Please Show the Way

What should I write here? I’m not busy so I came on as I always do….to read notes and check on things for the bazillionth time. Really all this is is a warming up to me writing a poem. But I have to warm up to it anymore. The feelings…the ideas that I want to communicate…..they’re all buried now.

Two roles in Copenhagen. Two. Only two and I got one of them. Why am I not happy about it? Because I wanted the other one. That’s why. And the guy who got it is the guy who I so wanted to audition and who was awful. He was terrible at auditions. He did not deserve to get any part. I’m sick of Nate now. Love him to death, but sick of him now. I’m sick of everyone. I’m sick of looking at these fucking people who waste their lives and push themselves an inch from where they started and think that they’re some gift of God to the planet.

And I wouldn’t mind any of it if I had someone there to care for me. That’s what I’m after…though I won’t let just anyone do it. That’s what I really am after. I want beauty. And I want someone there who cares for me deeply enough to invest themselves into my well-being at least enough to know that I am truly loved by one person. One person that I love back. That bond. That magical bond. Ah. Here we go…..now I’m linked to my muse….ill and sad as it may be…..it is mine nonetheless.

What you’ll miss from this entry is the ten minutes I have just spent trying to write a first line to a poem. No way to take off. Nothing. All ideals buried. All dreams faded. Just once I wanted a character who wasn’t the challenging one but the powerful one….the one who had the chance to really deliver some emotion. And I missed yet again. I don’t vent easily. I can’t just let it out…I need reason….I need logic….and because of it it’s boiling up inside me like a bomb and I’m about to explode at everyone and anyone and I can’t stand it any longer. I can write poetryso much more easily….so I’m going to try and do that. Try and explain it all somehow and vent just a little. It’s not the same as out loud, but it is therapeutic nonetheless.

SHOW THE WAY

Someone please show me the way.
Not just anyone.
But one I want.
I want you or you or you to guide me.
Your names I can’t say here…..
I can’t say anywhere quite loud enough for people to hear
Because then you’ll know and go away.
You’ll go all away.
And then you won’t show me the way.

I can’t find the path no matter how hard I struggle on,
Now matter what exactly I do to see, I am blind
And in this way I find that there is nothing that I can do to find the path.
Some would think this more religious, some piety
That I describe, but that’s not true at all. (Forgive me for the enterings but I’m writing this in poetry form….and it will appear prose to you because this stupid computer doesn’t recognize entering. Bugger.)

The path I want to find is my way through life.
I know what it looks like, I know how it winds.
I know the things I’ll see upon it and the markers that I want to build whereever that path leads. I have those designs.
I also have the resolve to walk and march upon it without fear.
But finding it is something that I never knew would take so long,
I did not expect to be blind to all these things…..all the signs
That might turn me right or turn me left to find my way.
I want to find it now. I spend my entire time thinking about it.
Even when I stand on the stage as someone else there is a momentary ring in the aura of the character as I try to find my way.
Is this it? Is this it?

I just wish that you would show me now.
I just wish that you would hold out your hand to my open palm and grasp it warmly, tightly, and pull me close and guide me just a little way.
I can walk myself, I don’t need to be carried. I just need a guide.
I’ve been searching for so long that I think I might have missed something and I think I might have died.
And all this is metaphor. And all this is imagery.
And all this is not reality.

Reality, is that the path is made as we go. That there is no predestination but what we make for ourselves and that at the end we’ll find that everything we did may have been judged but that we were not judged when we began. That’s what I believe. And I have found my beliefs. And I have found my desires. And I know WHO I am. But yet I still can’t find the metaphoric path that guides me.

I can’t find it anywhere.

And what is it? What is this metaphor standing for?

It stands for love, it stands for validation. It stands for some meaning in my life that makes me finally feel whole and content with who I am. For I am as restless as anyone I have ever known.

I’m smarter. Stronger. More feeling. More deep. More talented. But I am far less confident. I am far less sure.

And my angry side says: These bastards! What stupid fucks who think themselves so great that they judge and push ME around when I’m better than any two of them. I wish they’d shut their fucking mouthes and notice that they don’t give a shit about anything and that when judgement comes they will be punished for being abusive to someone like me. Such hypocrites. I’ll admit that I’m an ass and a prick at times. That I believe that I am a great man…..but I admit it and don’t self-deprecate falsely so that other people look at me through eyes of pity.

And my sad side says: But why can’t you just pretend, actor? Why can’t you just be like them? Why can’t you just do all those things that they do so that maybe once the girls you care for and the ones that will guide you off the loathing path will actually desire you. Desire YOU, rather than the other way around. Desire you rather than you chasing or pretending not to chase them? Why can’t you just really NOT chase them so that they chase you?

And the real side of me, the true side of me says: Because I shouldn’t have to. Because I am me. That people say just be yourself and I AM. I have always been and cannot be anybody but myself. And that is what is ultimately so scary….because I can’t get the girls, the beautiful and smart and nice girls to actually care enough about me. I care for them. I show it. I say it. I try to make them welcome. I bear all that I can before them and you know what, they don’t care. So it is that they don’t like Me. The girls that I care for do not care for people like me. So what are people like me to do? Thank God I haven’t met another.

There was half an hour worth of bitch session with a girl who came in in the middle of this, and we just talked about frustrations. So I have no time now. I have a meeting. Good night everyone. If you are out there and somewhere deep inside this strikes your soul…..and I hope it does…….don’t let it fade away. Time wears all things away and passion must be spent when it is felt.