everything except himself

(uhm, yeah, this is part of a larger thing I’m writing)

I was born to a family of puppeteers. To be fair, my father was really from an acting family; my mother was the puppeteer. Of the two, I think the title “Actor” is more diverse — it’s flexible. How else would you deal with a puppeteer but to play the parts she expects of you?

Don’t think for a minute that my father was a pushover. With actors, you never can tell what parts are real and what are borrowed. A good actor, like my father could have been, will never let you know. For the years they’ve been married, I still don’t think mother has a clue that father is the true puppeteer. He really is something and it comes to him so naturally, too.

For example, my parents are quite different when it comes to putting on shows. On the one hand, my mother only cares about entertainment, making people laugh, so that the people keep coming back to watch while we’re in town. My father, on the other hand, knows how to “Wow!” people. He knows that, if he can get someone’s attention, he can have a follower for life. His audience doesn’t forget the show as soon as we leave town because he made a mark in each of those people, but my mother only understands money: followers are only customers to her. However, my father has never been one to let others stop him, unless he found it favorable to stop, too.

We don’t stop moving much, though. In each town, we settle into a hotel of sorts, hitch the horses at a stable, and perform the very night we arrive. As a child with this kind of schedule, my eyes came of age well before the rest of me did. Gentlemen would leave their wives to go “shopping” for cheap produce in the back-alley bazaars. Wives would use the time to pen a letter to inquire about the “attractions” in the next town over. It was odd to see the same people from the town we had just left in the new town we had just arrived in; I thought I was seeing things until I started watching closely. Some of these people moved between towns more than we did! They certainly have a devotion about them to their craft. What, with such continued work they must have easily become master craftsmen in their field!

Speaking of craftsmen, my mother was the original craftswoman. I think it had to do with her love of money. I mean, in my hometown, there was quite a celebration at my birth: everyone was dying to know what man I would grow up to look like. I heard that there were even bets placed as to whom the fatherhood of this wayward woman’s child belonged. It was indeed the man I have mentioned. Taking this woman was the only time I have heard him stay in one place for more than a month. I think we keep moving so much because my father wants his wander-prone wife to be continually occupied. Being a good actor, like my father, is about understanding not only your character but all of the characters in the show. You should never ignore the roles of others, because, as an actor, you can use anything and anyone to your advantage.

I heard you tip-toeing through the hall,
With all your hopes and aspirations dear.
Near to your heart you have them clutched,
Crutched for holding them too tightly.

Lightly you pass through the study.
Guady books on philosophy have blinded you
To the wisdom you have just passed by.
Try, but your eyes will make you see the truth.

Forsooth, as you the staircase descend,
Mend your wearied ways!
Plays and fairy-tales have lied to you;
True only are the lessons learned from them.

Hem inside your heart what you now find!
Blind no more will you be.
See! No trick stone or lever removes the pool,
Cruel though it may be to your dreams.

It seems for a moment that you have stopped,
Dropped now is the torch you had carried,
Buried behind the veil of reality.
Truly, this should end your feverish euphoria.

Sweet Pandora, was this the box to open?
Broke in, you have only now your hope there.
Swear to me that you will see by Prometheus’ fire:
Liar, one and all, are those who darkly contrive.

Strive to see the truth in these dark times,
Rhymes were never meant to be more than entertainment,
Statment of man’s need to escape this rut,
But Atlantis never sank:
The ocean only drank Patala.

Wake up. Spend a few minutes on personal hygiene. By chance, notice that there’s a message on phone; ignore it. If it’s important, the person will call again. I’ll get back to them eventually. Make breakfast (note: complain later that there’s never anything in the house for breakfast). Down some all-natural 100% fresh pressed apple juice. Go join the commute.

Flip station to “Talk Radio.” Quickly change station to “Jazz” (note: claim to actually listen to NPR). Drive. Stop. Drive. Quickly stop for the SUV that has suddenly decided to change lanes from stop into moving traffic. Look at driver in car behind; laugh at crazy road rage gestures. Park. Walk to class (note: arrived earlier than usual; note 2: “usual” means 5 minutes late).

