today's epiphany: i hate to write

i do. i hate it. i have fragmented thoughts. i lack cohesion and depth. increasingly, as an occupation hazard, my vocabulary is getting limited.

but i digress.

the point of this post was supposed to be that i got in. what i auditioned for, i mean. i'm in.

it isn't quite clear what the parameters of this production will be, but i am under the impression that we have been given a number of books to go through, and that the monologues we'll perform will be based on these texts.

- Soseki Natsume's "Ten Nights of Dream, Hearing Things, The Heredity of Taste"
- Lorenzino de' Medici's "Apology for a Murder"
- Aldous Huxley's "The Doors of Perception"
- Barbara Comyns' "The Vet's Daughter"
- Fernando Pessoa's "The Book of Disquiet"
- Junichiro Tanizaki's "Diary of a Mad Old Man"

none of which i've read.

plus, today, i got an email from the Kasarinlan people, asking me for my article on East Timor. Aaaaagh!!!!!!

i'm feeling mentally constipated today.
*listening to franz ferdinand*

i wish i had a voice that carried texture and emotion. that came from the depths of my chest instead of the top of my head.

i wish i were a different kind of person.

i wish i had more mental discipline.

i wish that my ambitions for myself were matched by my capacity for action.

inertia is defined as the tendency to do nothing or remain unchanged. a body at rest will stay at rest. a body in motion will continue in a straight line unless a force is exerted on it, to change its direction.

that's what i am. inert. there are voices in my head, screaming at me to act, but i'm oddly silent.

act on what?

the extent of change in direction is directly proportionate to the force impelling the change.