You are unable to wait, even though you know the time for action will come too soon. It is a waste to twitch with nervous energy, so impulse curls around within the nerves of your outer limbs, roiling but unable to escape. The audience has long ceased to be a fear: they are bound in cages of social constraint – domesticated by years of the segregation that exists between performers and voyeurs, compliant - which is good because there is no time or attention to be spent on old fears; the operation is crumbling with every miniscule hesitation. You open your mouth and words come out and they are the same words you have been saying for months (in preparation for this), though you do not hear them except when the inflection is not what you had wanted. There are cues and counter-cues, and the scene blurs together like a watercolor with far too much water, and then you are back in the behind again and you cannot remember any of it, though after many rehearsals you have at least a general idea of what must have just happened; the story you are performing has a plot, after all.
Posted on: Mon, 29 Jul 2013 06:26:06 +0000
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