how to.... wash hands of.
you may want to use some cold and clear agua,
maybe a bit of soap...
get a fleece to dry your hands....
= et voilà! you're bathed in innocence, comme moi.
..."someone" who gives mashed potatoes w/ lime & garlic, and life in general a name, someone who would rather borrow me a garter belt than a chastity belt, tells me about her latest perceptions in her role as a regular recipient in this splendid epic theatre. me, the director, protagonist, dramaturge, scenic & costume designer, and my own critic all in one - confronted with speculations of a season card holder, this loyal playgoer in the first row: she perceives naturalism, where i stage brechtian distancing effect, she sees me as raging medea in a grillparzer piece, where i play the prostitute jenny in the threepenny opera.
simplified: she reads something different than what i write. well, i guess that's the norm with the rest of the audience, who is sneaking in after the bell's ringing, too - the usual mechanism that stuart hall verbalised in his reception theory. i don't mind most of the sneakers. her cognition though, makes me nervous and blush with shame underneath my rouge. me? blithely blunt? explicitly suggestive? really? yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah. but. we all know that function follows form, ja?! i'd probably sell my soul for a savory wording, but the content is usually as harmless and disinfected as a toothpaste kisses. behind allusions and associations: nothing but toothpaste, soap and innocence. and if all, toothpaste, soap, and innocence happen to have a scent of vanilla, or maybe cinnamon, is it my fault? i didn't invent either of them!
true, sometimes i could do a bit more of straight talking and expose the ennui. but if i'd change the cadence, would i still like the sound?
e.g. "[...] why i have a massive problem with affirmative action these days [...]." <-- quite an academic sentence, followed by a dangerously characteristic blurry reference to my paragon of intellectuality, a personal description painted like a vague aquarelle. should i rather continue with "j.b., PhD, maxine elliot professor in the departments of rhetoric and comparative literature, berkeley/california, highlights with her appearance what she expresses with her trenchant thinking and writing. but whereas her militant outfit captured my interest only for a brief moment, it was her combative work that changed my life, and gave me answers [helpful approaches to a problem], where there were only questions before."
^ boring. boring boring boring. last week's lesson told us we are all not here for straight, and if i'm here in the limelight for entertainment, i, of course, want my piece of fun, too. and if it's only to make cinnamon taste like sarawak pepper, i definitely enjoy myself. and hope that the audience uses their opera glasses, watches carefully, reads only what's written.
- and that's usually nothing that leads to misinterpretations, nothing that would make me blush, worry about my dignity [ ≠ reputation] and make me hide chastely behind virginal trees....!
yeah, it's a maple. definitely the right moment to grow first leafs now.
...but maybe me and my ablushed cheeks are more safe behind a pink magnolia?
...honestly, to detect smth obnoxious in such an innocent place like this, would be like finding a needle within hay, or me within a mass of people in a park on a sunny day [hint: i might be found behind the camera, so put down your loupe].
- sunshine! did i mention it's finally spring? just in case i didn't: it is that time of the year i try to find a new recipe for asparagus each day [today: grilled with coriander, served with lemon-pesto-majonnaise, salmon, poached egg, parmiggiano].
yeah, that time of year when "good mood" is getting more tangible by each day....
- no, this is not my definition of having fun [calligraphy, and location both scream "plebs!", but this is vienna of course. where fun only happens in the graveyards and please, only laugh in cellars].
...mhm, i think i mentioned this before. time to literally spring up from the tombs, spread wings, and resist the tickling in the fingers to write ambiguous things...
- did i stage a fair amount of diversion now? enough distraction?
...or do people still think i'm a whore anyway?
whatever your perception is, audience, whatever theatre you think you visit here weekly: get your coat at the wardrobe, please, i'm closing curtains for today.
write your review on this whatever-play in a newspaper, in emails, in blogs, or nowhere, honestly you could put your opinion into a bag and throw it in a trash can. i still don't give a damn.
[just yours, skordalia-girl, i pull out of the bin, and think about the content, too much as always, as you can see, making a dramatic entry out of it, even. get some new glasses, i reckon, so that you might see better!]
end of act.
maybe a bit of soap...
get a fleece to dry your hands....
