paying for the waste

yeah, the long way back, night after night at the gym, cleaning out the crap that builds up in the cells when inactive, dealing with the imperfections of the body, and the time it takes...

a lonely road, returning to physical awareness in this physical world, but putting one foot in front of the other and continuing is the best I can do and there's no use feeling down about it for longer than the few moments it takes to write a song or something... and my smile grows because I am remembering that I can stop my mind (referencing the Eagle's song, Wasted Time, once again)...

meanwhile, since last night's entry was all about the body, I neglected to mention how fantastic the weekend was... I wish you could have seen those kids performing Aida... perhaps the best high school performance I've seen and better than the college performance of A Chorus Line a little while back...

the junior cast had the better lead voices and pacing/timing, but the senior cast, though rushed at times, had the better actors and interactions on stage... the juniors had more emo drama offstage and have maturing to do as actors, but except for one role, they individually have much more vocal talent... next year should be an amazing show if they get some direction...

unfortunately, the head of the drama department is a control freak with an emo-ego that demands feeding (she got up on stage to sing the encore with the cast when they took their final bows) and while she is a fair producer, she does not seem to be much of a director because some simple instructions to the actors would have made the show even better... apparently she doesn't pay much attention to the rehearsals... and they could do much better marketing too, but there again, she'd have to give up control if the show got bigger than the high school as other high schools in the area do... human insecurity so often gets in the way of art...

and a touch of lament because I am so uninvolved, so "off", so alone in the audience because I am not satisfied just watching and rushing home to sleep... most everyone leaves the art behind, if they even feel it, after a performance... and these days I know no one with whom to share the energy... the lonelies increase as I wake to the physical world and feel more... and that, ironically, increases my smile...

these last few months I do not write as I love to... I do not make the time to les the flow come from behind the candoor... I do not visit my other gardens where emo pours out and, for ego or whatever, becomes what I might call my art... my self-expression has been muted by lack of time, but more, by the wall I am climbing to get out of the unhealthy and stupid habits I've developed... I wonder if that is becoming human, or pulling back from that path... time may tell...

waking happens in an instant... I think I hold off on that instant because the energy level is too low to deal with all the feeling... perhaps some can do it with part of their consciousness turned off, but I find that to be pretentious when I try... actualizing physical conscious awareness in this world is so potentially emotional in this world, words fail to come close to express the experience... and the unknown can swallow the energy like a black hole if one is not prepared to maintain the precarious balance that flight requires...

my smile grows... for I know I can fly (hmmmm, there's a song in there, aye?)... and hopefully I shall live to fly again...