performing
anxiety
anticipation
excitement
fear
hope
acting
for better or worse
it was my first training
it was my most training
it is the time that i feel the most myself
on stage
even with the
anxiety
and fear
there is always still
anticipation
to excitement
to hope
[if you’ll be in nyc
tomorrow, may 17th,
come on out!]
creativity streams from me
from my fingertips to a computer screen
from my acting choices to an audience’s eyes
from my body on a circus apparatus
and i feel
almost
creative
i really don’t know
what i should be doing
when all is in limbo
and my mind flails out for
something
anything to do —
if i should be going out for roles
clearing out those spiderwebs and
putting my acting brain to task
if i should be writing more
and speaking up against power
with the words my fingertips
help me find
morning after morning after morning
if i should be using my body
in the ways i’ve learned
so recently — power in muscles
consistently picking up my own bodyweight
for fun
for art
for staying fit
in imminent societal collapse
but when i can’t figure out what i should do
i tend to mend things that need mending;
i darn my own and my spouse’s socks,
i close up a hole the puppy has torn in her
cheaply-made and roughly-loved toy,
i patch up jeans
and other pants,
and make art out of scraps,
and maybe that’s the “should” in all this
uncertainty —
make sure we
are not as beholden to consumerism
as we very well could be
there’s something that i’d love to capture
in words and poetry
that i don’t know if i ever will
because i can’t really explain
even in sense memory
the vibes of the car ride
through protected valley park
and up into the city/suburb
that was my second home/
that i knew was my grandparents’ first home/
that my whole family had worked
or played at
or seen
at least once,
and how it kept that vibe
of excitement
and homecoming
for so long —
long enough that i can remember it
as an early early memory
riding in the backseat/
riding in the passenger’s seat/
driving myself/
knowing where i was going to
was where i belonged
even if i felt just a little out of whack with everyone
it was more like a phase shift
than a whole different universe
[like most of my life]
and i could get lost
in the flow of acting
or dancing
or singing
or hanging with friends
or creating something
or everything
and simply the anticipation
of arriving at a place
that i knew so well
and felt
was mine
that even the drive felt like
home
[and it’s actually very different now,
but last i was there
it still smelled the same]
i still feel like i’m trapped in my house
not allowed to go out
not suitable for other human’s consumption
and i want to need to wait
a bit
longer to be permitted to rejoin the human race
~~~
unknown what to write
what to even think about
when my morning has been going
a certain way for a week, and now goes
a completely
different route
[i hate that i need consistency]
~~~
puppeteering
and back to singing
and in a show again
and pride-month dancing
and still i have no idea
if i even want to be perceived
in front of an audience
at this stage in my life
or not
pretend
you’re a regular human
with normal wants and desires
fears and loves
and then think about your situation
but that’s just acting, isn’t it?
i’ve spent so much time in my head
with the what-ifs
and the ‘how would i play that
if i were in that
situation?’
and the
trying to observe my own responses —
but what if my responses are so out of the ordinary
that i’ve been trying to act
with my own feelings
in a way that is
disingenuous
to the human condition?
[i know, i know,
i’m human,
but damn, does it not feel that way
a whole damn lot of the time]
queer
people
in positions of power
in the film industry
(at least the parts i’ve been a part of)
always help
create an atmosphere
of love
and respect
and care
and what the industry
could be
do you ever feel like
you just want to slough off your old skin
your old life
your old entire being
and start anew
in a new body
with a new brain
in a new situation
perhaps a whole new universe/
dimension/
something/
anything
i just feel
antsy
in this life
sometimes
(maybe that’s why
i am drawn towards
acting
reading
writing
the things we do
to imagine whole other lives
anew)
if only i could put all my hobbies
and helpfuls
into one basket of poetry—
the focus that comes from embroidery,
the loss of time and self
and feeling of fullness of art
of acting,
the power
and grace
of pulling one’s own body weight
up to an aerial apparatus
and seeing the whole room
spin
just this side of uncontrollably
around me,
and the expression
of my deepest most inner
mind
in a single poem
(or two)
(or three)
this is how you get to know me.
how
can i constantly feel
like a novice
in all i do?
i’ve performed all my life,
but i still feel second/
third/
fourth/fifth/sixth/
end of the line
when it comes to opportunities
for the stage/screen arts.
i’ve had six plus years in the air,
but i’m a perpetual student
here.
i’ve written
every
single
morning
poetry
for over a year and a half,
but i’m still too scared to submit,
to hear the possibility
that i’ll forever be
amateur;
living only for the love of words,
never ‘going anywhere’ with it.
and what’s so bad about that?
capitalism/colonialism/white supremacy
forces our minds to find some meaning
out of what we can produce/expert the field
in a way that makes money—
churn out content/
content/
you need to create more content…
where is the place for creating for the sake of creativity?
and why can’t i find my own balance?
i think
it’s because
i just want to feel
like i know
something.
i want to feel adept/
professional/
expert/
master/
ace/
like i don’t have to second guess every choice i make—
that’s what i want out of my crafts.
kipventures 