up goes the curtain.
the show has begun. everything i do, every face i wear another mask you see. not something reflecting my personality, but rather something hiding a personality i don’t want to share. putting on an act, one after another, trying so hard to stay hidden in the backdrop of the curtain shadows while still remaining partway in the spotlight. just vague enough to only be mildly intriguing. a performance. that’s what i’m putting on.
i don’t want applause, or recognition, or even reviews. i simply want to put on the best, simplest one man show i can without being noticeably different. just enough to gain a lukewarm 3 ½ star write up. “not crucial, but entertaining nonetheless”. because i want to be ignored. as much as i crave what we all do-attention, and affection, and love-i also yearn to be alone. i can’t make up my mind; the theater is my home. there’s no bit players, there’s no set design and no makeup artists. no directors. all my lines are adlibbed and no yellow correctors. the first draft is the right draft, it’s the only draft there is because you don’t get a second take.
and at the end, if i’ve put on a good performance, a passable persona, perhaps there’ll be champagne. perhaps roses, or an encore. maybe i’ll softshoe and sing once more. but it’s not likely. it’s useless to pretend i like it. i prefer to be offstage. i like the dressing room, the trailer, the solitude. i hope that’s not rude but in this day and age, art isn’t just something you hang in a museum, it’s something you do everyday. i am a performance artist, and i greet every situation with a different point of view, each person gets a new “how do YOU do”. make it personal, but keep it simple. i am an artist. i am a liar. i am putting on a show.
and down goes the curtain.
(an original poem by coyotefugly)