand-writing -- it's beautiful.
Fucking hell, honking below at 3:20 in the morning.
Again! Hell!
[The writer has gone to the refridgerator. REFRIDGERA-TOR.]
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Return of M.E.L.
To whom it may concern:
Those of you who are my regular readers (hello, Mummy) may be wondering what has happened to me after my bout of depression, somewhat depressingly and suprisingly thoroughly well-expressed on this blo--I refuse to call it that ... on this on-line journal. Those of you confused, exasperated, or worser still: bored, with my unnecessarily specifying usage of adverbs may wonderingly wonder why I have continued these acts of tree-felling in an empty forest. Hello? Hello? ... Hello...lo...lo...lo...?
Well I'm back. I'm back from travelling to the cusp of my navel (staring into the dark void) and back. I'm quite unable to articulate exactly what has happened, only that my outlook has changed. I'm determined to be successful. I no longer desire to be invisible -- only selectively so. It's hard to explain this -- people who have observed my attachment to performance over the years may think that I have only ever desired to be highly visible. But understand, acting and dancing were only ever avenues through which I could transcend visibility, to levitate above it or to dig beneath. The studio was a place to immolate the self.
Self-critically, I could say that I've always taken it way too seriously, too cosmically, too spiritually. Not that that's a terrible thing. I fancy it was quite brave of me to do so. And quite necessary. To my death, I believe I will locate and create my soul in the theatre because it can represent so much of what I fear and love. It's where I told God He could find me on terms hospitable to us both. I'm sure he may not have entirely appreciated that I was seeking all sorts of different desires through these avenues concurrently, but I'm sure he understood.
Well, I don't want to sound like a born-again. I'm doing stuff. I'm invested in applying for grad school (stating program specifics here would ruin the prose). I'm writing stuff. I'm lucky to have continued chances.
So hopefully I'll soon have labels to help you (regular person) define me on your (society's) terms apart from "nut job", "aimless", or to quote TIME magazine's latest, a "twixter": those "betwixt and between," who live off and often with their parents after college, going from one temp job to the next. NOTE THAT WHILE I WAS AIMLESS I WAS NOT LIVING OFF MY PARENTS ... NOR WAS I WORKING FOR ANYTHING AS CREDIBLE AS A TEMP AGENCY. I WORKED AT A CAFE, DAMMMMMIT. AND I ATE MY FILL OF ORGANIC CHICKEN JUST LIKE THAT ARMANI-CLAD WAIF ACROSS THE COUNTER. Now that I have a little more ambition, I am happily returned to dependency, a la etudiante. This is part of the ridiculous logic of mine that were my parents dissuasive of my love for dance, I would have taken ALL their money, but since they were superbly supportive, I ripped up cheques. Such is the logic of MEL.
MEL.
M ...E ...L. Celebrate MEL!
To commemorate the launch of the newest upgrade of myself to a Superhero in the making, a convert to normalcy, subscriber to causes greater than the self, I am launching a new Superhero Name in the acronym of M.E.L.. I refuse to go the way of Christo. There is little uniqueness in the monikered abbreviation of LEE. Swarthmoreans of all ages already know, courtesy of my Student Council platform, that there are at least 95 million others in the world that could lay the same claim. Not to mention a brand of jeans.
Rather, we have M.E.L., providing all sorts of possibilites:
Multitudinous Expulsion of Language ("she talks -- a LOT").
Mellifluous Ebullience of Living. (I like this one)
Magnificent, Extraordinary, and alLuring. (cheating, but useful)
Mountainous. Menacing. Energistic. Erudite.
... Lacking.
Lazy?
... Manifest Example of Lostness.
My Expatriate Life.
Masculine Ejaculation of Lust. WHAT?!?!
Well. YOU can vote for your favorite by commenting on this post on this blo--um, journal, or alternatively submit your own acronymic conceptualization for a winning prize of $1000 (from the royalties, later, of course). I recommend the humble dictionary: playing upon my childhood pasttime of researching and memorizing all interesting words beginning with "mel-", there are already plenty of spookily appropriate selections:
From the Greek for honey, we have mellifluous: having a smooth, rich flow; from the French, melange: a mixture of incongruous elements;
also melee: a confused struggle.