Find out that I got moved into a different group for World Religion; it’s with that random girl that talked to me earlier. Find out that the professor will not be here at all next week (uhm, score?). Girl seems excited about being my partner.

In Technical Boredom, talk about why American culture has been “detrimentally affected” by influx of foreigners. Talk about why we should be in Iraq. Listen to an Iraqi talk about the problems as he sees them. Agree with the Iraqi totally (duh). Talk to the Type A girl who pushes her problems on me (note: she looked like she needed to vent). Type A girl is actually kind of fun to talk to, but she’s not really my type. Get paired up with a guy for an assignment; he’s not listening to a word I say.

Pick up batteries for ECON test. Take test; pass it with flying colors. My weekend can’t be ruined now. Study for test in next class just in case.

Life is a vagrant breeze
Wafting here and there.
The forever fragrant please
The sensed paroxysm that needs to share:

Long sat the songbird,
Once bound to cage so lurid
In a vacous tomb,
Bereft of such a windy bloom.

Colorfully squawking,
He is staged in this mocking.
The role is Companion,
never to be undone.

But from my daydream
I awake to the scream
Of the starving and mangy fright,
Waiting in the dark-as-night.

His role is Abuser,
bastard and accuser,
And his lines are massed and many,
Though all worth but a penny.

He shouts as though ignoring
The hard-to-miss imploring,
But it is the attention that is wanted
Not an equal mooring.

It smells like the stench of rot,
A secreted catch someone forgot.
I think about our anti-hero’s place,
What a shame he fools — Race!

p.s. Concerning the title, “N-V-Gould” sounds like a real word: “inveigled.”

p.p.s I just failed a Stat test because I wrote this instead of studying.

And I am feeling a little peculiar,
And so I wake in the
morning and I step outside,
And I take a deep breath,
Then I get real high,
And I scream from the top of my lungs:
What’s goin’ on!?

I’m glad it rained today. I feel like I needed it. It really seems like I’ve just got myself to count on in things that matter. I mean, I’m not saying that that’s how it is with everything, but, with recent stuff, I can’t depend on anyone but myself. I mean, it sucks, because I used to respect these people. Pft, oh well.

Have you ever watched a fire die out? (Camping, anyone?) Right now, I feel like that burnt, some parts ash-white, log that’s still smoldering a little bit, just waiting to be doused. There’s no one to douse that flame, though, except time, and time isn’t exactly friendly to me lately. The problem here is that, when you’ve just got yourself, you get no obstacles. You won’t run into anything that says, “You’re wrong about that!” It’s just you, after all. Maybe that’s what I’m really looking for in life. I’d wondered what would even relationships with me, and maybe that’s it.

(the sound of rain can be heard)

Today, as I was crossing campus to the only class that I don’t have in the same building, I got stopped by a girl. Her English isn’t broken so much as I think she’s just nervous. We have World Religion together at 8:00am. I really like this class, but she informs me that she doesn’t like it. I find most of what we learn funny, and the atmosphere in class is really relaxed. She’s only taking it because they say it is an “easy score.” The class is confusing to her, though; we’re doing Hinduism, so of course it’s confusing. I’m still in awe that someone doesn’t like that class. She informs me that she’ll try harder to like the class. Then I have to go. It is raining after all, and I’ve only got one class before I can go home.

We can be happy too,
If you look out for me the way I looked out for you.

If I sounded insecure,
It’s because I wasn’t sure you were really there.

It’s hopeless, and so am I: incorrigible. I’m the way I’ve always been. Change for me isn’t easy, because I’ve always liked who I am. Why change something that’s perfect… sometimes? My point is that I’ll always disappoint you — forever. Period. That’s it; the end.

Now, tell me how this is unnecessary. Let me go with my fatalist point of view. It’s necessary because it happened, like all that stuff that I’m just supposed to accept about you. Get over it, geez. Your lack of acceptance inspires me to be fiercely alone, and so I have no one to impress but myself. At the risk of sounding like I have a personality disorder, I’d give myself a standing ovation, and I’ll be happy to give an encore…

Out of my way!
Out of my way!
Let us do what we want…
Nothin’ really matters to me.

India’s national song turns 100 today… and it sounds cool.