After the rind has been stripped away
I am able to exist amongst any entity; energy or living or even non – living creation. I am able to make all I meet laugh, cry, hate or even contemplate their own existence, or conjure any emotion within. I am able to mask my essence and theatrically cause any creation I meet to believe the stage play that I choose to take place. I lie without error. The truths I tell grind the souls that have become predictably visible to me.
I have mastered the art of the social butterfly, the tramp, the beggar, conqueror, warrior, victim, child, mother, murderer, wise one, healer, fortune teller, gypsy, goth, Pagan, Christian, Satanist, Buddhist, Islamic slave, Irish, spiritualist, abused lover, engaged mother, adolescent, condemned outcast, racist, pessimist, optimist, feminist, poet, storyteller, author, artist, nerd, drug addict, drinker, whore, call girl, desperate convenient cheap brainless pathetic one night stand, the little girl, the blue eyed blonde haired Arian innocence, favourite, despised, pitied, disgusted woman, a failure, a well of understanding, a sister, a lesbian, mad, retard, psychotic lunatic, fashionable ‘coo’ girl, rich bitch, a bitch, a destroyer, a creator, the only answer, the bread winner, a suicidal mistake, an actress, a model, beautiful, ugly, a pathetic forgotten disappointment, rebel, lawyer, domestic pillar, domestic condemner, runaway, saviour, eluded contender, paranoid hallucinating rapid bi-polar sufferer, mild schizophrenic patient, the reason and the cause… the list could fill a library.
I have been them all, come to know and master them, those that I have met will never forget me and perhaps shall never let go. What they don’t realise is that their favourite play that I happened to act in shall forever remain a memory and that they never got to see me once the curtains dropped and the show was over. Not one single creation that i ever met came even close to peeping at the essence of the actress that I played in their lives… not even my mother and brother came to realise that I withdrew and brought out who the moment needed, when the eyes opened, I delivered the necessary part for the audience at hand. At the age of 26, I have decided to retire from my experiential career. It brought much wisdom; knowledge and understanding; it also added many chapters; quotes; altering decisions; necessary changes and hard forced lessons to many, but the time has come where the scripts are becoming mundane and the outcome ceases to impress my cabinet of experience; I seem to get replayed episodes and my inspiration is dead.
I no longer have any need to satisfy or even impress or witness any beings reactions; no longer are my masks necessary or profitable to my never ending journey. It is time now that the theatre closes down and I burn the outfits and clippings of past plays. It is now time for me to retire to my own house and wear my own choice of clothing; it is time to cast away any object which disguises or alters the me – only my creatrix; the voids that echoed my tears; and I – know. It is time that I answer the calling of the self. It is time that I allow my career of survival, to learn and to gather information – to come to an abrupt end without prior notice. The red and yellow vacant boards shall be witnessed by those that seek a play. Each unto his own time. Perhaps they shall wonder if their favourite character died, or perhaps they shall ponder on imaginative thoughts such as abduction or murder, perhaps even the possibility of comatose drunkenness or a compulsive addiction that led to bankruptcy or perhaps some few will grant their favourite mask that I presented to them – hope – and ponder a huge winning and a starlight cruise with golden-lined curtains and polished floors, wearing Armani styled costumes, as opposed to the dull teal curtains covered in dust sweeping the cracked wooden floors that were my only stage.
I know that one being never believed any mask I wore and saw perhaps right through, his mind far too fragile to comprehend the essence that his undefiled core came to meet, but that, that he met – even if it made no sense – he loved that unconditionally. He – the only tear that never falls but escapes every second of every moment that I am in existence will be in my essence once I remove the years of work and tiring necessities. He – my son – and the arms that seeked the truth that he found – unlike any being that looked upon me – he, I will sorely miss! I will reveal my own hair and physical being and then upon staring into the face of truth that I hid away since common sense and survival forced my weary childish mind into costumes and pretentious personas – I will then tear my hair from the roots and spit my meaningless blood upon the ground beneath my naked self. I will allow the torment to stream from my chest as I rip it open to the unfairness of the financial and familiarly political reality that I carried since the beginning – under the stuffy costumes. I will raise my arms to the empty skies above as to catch him like a shooting star. Nights shall not pass without his innocent unforgettable face replaying past actions in front of me. I will awake – rid of the burden of playing in the socially acceptable plays chosen by an audience that’s greed stepped over my personal necessities – I will awake from a dream, where he lies asleep, resting on my arm – I will awake to a liberated pure self whose path may lead any way it sees fit according to personal choice – I shall awake to every dream conjured up through the years behind the dusty curtain, I shall awake and find that my arms are bare, that my essence is his unconditional, undying, eternally persistent love that no God, no spirit, no book or hidden holy grail could ever put a smile on my now seemingly liberated face without reflecting him before everything I see.
My liberated senses will capture his memory turning it into an hallucinated reality existing around every corner that is just too far to reach before it fades away. I will awake and find that to hide his existence in my very blueprint from the newly made acquaintances, would force me to spend my new existence on buying and building a new theatre and acting out an emotion that i so long to reunite with, an emotion that truly cannot be manufactured, the only emotion that was unconditionally and so purely – without returned wishes – presented to me, the one emotion that I confused with those forced in the scripts I was engrossed within, the only emotion that – once the past has gone up in smoke, from the necessary bonfire required for my essence to emerge and be unshackled to forced action – remained behind, amongst the blackened unrecognizable remains, it will be the only emotion that stands solitary, encased in a crystal perfection, beaming a light so blinding that upon laying eyes on it, it pulls existing perceptions of truth from you and disperses your entirety into an unending mass of falling confetti condensed by your tears – the only emotion that I would be able to witness but never act well enough to convince the me under the costumes that he exists in pure harmony without me – the only emotion that will see my soul reincarnate a billion times to suffer until I succumb to it and return it in purity without an ounce of stage attire – the only emotion that I coaxed the world into giving to me, adding them to my catalogue of miserable lost souls thereby denying their existence, the only emotion that will finally be the reason for my imprisoned soul to be voluntarily sold to the deep uninhabitable pits of a hell that I dare not even begin to describe, the only emotion that began the universe, the only pure unadulterated, untarnished, permittedly rebellious, indescribable eternally infinite core emotion that destroys everything if looked upon with an ungratefully mocking heart or a careless eye that thinks it is an independent being controlling even this emotion – the only emotion that my son cried out to me with outstretched arms and daily searching for reassurance of my mere existence – the only emotion that I shunned for my pathetic almost necessary liberty – the only damned emotion I have found no antidote for – the only emotion that has caused my tears to run this ink – that emotion, that power contained in the essence of every living, dead and unknown being created, that single emotion now tears my soul apart as I see the eyes that contained it lie beneath the ink and rest upon the once unscathed sinless page, that single death defying reason for all of creation, that emotion that began the need for life, and the reason for the lingering ‘dead’, and miraculous human feats displayed; the only single solitary cause for effect is nothing other than love.