Lethargy has become the rule of the road for me now. What road? The road that winds me through the life that I no longer feel in control of. I am lost now, and free at the same time. I feel and see my body wasting away, unfed by the nutrients or the exercise that they are so used to. At the same time, what it has for the first time in many years, is rest. But it is so frustrating to see the work that went into keeping my body in shape to do what it needed to do, and to see that after just a bit of loss of focus, it can fall around me like a suit that fits too loosely…
The answer, of course, is fanatical dedication to a new regimen, one that dictates fatigue as being roughly necessary to the process of improvement.
And where, in all of this, does the notion of fairness or honesty to the people around me, specifically, those people who care about me or who wonder where I have disappeared to, what it is that I am doing? Where is the idea of a narrative, of a character? How do we know if we have an idea of genius or just one of stark convenience… maybe no one has ever done something like this simply because the idea is too damned pedestrian; too damned boring.
So this is my pledge to myself…
I will be at the gym for 4 hours a day, starting tomorrow. I will leave the house before noon in order to do it.
I will email everyone on my list.
I will take this as a profound and deep failure on my part if I am unable to carry out these simple pledges to myself.
There will be no game-playing, there will be no wasting of time. I will eat when I am not hungry, and I will drink when I am not thirsty. I will take my vitamins, and I will write three thousand words a day because I claim to be an artist, an acrobat, and I need to take such things seriously!
Perhaps it is time to put things into perspective, perhaps it is time to take matters in hand.
I will be tired, I will be unhappy, and I will be bored, but I will have some sense of necessity in my life.
I remember being at a Famous Amos stand in the subway mall of Taipei and hearing a perhaps over-enthusiastic manager of the tiny cart remarking to my companion something about something that made her mention the fact that she had lived in Africa. He says that life is simple there. She says, “Yeah, real simple. People’s kids dying all the time…” he doesn’t understand her English. He pauses. He smiles and says in Taiwan, people have lots of heart attacks. She seems to see his point. I don’t. but I don’t see hers either.
I agree that the world is a messed-up place, and I am the first agree that we need to do something about it, but at the same time, I think that we need to accept these little injustices without drama for the time being. People die more in some countries than other. Of course, looking at these things from a humanistic perspective gives us a lot of pause, but at the same time, we need to have the option, and only the option, of looking at it in a more detached way.
I need to write an email to The Contortionist now, and in it I need to include a white lie. It is about why I did not email her last night as I am trying to email her every night. I will tell her that my roommate suddenly fell ill and my other roommate and I had to take her to the doctor’s office. That is not a lie, that is really quite true, but we did that in the morning. The evening, she was still healthy, and we engaged in wine drinking and general revelry until the wee hours, and that was why I did not email my girlfriend.
I don’t know exactly what it takes to have a girlfriend in the world any more, at least when you are living outside the norms of a regular address, a phone that works, and a group of friends that you can disappear into. Will I miss this instability if I am ever to actually sit down and have a more stable life? Will that life be just as stifling and soul-killing as this one is feeling for me? Maybe the world itself is a stifling one, and this sense of despair that I am feeling is just some sort of metaphysical entropy, and it is exactly this sort of decay that we need to steel ourselves against to keep living as “beings,” and not as “beens.”
I want to meet my future head-on, standing straight and tall against the winds, not feeling like I need to destroy the city of Tokyo with an earthquake just to feel better about my writing.
What are the balls that are in the air right now? A modelling agency that is not responding to my numerous emails, a job from Adco that may or may not have me exploring the corporate side of entertainment, a job offer from a man that I met at a Lithuanian film festival who may or may not be interested in engaging me in a job that has me once again performing acrobatics for Toyota, of all possible clients… I have my number itself, which comes and goes in terms of how viable it seems, I have a possible grant which can take me possibly to Mongolia, to Bulgaria, to Lithuania, if my contact there ever decides to write me back. I have the idea to teach something at my old university, but so many of these little attempts keep coming back faced with a wall of white, insurmountable silence. Silence in the form of unanswered emails. Makes me realize exactly why people need phones and face to face in the real world these day.
I need to make handstand blocks, I need to make new DVD’s I need to write emails, I need to train, I need to feel a zest for life and to feel that sort of poetic cloud that can sometimes well up and swallow my head whole.
I think that it comes from new environments, though, and what are my new environments now? There seem to be none.
Handstands, ironically enough, is a discipline that requires stability in more ways that simply on your hands, inverted. We also need the structure in our lives to fit in a bit of training here or there. Once the number exists, we can run through it once a day in an hour, given that we have the space and the discipline, but once the technique falls by the wayside, you are trying to work your way up a hill… I guess I really need to focus my training now on the number and them concern myself with training later.
This is the way to go, I guess.
But god, it would be nice to look at myself in a mirror naked again and like what I see. What I see right now is mediocracy at best.
I feel forgotten, like a rocket that burned brightly, arcing over a hill where no one can see it anymore, and even less people care. I like the notion of a journey, and I like certain images in my writing, but in the end if I cannot harness it all into a tale of some sort, if I cannot craft what I am writing into a format that someone else would want to read, I am lost. Floating in space.