First off--

Ignore the latter half of that song, as it cuts out. Unless...y'know...you're into that sorta' thing...

..and Philip Glass.

I'm reading through the cut of Twelfth Night for this season's Shakesperience tour. I'm also listening to sappy Shaimus songs and half-heartedly clicking through an old girlfriend's Facebook album. BECAUSE I AM ORSINO AND I'M GETTING INTO CHARACTER SHABAM ACTING. No yeah, the ridiculousness is evident to me too, which is why I laughed about it and then stopped. If you're like me though, you have a habit of tonguing your toothaches. There's a thinly veiled double entendre in there, Merry Christmas.

I'm in love with this cut of the show, and I absolutely CANNOT WAIT to bop back into Boise. There are a ton of people I'm excited to see again, not to mention an amazing show to work on. Combine that with an ability to wear winter clothes without looking like a moron? YEEEEE~!! Though I can't exactly say looking like a moron has ever stopped me before.

TWIN FALLS!!

I might have to pull a RubberDuck and start travelblogging. I'd have to use AntiApathy (which I haven't updated in 6 months because irony irony irony) since THIS blog probably shouldn't be associated with ISF in any way.

Cuz I use a lotta' bad words.

And talk about wee-wees.

This break at home has been incredibly enlightening. It really forced me to look at myself in a new light. Yes, a blacklight. (GOOD GOD WHERE DO I COME UP WITH THIS GOLD?) It felt like I was being poured into an oblong container and trying to fill my way out as much as possible. In certain ways I had to curb my immense ego (NO EASY TASK, SINCE I'M SO AWESOME.) and in other ways, I've had to really come to terms with who and what I am as an artist. It's all good. It's all very very good.

I fully intend to climb the branches of time and pluck next year off of the highest bough. Even if I fall from the tree a few times, those fresh epochs are the very best.

Love,
Dak

Difribulating

Hey all!

While walking back home from the DeSoto bus stop, I got to thinking about schtorf. Namely, I tried to pinpoint what it is exactly that's been making me somewhat off as of late. Off center. Misaligned. I did a lot of dancing around thoughts, but I didn't really land on any satisfying conclusions until I got home and emptied my brain to my mom. We began talking about life and so forth, and surmised that we need to be around artists.

As a matter of fact, that's something I've put off for so long. Not avoided per se, but it's definitely a mantle that's been hanging in my closet gathering dust. I am an artist.

THAT'S what I do.

And it's a hell of a responsibility to realize that if you don't put all your ideas out there, THEY WILL NEVER EXIST. If I don't create--those things will NEVER BE.

Heavy-

-but it's a responsibility I'm willing to take on. My life will NOT be orthodox. It's already too late for that (I'm not even Jewish!) I feel things and look at things and express myself in a different, unique way (JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE--SHA-DING-DONG.)

I dunno...it seems like an obvious realization, but it's still an important things to remember. Whether creating or not, you're still an artist. Every atom of your being serves that purpose.

And now...Tommy Wiseau.

Cheers, mates!

-Dak

So I'm finally working on Flyboy again-

Lights dim as Alex exits. Chair is cleared as Sam enters, he wears expensive jeans and a worn blazer over a ‘Flyboy’ shirt. While not strikingly handsome, he has a disarming charm about him. He thinks faster than he speaks, but his words come out at the speed of an automatic rifle. Even still, above all he is a storyteller. His speech is colored with self-aware little aphorisms and moments of clarity that surprise even him. Sam is possessed of the healthiest form of self-love, the kind which sees through and deconstructs his own persona even as it creates itself.

He grins at the audience.

DON'T LOOK AT MEEEE~

My biggest accomplishment today was finding a controller that plugs into my laptop so I can play Super Nintendo games more conveniently.

It's tough to look at this scenario and feel like I've failed in some way. YES YES I KNOW SHUT THE FUCK UP IT'S JUST A SHORT BREAK. In 32 days, I'll be on a plane back to Boise to rehearse Twelfth Night (or Twelfth Nizzle, as we say in the hood.) The difficulty THIS time is the realization that this isn't where I need to be. Why do I feel this dissonance? Likely because this isn't the life for me anymore.

