Mocking Smile

Weird faces, weird sounds, strange conversations, I look good in this light, I look bad with my face down, can I make myself cry? Nope. I start to laugh instead. This is my face.

This is my face? How could this be me? People look at me and they see this? What’s so special about this face? Nothing really, I’m sure it would blend skillfully into the crowd. That’s good to know, now I can stop worrying about people judging me and putting me down, how could they if they can’t even single me out. This is not a child’s face. I do not appear younger than everyone my own age…

Good. Now that I know my body doesn’t give off the wrong image, it gives off no image; I know that people don’t know what my soul is like. Good good, that means they aren’t wrong about me yet. Good. Now all I need is for my body to give off the image of my soul.

Soul is disembodied. Soul doesn’t figure to the body at all. Identity does. Identity is the image the body gives off. My body will never be as my soul and vice versa, but at least I can be happy in it. If my body becomes what my soul dreams of in this « tangible’ world, wouldn’t that make me happy in recapitulation? How do I make that happen? Be myself?

So I found that looking in a mirror and talking to yourself can be hours of fun. I honestly feel for the past few days that I am talking to someone else. It feels good to see yourself as someone else. It’s easy to interact with others when you don’t realize you’re there. You don’t worry about the image your body is making your soul look like. But when you do, you start to justify in circles and move in circles instead of forward. So? Why not talk to yourself without realizing you’re there? Magnificent process that works wonders. I will know what my soul says when I’m not thinking about it and will be able to know myself? I’ve been a happy dreamer for the past week. I want a mirror in my room now.

1. Jean Carriès (1855-1894)
Grotesque mask, element for the Monumental Door, 1891/1894
Photo : Philippe Ladet/Petit Palais/R. Viollet

Shakespeare is overrated?

From October 8 to 10 I had gone on a trip with school. Myself and a few friends had gone to a theatre festival, 7 hours from home. The festival took place in a little town in Ontario. Stratford it was called. I must say, it was beautiful! Old victorian styled houses with pumpkins and halloween decorations and a main street like in Tim Burton movies.

There we saw 2 musicals and 2 Shakespeare plays.

 Shakespeare... I don't like him much. I can see how he was revolutionary but with all that we can read nowadays he really blends into the crowd, I guess it's why I'm bothered when we excessively study him. I do thank him for what he's done to literature but I'm not interested in looking his way. Well actually it may be Romeo and Juliette's fault. I never liked the

 story, and the fact that every single year of my highschool life we have studied it sorta pulled yarn over my eyes, making me believe Shakespeare was only boring. But other than Romeo and Juliette we also saw Ceaser and Cleopatra which was just succulent. I wish I could  see it over again, it was just beautiful, although the theatre did smell of stinky feet which was disconcentrating.

The last day we went to one of the worlds largest 

costume warehouses, where we weren't allowed to touch the costumes with our oily fingers and there were huge fire proof warehouses. There were amazingly built props, and in the end we had a tiny selection of costumes to wear. (Sadly, there was nothing I was really excited to wear. No peasents clothes of the colonisation years...)

Last thing we did was see the play Cabaret. What a shocking and beautiful play. I went to see scenes from the movie after and wow is it nothing compared to the version I saw. Oh how I wish I was there still. 

Wow there was nothing really inciteful in this post... must I be inciteful? I hope you guys are just... interested...

The famous swans of Stratford...