I’d forget any pain I was in and start dreaming


An acting book recently recommended me to ‘make things belong to you.’ And I guess that’s true, to some extent. Things have to belong to you. You have to own ‘the moment’ and ‘the stage’ and all that crap. You have to own the glass of water your drinking because only then it will look interesting.

Acting is a strange thing. Like a drug that kicks you in the ass and loads you up with all these weird chemicals. You drift and and fall in this space that isn’t quite real. Your brain panics but you persuade it to work and it goes for the jugular. Carpe jugulum and it comes back with a box of things. A box of magical gifts for you to use. Something you saw someone do in a show. In a commercial. The way the hair fell forward. Can I do that? I have to try, right? It would fit here. This is a missing puzzle piece, and this tiny, microscopic mannerism should work here.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
And sometimes you veer too close to pretentious bs, so I have to stop here.

My parents renovated their apartment. It’s very green and funky now. The piano is still there. I like that. I don’t like Tallinn that much. I find it takes a lot of work to transition between being alone in the countryside and being with a lot of people in the city.

I like my island. I like being alone (once one gets used to it) and I like writing. Getting drunk and writing. Crying and writing. Biking and thinking about writing. Shopping and writing. Making a fire in the fireplace and writing. Dancing alone.

I’ve been thinking about relationships. Not only that one, but relationships in general. Friendships. Work connections. All that. Maybe because I’m writing that play and those things matter there. I wonder about the wordless connections we form. When someone is on your wavelength and gets it. Are we all inherently selfish? Are we just looking to see ourselves, reflected? Would we still explore other galaxies if they were ugly and all that.

Surprise. There’s no answer. We like shiny things. We like red neon in the black. We like past things and future nothings. Or was it the other way around?

I’m alone on an island again. This is becoming a stereotype. It’s also getting to be funny. Today I biked to the store (there is an old Toyotta Corolla here, but I like the work-out) and almost ran over a black adder. On my way back I caught that jackal. He’d hunted and caught something. We stared at each other for the longest time on the road there. He’s grown up now. He’s not a pup. At some point I moved or breathed and he yelped into the forest and left the rabbit he’d killed behind on the road. At least I assume it was a rabbit. Could’ve been a cat.

Speaking of which, I called my parents cat with the wrong name today and she took offense. Grandly!

I’m staring at MA programs in New York, Chicago and LA. I want to make that happen. You only live once. ONCE! No regrets man. Reach out. Talk. Mend bridges. Try. Be kind. Have fun. And then, and only then, go marry your best friend, OD on heroin and die.

I like writing these blog things. I don’t edit them and I don’t care.

Yelp,

M-M.

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