plays and what not

this is very strange.
my manic has extended into December.

i have not slept in days, as in three.
i have been productive for days, as in three from the hours of seven am until four am.
i havn't drunk in days. as in a week. as in i think my shakes are almost gone.

but i am about ready to crash. the play opens tomorrow. what will be done, will be done. people will hear my strange words, an audience. people will receive this strange vision that i had the odoscity to dream, then write and then execute.

i have been thinking about it for two years.
and tomorrow. it will be real.
it will exist only in that moment, and then be gone.
my light cues will be wrong, the songs will start at the wrong time, and im probably TOTALLY FUCKING OBSOLETE AND UNRELATEABLE AND DELUSIONAL. I am so terrified and so very happy.

today i did some acting and although i might have really sucked, i was just so happy to be on stage. it is the greatest gift to know what it is you love. and it's an equally amazing feeling to be able to give people the opportunity to experience it.

all i hope from my actors is that they really love every moment that they are on stage. i don't care if they forget their lines, or whatever. i just want them to know the joy of it.

i have been so busy that i don't exist. i could give a fuck about style or whatever bullshit persona i amuse myself with. superfluous vocabularies. i don't think about my face. i feel so real, and honest, and genuine. and really honestly genuine and real about being really tired.

so good night.

ps. lets all read steve martins autobiography, "born standing up" i finished reading the last of old f. scott fitzgerald.. and have finally am like so over, tragic. this season is all about fully allowing ourselves to radiate brilliance rooted in earnestness and curiosity.