Million Dollar Dead Dancers Society
i’ve waited so long to articulate everything that’s happened with the Onion Cellar in the last few months that i feel like i will alienate everybody with a blog that is so vast and epic in length and scope that only 4 or 5 people will get to the end.
maybe i should offer a prize? a cake?
but how will i i know? maybe a test or an essay question at the end
PLease write an essay of no less than 1500 words describing Amanda’s experience with the American Repertory Theater.
Please choose 2 out of the 4 following questions, in essay format. Each answer must be no less than 1000 words.
1. Why did Amanda ignore all the red flags waving in her face when she still had time to fix the problem?
2. Is there a difference between art that is “good” and art that is “bad”? What about art that is “safe” or “not safe”?
3. Do you agree with Amanda’s decision to continue on with the project despite the drastic turn of events? Why or why not?
4. Please expound on the difficult artistic terrain between “integrity” and “responsibility”.
i’ll work on it
put on pot of tea. boiling and ignoring it.
2 shows down. 38 shows left.
i feel so fucking weird and alone up there. i can’t describe it. i’m working on it.
i needed the onion cellar, it self, most of all. for my self. we make what we need. that’s how it works.
there was only one solution tonight:
had to borrow pope’s computer, since my disc drive is broken, crawl into bed with headphones, insert Dead Poets Society DVD, watch entirety and weep.
had to put pope’s computer back downstairs, still weeping, steal some of his toilet paper (i’m out) come back up here and sit in my cold kitchen.
tomorrow night maybe i’ll watch Dancer in the Dark. then the next night, Million Dollar Baby. i’ll alternate.
my own little onion cellar atop a few square feet of comforter. crying into stolen toilet paper and getting it all out of my system.
maybe 38 shows later, and Dead Poets Society x 12, Dancer in the Dark x 13 and Million Dollar Baby x 13 later i’ll be ready to get up, get dressed, go to the cineplex, watch Borat and start life afresh. hope it’s still playing by then.
all the water boiled away, just added more.
right now i’m alone, it feels fine to be alone, standing to the side, and all i have to do is look around and remind myself that for fucks sake, maybe it really did have to be this way, and that every person in the world who’s ever tried to make anything real has had to deal with exactly what i’m feeling now.
i should not ever expect it to be easy….i expected that, how stupid…
i SHOULD expect that the majority will not want to cry, splatter, shake, grab, yell, mess, smear, pull…YAWP the world out of it’s sleepiness, kicking and screaming!aaahhhhhhhgahgahgfahgfhashfgashgahjlehd…….
I went to the woods because i wanted to live deliberately.
i wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…
to put to rout all that was not life;
and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived.