Constantly Constance

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tSBkT9AFWA)

Theatre Roscius new short film Out of the Dark / Into the Light 

Beloved, there have been days worse than this

something which may be of is no comfort to you now but is still very true

Dearest, there have been days that could not have possibly had an end and yet the sun set just the same

there were nights with no moon & someone held the promise of you close

even if they did not know it

what I mean is and it has been said before:

you are the prize of the Ones that did not die you are the ready student the conditioned body you are possibility’s possibility and no ancestor before you would have been more ready

what I mean is this will be hard

a fact unjust but fair

I’d like for you to remember that today’s terror tastes smells feels like That of yesterday’s

it has only now called ahead before visiting your door

know that there will be days worse than this

which is an awful thing for me to say when I want so much to encourage when I need it myself

but it is possible

so many things are possible.

Yes. So many things are possible.

by an actor

is not a matter 

of style or rehearsal, 

but of self-knowledge 

and an inescapable desire for

complete personal exposure.

That compulsion for 

public emotional nakedness

drives the actor to ask not,

“who must  become to create the 

character?”

but to ask,

“who does the character become

because I play it.”

It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. 

No artist is pleased...there is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others. 

~Martha Graham to Agnes DeMile

We wear the mask that grins and lies. It shades our cheeks and hides our eyes. This debt we pay to human guile With torn and bleeding hearts . . . We smile and mouth the myriad subtleties. Why should the world think otherwise In counting all our tears and sighs. Nay let them only see us while We wear the mask.

We smile but oh my God Our tears to thee from tortured souls arise And we sing Oh Baby doll, now we sing . . . The clay is vile beneath our feet And long the mile But let the world think otherwise. We wear the mask.

When I think about myself I almost laugh myself to death. My life has been one great big joke! A dance that’s walked a song that’s spoke. I laugh so hard HA! HA! I almos’ choke When I think about myself.

Seventy years in these folks’ world The child I works for calls me girl I say “HA! HA! HA! Yes ma’am!” For workin’s sake I’m too proud to bend and Too poor to break So . . . I laugh! Until my stomach ache When I think about myself. My folks can make me split my side I laugh so hard, HA! HA! I nearly died The tales they tell sound just like lying They grow the fruit but eat the rind. Hmm huh! I laugh uhuh huh huh . . . Until I start to cry when I think about myself And my folks and the children.

My fathers sit on benches, Their flesh count every plank, The slats leave dents of darkness Deep in their withered flank. And they gnarled like broken candles, All waxed and burned profound. They say, but sugar, it was our submission that made your world go round.

There in those pleated faces I see the auction block The chains and slavery’s coffles The whip and lash and stock. My fathers speak in voices That shred my fact and sound They say, but sugar, it was our submission that made your world go round.