The Weirdest Place? - Closed

 (This message was edited by kireimusume on 01-01-04 @ 11:04 pm EST)

 (This message was edited by kireimusume on 01-01-04 @ 11:02 pm EST)

         The black box was packed with rows upon rows of people who were sitting in their bleachers or folding chairs in various stages of happiness: some were laughing too loudly, others were not smiling at all (if you look out a certain way, you can kind of see), most were chuckling politely and genuinely at all of the sight gags and corny lines that the director had added to the fun five minute Salem Witch Trial comedy skit.

         I loved how when I looked out into the audience, I could not actually see them. It gave a feeling of freedom that I normally would not have enjoyed. Had I been able to do more than visualize the audience, my acting would have been more reserved than was befitting of my part...as...one of the girls who beat the stuffing out of a rag doll hanging from a beam near the catwalk. The rag doll was symbolic of a person that we had accused of being a witch simply because she had beady eyes and had fallen off the shelf at a peculiar moment; honestly, I forget the reason why, but it was hilarious at the time.

         What I do not forget is that I had some friends in the audience, including an old acquaintance who I had at one time been very fond of, and two guys from my old high school who had heard that I had completely changed into a "wild child" in college. In the acting group itself was a group of football-playing Greeks who took the class for an easy "A" and found out it wasn't so easy...they all tried to "get" me and a friend from Spain; a really sweet guy who was into physics and writing and was scared of his own shadow--I married this guy--and a couple of cute blonde girls with negative outlooks on life who alternated between hating me and hating my bubbly friend from Spain. (I would say that I am bubbly too, but I'm only bubbly on certain occasions now.)

         I wanted to impress my friends and become more tight with my acting group.... But my mind wandered during that skit.

         I composed a poem. Not a comedic dirge that related to the skit. Not even a limerick or a haiku. A beautiful but lengthy poem that I will never show to anyone no matter how much it might alter their opinion of my writing ability. And mentally I envisioned giving it to the person for whom it had been inspired by...and that only prompted a flow of more fluent, poetic thought.

         I was so embarrassed when everyone hugged me after the show and told me that I had done well. I didn't want to admit that my heart had actually gone someplace else while I was saying my quick lines and performing subtle and not-so-subtle comedic moves. Oy. Imagine how that would have looked.

         This type of thing has happened to me on many occasions...on stage. It used to be a coping mechanism for stage fright back when I did face-to-face poetry readings, but then it became just an odd time for a muse to strike, like when you're sitting at a funeral and feeling out of place or like you ought to be able to pay your own respect.... I can't quite explain why it happens.