= et voilà! you're bathed in innocence, comme moi.
..."someone" who gives mashed potatoes w/ lime & garlic, and life in general a name, someone who would rather borrow me a garter belt than a chastity belt, tells me about her latest perceptions in her role as a regular recipient in this splendid epic theatre. me, the director, protagonist, dramaturge, scenic & costume designer, and my own critic all in one - confronted with speculations of a season card holder, this loyal playgoer in the first row: she perceives naturalism, where i stage brechtian distancing effect, she sees me as raging medea in a grillparzer piece, where i play the prostitute jenny in the threepenny opera.
simplified: she reads something different than what i write. well, i guess that's the norm with the rest of the audience, who is sneaking in after the bell's ringing, too - the usual mechanism that stuart hall verbalised in his reception theory. i don't mind most of the sneakers. her cognition though, makes me nervous and blush with shame underneath my rouge. me? blithely blunt? explicitly suggestive? really? yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah. but. we all know that function follows form, ja?! i'd probably sell my soul for a savory wording, but the content is usually as harmless and disinfected as a toothpaste kisses. behind allusions and associations: nothing but toothpaste, soap and innocence. and if all, toothpaste, soap, and innocence happen to have a scent of vanilla, or maybe cinnamon, is it my fault? i didn't invent either of them!
true, sometimes i could do a bit more of straight talking and expose the ennui. but if i'd change the cadence, would i still like the sound?
e.g. "[...] why i have a massive problem with affirmative action these days [...]." <-- quite an academic sentence, followed by a dangerously characteristic blurry reference to my paragon of intellectuality, a personal description painted like a vague aquarelle. should i rather continue with "j.b., PhD, maxine elliot professor in the departments of rhetoric and comparative literature, berkeley/california, highlights with her appearance what she expresses with her trenchant thinking and writing. but whereas her militant outfit captured my interest only for a brief moment, it was her combative work that changed my life, and gave me answers [helpful approaches to a problem], where there were only questions before."
^ boring. boring boring boring. last week's lesson told us we are all not here for straight, and if i'm here in the limelight for entertainment, i, of course, want my piece of fun, too. and if it's only to make cinnamon taste like sarawak pepper, i definitely enjoy myself. and hope that the audience uses their opera glasses, watches carefully, reads only what's written.
- and that's usually nothing that leads to misinterpretations, nothing that would make me blush, worry about my dignity [ ≠ reputation] and make me hide chastely behind virginal trees....!
yeah, it's a maple. definitely the right moment to grow first leafs now.
...but maybe me and my ablushed cheeks are more safe behind a pink magnolia?
...honestly, to detect smth obnoxious in such an innocent place like this, would be like finding a needle within hay, or me within a mass of people in a park on a sunny day [hint: i might be found behind the camera, so put down your loupe].
- sunshine! did i mention it's finally spring? just in case i didn't: it is that time of the year i try to find a new recipe for asparagus each day [today: grilled with coriander, served with lemon-pesto-majonnaise, salmon, poached egg, parmiggiano].
yeah, that time of year when "good mood" is getting more tangible by each day....
- no, this is not my definition of having fun [calligraphy, and location both scream "plebs!", but this is vienna of course. where fun only happens in the graveyards and please, only laugh in cellars].
...mhm, i think i mentioned this before. time to literally spring up from the tombs, spread wings, and resist the tickling in the fingers to write ambiguous things...
- did i stage a fair amount of diversion now? enough distraction?
...or do people still think i'm a whore anyway?
whatever your perception is, audience, whatever theatre you think you visit here weekly: get your coat at the wardrobe, please, i'm closing curtains for today.
write your review on this whatever-play in a newspaper, in emails, in blogs, or nowhere, honestly you could put your opinion into a bag and throw it in a trash can. i still don't give a damn.
[just yours, skordalia-girl, i pull out of the bin, and think about the content, too much as always, as you can see, making a dramatic entry out of it, even. get some new glasses, i reckon, so that you might see better!]
end of act.
mironja - 10. Apr, 19:04
