I know nothing of life. I know nothing of life. No script or just peeled learned of escape. The other actors, those with whom around, I know for fact, and in unexpected ways. Just time to meetings, presentations, and begins to improvise. Rarely works though. It 's why they put us on the stage of the theater who have previously read and learned a written text, par coeur. Better to know in advance what you say, and what a relief to know the ending already. Anna, your character, leave her husband, is then betrayed by her lover and dies under a train. A tragic accident. You know the first second. So even while he laughs, as he walks, talking to others, Anna has plenty of time to cultivate humor in that corner of the need to mourn, as a subject of anxiety to become credible in the eyes of the paying public, for that final scene, one in which, after a serious accident, it will die.
For Phaedra is not too different, and whoever you play the role, enters conscious from the start that within a few hours to kill his son and soffirà for it. He suffers for centuries, but can not stop. L 'kill-and-Juliet Each time, always with the poison in her purse for the most trivial of reasons ... Centuries of theater and substantial deception, and even today around the world is full of people who reads the subject.
For me I do not know the script, which I know nothing of life, it is important to sharpen the skills of improvisation, like those comedians, jugglers or some able to stay balanced on a wheel that whirls to several meters above the ground , making it look like child's play. And dramatic light.
No one would think or act as if it were conscious of being on stage, but sometimes s' senses, to be finished within a role. Just time to recognize the coordinates e. .. what is the role, that's the thing that makes you feel inside, that allows others to recognize or away from you.
The parties are to be read many. The monologue, when he is inside, you do so at home in front of the mirror while you brush your teeth, as well as in front of a movie, or in the car while you light a cigarette that is well coupled with that song that seems to be made just for you to turn that cigarette because you remember ... other cigarette while listening to that song. "It seems like yesterday," you say. This is truly a role. You're giving a pose. Six conditions, but at that moment you can not know. You're all too busy. You like to think that too is not at all, not at all original.
not less popular, the couple's monologue: Take two people and put a face to face, and one of them starts talking. It is not that interested in talking with you because you are, just wants to talk about himself to lighten a few minutes, then you or anyone, is just the same. Then if thou 'Listen, if you get bored, if you die there, under his merciless eyes, almost no one pays attention. It tells you, tells emphatic and full of nuances "psychological." Finished his argument, you see he loses interest, you listen to limit ... one intuits from a mile away but still reflecting on what has been said that out loud the first half hour. Having said all the unspeakable, it's time to say goodbye and walks away, leaving you with your thoughts and a few pounds of his own, which may not affect you that much, but if you are, as they say ... a sensitive, a little 'touches you everything from cat in heat you do not know how to help, the guy that does not stop at the traffic lights and the old, to kill the time.
The time is to tip. The day is the feast, the course is full of people, but the bar, the "usual" bar, is almost deserted, which is never too bad. It 's a particular bar, a cafe wedged into a library, certainly not a literary cafe, and yet, absurd as it may seem, it is more "literary" of the other, because it poses less. There, people take coffee with a 'glamorous attitude annoyingly, cross-legged, three-quarter bust, shoulder and chin on the couch literary high, almost austere. Here's just people taking coffee in hand and has a book, a newspaper or a cup full of liquid. No doubt a great place, why does not claim too much more than what is . The time to turn your eyes and you take a sharp pain in my heart for someone who's there, near you. An old man with a hat, long coat to the ground. It has all the traits of a sensitive type. E 'older than many old together, and it's nice to see. On small round table in front of him, has prepared an entire merchandise card, also has a magnifying glass, and a pen. With one hand holding the lens on a kind of graph, with the other giants and incomprehensible words written on the paper squares, and to accomplish this task becomes very complicated, all bent on the sheets, the awkward shape of a "C". You wonder he is doing. Would you like to ask him so much. You can watch it freely as you try to understand, not because he sees you, and that's not a pose, but an exhausting effort. Who knows who seeks ... one wonders. But ask him is beyond question. My space your space. Forbidden to merge the details. It 's the kind of thing for which people live alone and hurt. Days, months, years to create spaces, ie the walls, just say so: "to create their own spaces" do more "individual". The trouble is that it serves, it is inevitable or you end up crushed by the train. Finally looks up and you look like love. He smiles a bit 'awkward and returns to his work.
grow old enough to think that if you like him, sitting in her place there'd be you, and maybe with white hair and wrinkles in your beautiful view. It is not certain to attract the curious eye of others. Why would you need to be jugglers exposure, the risk that they laugh at you, you note, and you can only do this if you practice over the years, so that the thing in the end, do not touch you too. Do not talk about abstruse things is just theory and technique of freedom, that when you do what you want, how and when you want, it stops being a verb and becomes real. A kind of utopia in other words. The cap of the pen slips from her fingers, and you do not lose this opportunity, you bend over and pick up. Alone would not do, but do not ask for help. "Imagine" answer, but you said it with love, as if he were a handsome male with whom want to pair soon. "Imagine" ... that's all. Here's a role, a limit.
Anch 'I like everyone, I cultivate my space, but it would be wiser to grow salad. It would be preferable, because I read somewhere that the manual work helps people to bond more abstract to the earth, and since I'm an abstract, should cultivate their own salad. I would like to work less tiring than I did think about all the words that I say this because I can not, or those that do not say this because I do not know ... I need a short vacation, but the holidays are a luxury, and I can not afford luxuries, then the ideal is a tiring job, so here I need. The opposite of a holiday. Being alone, feeling alone, that change? Where is the line? Just maybe a yard full of bipedal walking around you to think, even to suspect that you are not alone? It 'just bounce a few word to say, or seriously think that you are communicating?