The things that used to interest me don't hold nearly as much sway anymore. Yeah, I can play Mario RPG with ease now--but hell if I can plug in more than twenty minutes without a voice in my mind shouting "DON'T YOU HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO?"

I did get a job, though. Super seasonal. I'll be working all of four weeks before I'm done, but I've got to cover the cost of nights-out SOMEHOW, right? That New Years champagne won't buy itself.

I did spent a decent bit of time rooting through all my junk in the garage, though. I'm sure a third of it is garbage-bound, but I won't have to think about that until I move out. Yeah, that's the other thing--until I'm in L.A. for a substantial amount of time/actually working here, it doesn't make that much sense to set up shop here.

Oof.

I'm going to continue distracting myself from this greasy mood.

Love,
Dak

Eccentricities

I found myself at a bus stop in Pasadena, roasting in my fall coat and knit beanie. I'd been wearing the same outfit for three days, and the broken left heel of my boot was in my right coat pocket. The coffee I was sipping was making me sweat even more. Despite an excellent few days of nearly non-stop amazing conversations (broken up by a few movies and some Red Dead Redemption at McJew's place) I was excited to get home. I felt like an RPG character with a niggling (HAW HAW) status ailment I had to cure by getting to an INN. If there was a cobbler in town who could fix my boot, why even better.

Every time I binge on friendship, it tends to center me more somehow. It makes me realize just how much learning I have to do...and just how much of a blank mind I need to retain. The worst thing for me to do is think I know something--and act accordingly. But FWOCK...I've barely been in the real world as of yet. It's like...it's like the tutorial really JUST ended, and I've got to embark on all these new missions. Jeez, that's two RPG references already.

NEEEERD ALEEEERT~!

While splitting a bottle of wine, a friend and I got to talking about eccentricities. About how you don't have to be particularly weird to be seen as eccentric in America, or more specifically, in L.A. How, growing up in Santa Cruz, I'm used to a much wider spectrum of eccentric and I tend to feel infinitely more comfortable around weirdos. About how in places like France (and here we both conceded that our knowledge on the subject was rather--hem--sparse) it seemed far more acceptable to just be fucking weird. What was the conclusion we drew from all this hashing it out? Aside from 'more wine!' it simply served to reinforce the fact that I've got far more flexibility to just 'be' than I ever knew. Whatever this entails.

One of my biggest pet peeves in the world is being told I can't behave a certain way--and my closest friends are the ones who I can make bootyhole jokes around.

Hmm-
Love,
Dak

WORDS WORDS WORDS-

I love words. I love poetry. I love poetry about love. I poet love about poetry...?

Alright, that last one didn't exactly work--but this poem really resonated with me right now. It's fantabulous. Check it out over on Beans' blog--

LURVE,
Dak

Temp

Being home is weird.

I feel like I belong here less than ever, but I don't mean that in the 'Creep' by Radiohead comb my hair over one eye and get a lip piercing so I can pretend to be aloof about my lip piercing sort of way. I've just fallen in love with my life so much that I feel weird in a place that doesn't sustain it. I got so used to throwing on a costume every night at 7 that I feel weirder not doing that. Even moving chairs around as a butler felt like I was providing a service. There's a pun in there somewhere, I'm sure.

It's probably the drama of the theatre that attracts people like me. The rewards you get from the theatre, on the acting side and the audience side, are palpable yet unquantifyable. You know you've just EXPERIENCED something (and paid twenty bucks for it) but you're not sure exactly what it is. It's goosebumps, it's laughter, its excitement. It makes you want to rush home, have sex, and change your life. It's the same energy I felt after seeing that U2 3D exhibit at the Rock and Roll. It's--to me at least--what LIFE feels like.

I knew it would be like this when I got back, too. As a matter of fact, its not nearly as bad as it usually is. I feel fantastic. I've got tasks to complete. Things to do. Seasonal employment to rustle up. And on top of that, a whole metric fuck-ton of friends to see. It's nice once the recaps are through and we can get right back to making new memories.

It's good to be back. Weird, but good.

Love,
Dak