| If all the world is indeed a stage, then is every life a play? Is every moment just an act? Because scenes change, just like characters…. Change. Just like you change... I change, I suppose, have changes I suppose, for the better? … I suppose, once. But now I don’t seem to be changing, can’t seem to be changing, except…. For the worse. I have played the crayola infant to the briefcase child, the wannabe, the nerd, the denim laden outcast, and back again, and somehow I’ve wound up here the darkly clad, caffeinated, thing you see before you. Spinning sluggish, inky circles on this beat up old set, trying to avoid the holes made by the termites and bad craftsmanship of my personality. I fall through from time to time, and I cant blame you for taking your bows and your roses, while I try to fight my way out of this rotten stage, this rotten scene, this rotten me. If only we had rehearsed a bit more…… maybe we could have closed curtain early, on the best scene. Instead of this anti-climactic finale of miniscule proportions. I fear when I finally untangle myself from this wrecked scenery, there will be no one left to bow to. |
