Went to see play last night.
It was possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. All things theatre, all things art, will now have to measure up to that woman's performance in Red Dog Howls. Her words, her cries, they will stay with me. When the room is quiet, when the laughter has gone away, my thoughts will turn to her.
I had gone in expecting nothing. I knew next to nothing about the Armenian Genocide, and I still don't know very much, but I have come to understand what the playwright had tried to communicate. I have come to understand some part of their pain.
They say some things are so good they give you chills. I must have pressed up against an iceberg last night.
It's playing at The El Portal Theatre through June 13. I wish I could have only known about it sooner.
I shudder to think that any other actress could perform that part. That play belongs to Kathleen Chalfant.
In less significant news:
Felting is the process by which soft, combed unwoven wool fibers are stabbed at by a needle until the fibers are compactly tangled together and molded to form a shape.
I feel like I started out this soft thing, and now I have become so traumatized that my heart has become this tight little thing. It's an irreversible effect.
It hurts, it hurts and hurts and hurts. Am I naive? Do I not know how cruel a man can be? This is the first time I've known it.
They're just words, he says. You make it sound like I hit you.
And what am I supposed to say? Well at least he doesn't hit me?
If this is what being with someone is supposed to be like, a system of curtains and blindfolds, of giving and taking, of compensation and compromise, I'd much rather be alone.
but that's the frightening thing, isn't it? being alone.