ich clown

Ich CLown - premiera from veioza arte on Vimeo.

- what we have been workin on until now. a play about ourselves, and the beginnging of the programme "write about yourself", which hopefully will encourage people to write about/share their own stories, and break the common belief that "my life's not worth it" when it comes to writing about you. twas the most kamikadze project i've worked on, but it's out there now. and that's good.

http://ichclown.wordpress.com/

back

almost thought i'll never write here again. my brain is still more than half empy after the last 2 months' experience, and now slowly coming to life, bit by bit, pixel by pixel. try to remember parts of the things that happened in order to free some space in my brain cells. in london again. now. after the opening of our performance, which was good but also the most nerve-consuming experience i've been through until now. yes, doing an independent theatre production in bucharest has all the chances to basically leave you in a vegetable condition. right now, selling baloons on the streets of london. yesterday i saw a guy next to me who was literally plucking his hair out while singing a song into a street plastic sign (the orange-and white ones, that look like the VLC icon). he was singing "wonderwall" into that. had black dirty hands and dirty nails, seemed homeless, and had just some remains of hair on the top of his head, which he was plucking every 30 seconds, and then throwing them. he had a bag in front of him and people were throwing money. twas the most disturbing image i've seen in a while. i'll try to take more pictures starting today, in my baloon walks.
decided to come back here for a phd in a couple of years- probably 3. trying to figure out the research theme until then.

remember

some of the last moments of this week listening to this song bright tomorrow

i treat you nice

feel i've been going through a tunnel since i came back. like in those video games, always ready for an enemy to attack. decided to put notes and thoughts together, to see the bigger picture. i'm wondering almost every day about what am i doing, what am i building here - coz many times it feels that you're going on moving sand, and this is the most absurd thing of all. i'm losing so many time to run after all those important people that could make our project work (but they have no real interest for projects though, they're just a bunch of mobsters), that i feel that here everything is set up to stop people from work. i could use that time in so many interesting ways, but still i have to be prepared to show up in front of all those greasy theater-owners, anytime they please to, just because they are the only ones. i hate this old school theater system with all my heart and soul. they don't give a shit about theater, about the people they are workin with , they have no passion for other things than keep their chair warm. there would be many things to write about.it's may, i've been here for 6 months now. or 7. there would be so many things so interesting for this blog, also because when i look at my older posts i see that when i was in london, i had the time and the comfort to write about things i discover, or things i think about. here, it's always like a survival trip, there's no quiet moment to even think about what you are thinkin about. it's also strange, that when in other place, you have the curiosity to discover, all your senses are oriented towards outside, here all your senses are oriented towards inside, sort of trying to protect yourself from the outside world.

yesterday, one of those theater managers invited me to take a sit on his lap, and tell him about the project we're workin at. of course, he said it as a joke. also, i think he pronounced the words "i treat you nice", meaning us, the young kids who came to propose him a project. it's confusing, and it's also confusing that people here seem to take it as "his jokey way", which is totally fucked up. there is no way in the whole universe that somebody you go to talk about a project can invite you to sit on his lap, not even as a joke. it's just fucked up. but he acts like this because he knows you need him. and because he has no fuckin notion of respect. and you go again and again to ask him if he read your text. wtf. duude. wtf. it's just WRONG. the only thing i should be bothered with is my work. and you don't do it with a snap of fingers. you need time, and energy. and focus. and food. i have this sort of vision, since i came back, looking around- that the people around me, me included, we've been so humiliated, our mothers have been humiliated, our grandparents have been humiliated, that the only good thing that could happen now as a burst of this continuous pain, would be a writing outburst, people writing and writing and giving voice to their feelings, and stories, and disappointment, hundreds of stories. to write is the easiest tool, you don't need to rent a space for it, you don't need props, and stuff you can't afford. we also don't trust people. but we could trust ourselves to be honest, each person in it's own autistic way, and then in the end we can discover the things that we really have in common. at least we would get to know ourselves. there's no notion of solidarity here, of any kind. the strongest communities are the ones in villages or in gypsy communities. in the rest of the country, people either create very closed groups (the family- usually mother father grandparents children and maybe some close cousins), protecting themselves against all the others, or just live in a no-harm pact with all the people around (that is if you don't form a family group) sort of a cold war understanding, you don't mess with me and i won't mess with you.

