Shakespeare's Ontological Magick Circus

It seems that I have largely fallen out of the habit of writing these days. This is absolutely ridiculous. Funny how powerful experiences tend to inspire life to sprint a new pace and sweep us up in her arms, scarcely giving us a moment to record our thoughts, leaving our valuable new insights to the fragile trust of the devoted but frail hands of Memory; she paints with the faintest watercolor, pigments of neurons, a capricious medium which illuminates some details with the vibrancy of young flames and others with the evanescent colors of sounds already forgotten.

You can probably tell that I've been reading and that I saw a play today; I apologize for the theatrics.

As just mentioned, I saw a play today: Shakespeare's Ontological Magick Circus

It was awesome. I'm very excited about having discovered the word "ontology," which refers to the study of being. I didn't know there was a name and 'science' for such thoughts.

The hour I write this is as ridiculous as my recent writing habits--which is to say nothing negative to time, for whom I have been lately developing a fondness. I say ridiculous because I still have homework. Why must I always have homework? I suppose much of it is my own fault for not working harder during school hours.

The stage set was of a simple design--three ringed platforms, one at center, down left, and down right, each with a painted wooden box resting at its middle, a subtle rack of clothing bordered by black curtains up center, behind which rose a flag pole, and finally, connected to the pole, a few equally spaced poles on the outside strung with colorful half ovals of paper banner, giving the gentle impression of a circus.

I should really get in the habit of beginning at the beginning.

Des and I arrived not knowing quite where to go; we had previously only been to the stage as players ourselves, admitted through the backstage area. In our confusion, we ran into Jamie Douglas, who showed us the way to the front entrance and box office. By the way sister, she said hello.

For whatever reason, Des and I ended up getting front row seats. We walked in the theatre led by an usher, our eyes adjusting to the purple house lights, our ears adjusting happily to the soft background of Death Cab for Cutie. After we were seated, this was followed by the Shins. With great excitement we took in the set and read the program until the music stopped and the lights behind the white paper at the back curtain rose just as the house lights dimmed. The play began.

The five actor/actresses happily ran onstage and began speaking to us. The play was set up so that the five introduced various scenes of Shakespeare, performed them (changing characters with the ease of changing lines, donning clothing and accessories from the rack upstage and the boxes on the rings), and then gave commentary on them. They introduced us to various acting styles and types of comedy.

For one scene, Ozuna (one of the actors) explained that they had no one to play Juliet. "But I know there are plenty of would-be Juliets in the audience!" he proclaimed. "Do I see a volunteer?" Des and I expected everyone to jump at the opportunity to be on stage, but instead we heard a quiet wave of fearful grumbles, so she eagerly threw her hand in the air. With Shakespearean gentlemanliness, Ozuna offered his hand and she took the stage. Juliet merely sat in the scene while the nurse put on a hilarious display, but I was nonetheless very excited that Des got to be on stage.

The play was simply wonderful. I love Shakespeare.

Yesterday I saw The Fast and the Furious 4. Those movies are great if you like fast cars, macho men, and scantily dressed girls--not subjects I am particularly enamored with. I saw the movie for the sake and novelty of seeing it with Des and also out of my strange idea of research; I sometimes like to see or do things I wouldn't normally choose to do in order to expand my horizons, I suppose, really to broaden my writing capacity. I guess it's weird, but since I started keeping notebooklets, I think of everything in terms of writing.

The point of that ill-placed and random paragraph, which was no doubt jarring to my storylet, was simply this observation: the actors performed several sword fighting scenes, and I realized as I watched them that live theatre fencing (choreographed though it no doubt was, ignorant as I am) is much more exciting to me than movies like F & F.

One of the actresses sang a lullaby to the faerie queen in "A Midsummer Night's Dream." It was positively beautiful. Des and I agreed that we would like to learn it and sing it to our children if we ever had any.

At the end of the play, the actors/actresses clustered together to recite lines that gave insight to Shakespeare's philosophy of life and theatre. Intermittently the two actresses sang in unison... I wish I remembered the lines and more than that I wish I remembered the melody; the two both sang beautifully and had contrasting voices which created a lovely chorus effect. This last line, which was repeated several times, stuck with me. I'm probably remembering even this little bit wrong:

"...and the rain,
it rained everyday..."

Finally, the lights faded to black out, the actors/actresses came to the front to bow, and Des and I gave them a standing ovation even though most people stayed seated. This was their last performance, so we saw them present the director with a token of their appreciation--a stunningly beautiful fencing foil of dazzling silver with flashes of gold on the guard, mounted on a plaque of wood which one actress declared ambiguously was "very old."

As the troupe pranced offstage, Ozuna gave the audience a final big smile and a happy wave as he turned to run off with the others. It's strange to notice such a thing, but I found this gesture incredibly profound... it raised a strange feeling in me that I could not quite place and made me think about the way actors and audiences connect... I can't even describe it.

Yesterday... it's quite difficult to remember now. But I mainly wanted to write one particular scene. Before I started my homework, I impulsively satisfied a craving I've had for months; I took my grandmother's guitar from its battered old case, grabbed my tuner and an old book of chords, and went outside. I sat on the swing to the side of the house in the late afternoon light, the wind roaming around me, and I roughly tuned the guitar, though the strings need changed. When I was pseudo-tuned, I played my favorite chord--E major. I felt a weight fall from me.

I was rather sad that day, even as I played guitar in the midst of a beautiful day, which was wonderful but also kind of lonely. After I saw the play today, I was filled with joy, the canary yellow variety that makes the world and everything in it look especially beautiful and makes coming days, laden with the luggage of responsibility though they are, look wonderful and exciting.

Of course, now that the early hours of Monday have settled upon me and I still haven't finished homework, I feel rather more like my usual moderately dispirited self. Still, it was a happy day and a wonderful feeling, and I am extremely grateful that I saw the play, and I'm very glad that I wrote this silly post.

I know grades are important, but they're simply exhausting; I can't help but believe that people and experiences are more important. I can't help but want to preserve life lessons more than I want to preserve my GPA.