I don't know what sharing good news is, but I am here too.
I am not disillusioned for stating what I have been aware of for some time. (If it means what I say it means.) The interpretation is not up to me.
I've decided that all actors in this city never had the back of anyone other than their own self interest.
And
because of this, what this has involved is a rapid growth and transformation into unlearning the more mortal I've become.
Winnipeg actors (most I've encountered) don't have my back - and I won't have theirs. Either way -
Even though I've got nowhere with acting in this city, I consider myself more of an artist now than I ever veered in the past.
The truth about me is that I am as an intense individual as the artist I know I care to be. I am not only a measure of these things. I am an avantgarde, a poet, a philosopher. . .
The thing is I never planned to be this way. None of it has come premeditated. I just worked at it.
And I have had it with the obscurity of others. Obscurity - in the sense I don't measure to those things I am. I don't care for the validation.
What I care about is the whispers that echo in the wind. . . much like Hamlet - I listen to what others might think of as unclear to themselves. But the message that the wind carries - is decoded in my brain. The mind I have developed does not lie. It never has.
This goes for the behind the back, double crossing, double standard (hypocrisy) that most people talk. They speak about things they have no idea of.
If it reinstates the risk of being held as some sort of mental patient, sobeit.
I am sick of this cities acting community. I need to do this.
You can all talk a big game but you can't foresee the reality of your own flaws - or - your inhibitions are false. Therefore, those live a lie just to be actors, only to shit talk about what is in that circle. Only do damage - the same lack of respect they have for no better cause or credibility to speak for.
I have witnessed all of it.
You can talk all you want - you can label me all you want. But you won't win.
I am going to keep at this. My theories are part of the picture. You rather not fit into the same orbit. Which means my internal clock is different. My wage as an artist you don't just find at the casino.
Consciously, I am as good as it gets in Winnipeg. As far as I can tell.
I know the difference. It's this ::
I will never blame myself. I am through with that.
What goes around comes around. I will not give up my dreams.
[]Despite what so many of those think as not of this world is made[].
My dream was to be an actor - but far far from what actors are. My idea was to make myself into a Canadian philosopher plotting the thoughts of a poet.
It's happening whether you like it or not.
I have never been more determined on account of these words. IT won't end - never.
-Marco
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“What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.” Plutarch
“To find fault is easy; to do better may be difficult.” Plutarch
Today I have ever discovered by processes of infiltration of which I know nothing that I still have in the caves of my soul, audible if someone opens the downstairs door, the repeated scales, played by the girl who today is a different woman, or dead, or locked in a white place where the black cypresses turn green.
I weep because everything, (my) childhood along with it, becomes lost. It is the abstract flight of time, not the concrete flight of time - which is mine, which
pains me in my physical brain for the repeated, involuntary recurrence of the piano scales upstairs, terribly anonymous and distant.
It's all the mystery in the fact that nothing lasts in the absurd depth of my memory, which repeatedly hammers out things that do. It manages to become music, but which are nostalgia.
I suppose, nevertheless, that I'm being metaphoric in all this, that the nostalgia I feel is not really mine, not really abstract, but the intercepted emotion of some unknown third person, to whom these emotions, which are in me literary, were - as Vieira would say - literal.
It is in my supposition that I feel that I am sorrowful and anguished, and the nostalgia, the sensation of which dizzies my eyes, well, it is through imagination and otherness that I think and feel it.
-Fernando Pessoa
Should I someday by chance have a solidly secure life and can freely write and publish, I know I'll be nostalgic for this uncertain life in which I barely write and do not publish.
I'll be nostalgic, not only because this frustrating life has passed away and is life I will never have ever again, but because it is a particular pleasure, and when it passes into another life, even if that new life is better, that particular pleasure is less joyous, that special quality is less
good, it ceases to exist, and there is an absence.
I am nostalgic about the hypothesis of being able one day to be nostalgic, even if that nostalgia is absurd.
I'm almost asking whatever gods there are to keep me here, as if I were in a coffer, defending me from the bitterness and also the happiness of life.
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Everything that is not part of my soul is for me, or matter how much I wish it or do not wish it to be so, nothing more than scenery and decoration.
A man, even though I can recognize by his thoughts that he is a living being as I am, always has - because of what is in me that is involuntary and truly my own self - less importance than a tree, if the tree is more beautiful.
For that reason, I always feel human events - the great collective tragedies of history or what people
make of history - are like colored friezes, empty of the soul of those who pass by in them.
(... It always saddens me to admit there might be sincerity in collective things, seeing that it I the individual in isolation who is the only being who feels.)
Those who truly suffer do not form mobs, they don't gather together.
He who suffers suffers alone.
What a bad group: what a lack of humanity and pain! They were real and yet incredible. No one could make a scene in a novel or a descriptive passage out of them. They flowed by like garbage in a river, the river of life. After seeing them I felt sleepy, nauseated, and supreme.
-Fernando Pessoa
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The irony about American Mavericks is that I can speak the truth in relation to the
in a personal manner. But if it in any way offends them it means I am anti American and I must be stopped. I am pro immigration, pro gun laws, and anti conservative. Yet I pose as a threat.
The truth is any good natured person should have their sovereignty granted to them not vilified for their own sake of seeking asylum at
borders. When you enter the US today it's either you are or you ar
en't American so enable themselves as victims of automatic impropriety.