Don't forget: melodramatic!
I excitedly await your opinion.
Magnanimously, as Ever, Longingly yours:
M.E.L.
Those of you who are my regular readers (hello, Mummy) may be wondering what has happened to me after my bout of depression, somewhat depressingly and suprisingly thoroughly well-expressed on this blo--I refuse to call it that ... on this on-line journal. Those of you confused, exasperated, or worser still: bored, with my unnecessarily specifying usage of adverbs may wonderingly wonder why I have continued these acts of tree-felling in an empty forest. Hello? Hello? ... Hello...lo...lo...lo...?
Well I'm back. I'm back from travelling to the cusp of my navel (staring into the dark void) and back. I'm quite unable to articulate exactly what has happened, only that my outlook has changed. I'm determined to be successful. I no longer desire to be invisible -- only selectively so. It's hard to explain this -- people who have observed my attachment to performance over the years may think that I have only ever desired to be highly visible. But understand, acting and dancing were only ever avenues through which I could transcend visibility, to levitate above it or to dig beneath. The studio was a place to immolate the self.
Self-critically, I could say that I've always taken it way too seriously, too cosmically, too spiritually. Not that that's a terrible thing. I fancy it was quite brave of me to do so. And quite necessary. To my death, I believe I will locate and create my soul in the theatre because it can represent so much of what I fear and love. It's where I told God He could find me on terms hospitable to us both. I'm sure he may not have entirely appreciated that I was seeking all sorts of different desires through these avenues concurrently, but I'm sure he understood.
Well, I don't want to sound like a born-again. I'm doing stuff. I'm invested in applying for grad school (stating program specifics here would ruin the prose). I'm writing stuff. I'm lucky to have continued chances.
So hopefully I'll soon have labels to help you (regular person) define me on your (society's) terms apart from "nut job", "aimless", or to quote TIME magazine's latest, a "twixter": those "betwixt and between," who live off and often with their parents after college, going from one temp job to the next. NOTE THAT WHILE I WAS AIMLESS I WAS NOT LIVING OFF MY PARENTS ... NOR WAS I WORKING FOR ANYTHING AS CREDIBLE AS A TEMP AGENCY. I WORKED AT A CAFE, DAMMMMMIT. AND I ATE MY FILL OF ORGANIC CHICKEN JUST LIKE THAT ARMANI-CLAD WAIF ACROSS THE COUNTER. Now that I have a little more ambition, I am happily returned to dependency, a la etudiante. This is part of the ridiculous logic of mine that were my parents dissuasive of my love for dance, I would have taken ALL their money, but since they were superbly supportive, I ripped up cheques. Such is the logic of MEL.
MEL.
M ...E ...L. Celebrate MEL!
To commemorate the launch of the newest upgrade of myself to a Superhero in the making, a convert to normalcy, subscriber to causes greater than the self, I am launching a new Superhero Name in the acronym of M.E.L.. I refuse to go the way of Christo. There is little uniqueness in the monikered abbreviation of LEE. Swarthmoreans of all ages already know, courtesy of my Student Council platform, that there are at least 95 million others in the world that could lay the same claim. Not to mention a brand of jeans.
Rather, we have M.E.L., providing all sorts of possibilites:
Multitudinous Expulsion of Language ("she talks -- a LOT").
Mellifluous Ebullience of Living. (I like this one)
Magnificent, Extraordinary, and alLuring. (cheating, but useful)
Mountainous. Menacing. Energistic. Erudite.
... Lacking.
Lazy?
... Manifest Example of Lostness.
My Expatriate Life.
Masculine Ejaculation of Lust. WHAT?!?!
Well. YOU can vote for your favorite by commenting on this post on this blo--um, journal, or alternatively submit your own acronymic conceptualization for a winning prize of $1000 (from the royalties, later, of course). I recommend the humble dictionary: playing upon my childhood pasttime of researching and memorizing all interesting words beginning with "mel-", there are already plenty of spookily appropriate selections:
From the Greek for honey, we have mellifluous: having a smooth, rich flow; from the French, melange: a mixture of incongruous elements;
also melee: a confused struggle.
Don't forget: melodramatic!
I excitedly await your opinion.
Magnanimously, as Ever, Longingly yours:
M.E.L.
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