for some strange reason i've been watching america's next top model again in the last few weeks. i can't get those girls out of my mind, and tyra banks, and the competition rules, and the rewards, and the love and hate relationship those girls have while living together. their beauty standards. the political correctness of having one plus-size model in each cycle, or sometimes one lesbian. anyways. i fell asleep, just woke up now. will keep posting, i guess.

sunday morning. inhabit ur own life, space, actions, depressions, joys. everyplace you are in has a reason. pretending it doesn't happen is just stupid.

depression repression

i was wondering these days about the topic of education in ro. it seems incredible how a country can treat the young people so badly, trying to kill any curiosity and teach them that the lesson in life is compromise and submission. before my london experience i was sort of sure that it's the same everywhere, same like here i mean- if you are young, nobody will listen to you, nobody will give you credit, people will just try to fuck any kind of passion, creativity, curiosity creating a system based on power and fear and constant need to "proove" that you deserve to be in that place. in that school. university. institution. and i mean- isn't it kind of stupid like totally stupid to think like that- you as the one who is part of politics and you have to decide things- to fuck the youth of a country it means that you will have a country of emotionally crippled adults. wtf?

i was also thinking to write something about disappointment. it's one of those kind of thoughts that come to you as a very sparkling idea at some point- i should write something about disappointment. seems like the perfect thing to write about, it's so present that it cries at you to write about it. bucharest is one of the places where the word just comes out from everywhere. you experience it. you see it all around you. people are so used to it that they kind of wait for it- they expect to be disappointed and so when they are not, it's strange and it creates suspicion. and it leads in a way or another to a final disappointment. sometimes it's you the one that fucks it up, because you are just not used with things going well.

it's strange. anyways. i ate a glorious food today so i will write about it too- it's some senegal popular food with carrots, peanut butter, ginger, garlic, onion and god knows what, i'll ask the friend who made it and edit the recipe later. i never understood people who were "passionate with cooking". i always thought that at some point it's a huge waste of time. i also felt that i couldn't empathize with the idea of enjoying some "nice food". but in the last few months, this eating and the whole culture of it dimension just opened new gates. i find it a weird and fascinating process of how people create all these things just to eat them. and the rituals around it, the way eating can change your personality. like indians eat with their hands, and it's very sexy and more personal to eat just with your hands.

so... disappointment. when i came back here i was sort of warned that the depression will not happen in the first month, but only after 5-6. here we are, 5 months. she came and sometimes is still here, reachable. just sittin there, somewhere. if you need her, she'll just pop up. otherwise she'll leave you alone. she's a good girl. and the combination with the winter is makin it just perfect. and because you were disappointed last time, you will have higher expectations next time, because of all the frustrations gathered with the older disappointments. you will want revenge. you will want to show them.

it's interesting to see how your brain works in different contexts.

all these things i do

so we go to this smokey place and start talkin the beer as bubbly as always and people the same as always there's something stinky in the air and he says- ok so why do you do all these things? what? i say. what you do, he says. like all these things. theatre, writing and all these things. i think about it and say- i guess after all kinds of searches i found this as my way the best way i can express myself. my form of expression. this is what i do, this is who i am. and he thinks for a bit and says- there's something rotten about all these things with theatre and these exercises you are tellin me about. your answer doesn't satisfy me. i'm like- i suddenly feel like a freak. so i try to explain one more time- it is the best way through which i can express myself. it is my language of communication with the world. wtf. this is my tool. my job.what i do. still not satisfying. and he is- i still don't understand WHY. why do you do all these things. what do you mean to express yourself.
thou shalt not make anymore compromises i say to myself thou shalt not try to explain if people don't get it from the first instant. thou shalt not waste your time in vain. thou shalt not have patience anymore. thou shalt not NOT make the compromise to go out and meet wth whoever when actually you wanted to look at your videos and make an edit.