Let this show called life reach its calm soliloquy. I have
had enough of these little battles within the plot line; they are starting to
wear down the fabric that holds my mind together. I am just far too unstable to
take some of these trials and too old to take far jumps. It is a difficult
situation when I do become involved in such troubles, as I find these sorts of
things are difficult to rid. The orchestra draws its bows and the conductor
prepares his music. At that point, I cannot frown upon the play. The plot has
decided to start running and I cannot stop it.
I have become
used to the lights and the façade of the play, as if it were a second skin. But
this notion, I hate. It is the reality of life and I cannot escape it. The mask
of it starts to hurt so quickly now. I am not even twenty minutes into the play
before my face will start to sweat with anger. Tears will always try to find
their way through that mask, as will of the emotions. But I allow them not to
do so. I will just do as I always do, and that is to act. To act about my ‘happiness’…to
act about what I truly want to say, and to act with the mask of love, at least
in this part of my life for the most recent acting tantrum.
The only
danger I have found is that of becoming your role. If that were to happen, I cannot
imagine what a hell that would be. I would have lost myself, and that is the
worst loss to take.
Daniel Helle, May Twelfth, Two Thousand and Eleven.