"I take your irony ..." A phrase placed there, including a chat and another. Follow other words, other topics, but feel that these are put down roots, as those seeds that fly in the air in the spring, as those seeds that will stick in unexpected places. You stick like a jellyfish while swimming, like a mushroom while you're jumping in the pool-just a second before the jump-Someone who understands you, so you leave guess. If we really grasp the quest'ironia, and unfortunately you know that is true, it happens a kind of metamorphosis that transforms you in the salad that you would like to learn how to cultivate, and he finds himself, almost inadvertently, in the role of farmer that grows and then you will collect it at will. Every time he takes your irony, as if t 'watering and fertilizing you. Every time I laugh at what you laugh, it's like caring about you. When you calm if you are agitated, as if you repair an old cold polar or I'll annihilate, reducing them to dry leaves.
I know nothing of life.
The art of relating. That's one thing I have learn. Devo. Absolutely. I thought that the absolute deceased together odious adolescence. We hope so, but it did not happen. Does not die. Not yet. I like when Take my irony. It 'an absolute way to love me. You do not know. You're just improvising the joke, one that will lead to graft other dialogues and perhaps, those bodies themselves. It 's so unique that you say, that I become the stupid Juliet, only that she was a teenager, so excusable, but to me, those long dresses, her hair and that kind of thoughts appear pathetic ... "I love you" this is the role of the most conventional scope of mouth. I want to say a few days, I swims in the head, I almost chokes my throat, I think, I feel an irresistible desire to throw these letters in the air, saying it is as if you'd say to everyone that I never said. Years of ever said, now that I think. I get distracted and just relaxes me, just stop thinking about it ... I say, if it comes out. I need it. Just me, you can not say that I put to "love" anyone. To you. Why Take my irony. You said he did it more than once. I have proof that I am not alone, at least not today. You read, and taken away. At least if I were a flower, a red rose petals of velvet, I would die for trivial reasons and beautiful, Juliet as the naive, but die as a salad, is not that the silliest of roles. We are in the theater. I must always keep in mind. We're improvising, and it is logical that the roles are as little drawing. Meet, play, mix in a romantic kiss "artistic" as the magical moment that precedes it, is necessary for performing questions ... Usually the audience .... and then the end. Always arrives late, and always wrong. It hurts so bad that you do not want to start anything. Never again.
Even a book, when I like, not only do not I hasten to finish it, but I slow down. E 'exhausting as the work of the old man. The boredom of having to separate from those places of the mind that I worked so hard to engage my mind. I am not an eater of pages, not lexical suffering from bulimia, I like that the writing is not very memorable and that it is too, is learning, and that is best suited to those who attend "literary cafe" and has something to prove, I I just want to understand. When the end approaches, it also happens to read ten lines, and that's it until tomorrow. Then the final, maybe just woke up, and I carry it on all day with a kind of nostalgia, like a sadness, because the book is closed as if it had ended yet another love story. Nonsense! You never want a book of respect, not in his nature, but if you decide to read it, would not be the same, because if you already know the ending, then you're just playing, and I, like you might understand I do not know acting at all, more than I can write scripts, screenplays, short. Yes indeed. Corti. They are made so sensitive people. Nothing touches them, touch them and everything. Absolute. At all relative. I know nothing of life. Where are you? What happened? What 's changed? Everything. Nothing. We're still us. Also at the theater. Flowing only days, the characters are called upon to interpret it away for script requirements. Change the scene. Other actors. All daccapo. Fa male. Fa molto male. Più del necessario. E non serve sgranare il rosario di altre cose che hanno già fatto male per sentirsi meglio. Non si è mai imparato niente. Questa l’impressione che racconto nel mio prossimo ruolo, che è un lungo monologo in cui recito sola sulla scena. Pazienza. Una volta capivi la mia ironia, ora devo spiegarti quando scherzo e quando sono seria. Non so niente della vita. Quello che prima ti attirava ora ti allontana, quello che ti divertiva, non ti diverte più. Dunque hai smesso di cogliere la mia ironia. Ora non la capisci più, peggio, molto peggio, ora non t’interessa. E io capisco solo una cosa, solo una fra le tante possibili: cioè che non capisco nulla of life. I do not understand its gears, its logic, no nothing. Where is my father? Want to know. And I? What I'm trying incessantly from morning till night? How much time is left before disappearing? how many times I have to change the script? It will happen one day 's really meet someone? Will I ever see up close, even for a moment, the magic gear? To do this you need to become mothers, and I do not. I do not know anything then. All I know is that you lose, it hurts and I can not help it, because you take away a little bit of me, a little of my hope. I
decline in the role of the actor then return to my role on stage, and I expect that somewhere, someone turn down the lights, and against the light, among the motes of dust, boosted by low color that has descended on scene, where I am alone and posing, one intuits a tense and dramatic profile, artistically beautiful if you can. That at least a drop curtain, which some applaud the inevitable and final art in exchange for a generous bow, but does not move a fly. Silence. Only the wind on the prairie, and lettuce leaves me look on his face expressionless, which is typical of the stupid vegetable.
