We may think of staging as recorded practice with purpose. As if we were to stage & the audience to be there all through out, all along there to witness the improving practice, the solidifying yet evolving purpose of the stage as it grows, as it is being set. Fluid & dynamic, we may think of staging in this way. Incredibly important. The stage is incredibly important. The show which lasts a minute, although brilliant but improvisational, with no practice, no staging–just use of the stage as it exists (e.g. the internet’s stage)–will end after that minute is over. It will end & the show will end. Because there was no staging. Ah the staging! Imagine you there on stage. On the paneled wooden floor with items scattered about & across. A chair here. An amp over there. Books and boxes and text and things about across and around the stage. It’s an active place. There’s no dust. You’ve been active. You’ve been moving and gathering and sitting. Speaking and playing and crying. Out from the stage you can see nothing but blackness. It is so dark, so black, blacker than #000, the moment the edge’s floor ends marks the space in which you cannot see further. Neither can you see nor can you hear what is beyond. You know something exists out there. You know it is fluid & dynamic, and potentially human. Everything done so far quite possibly, could possibly have been done before someone(s). From the very beginning, from the moment you arrived with the things, to the moment right now has been recorded and kept, and open to viewing. But see this is why staging is so important! All those items on stage–they take considerable time to gather and sort and make use of and practice with and get ready for and to create the space of your act. Without this preparation there is no legacy. There is too much information right now to achieve legacy without staging. Fame yes, short or long lived, but legacy no, not without. Days after virality has hit, the hit changes to a weight from all the new things already more recent, which the 3 day old thing now rests underneath. It is so sad to see the famed cling to that thing days or months or years ago. Clearly there was no staging for them, for it(s). They had no time. There only being one item, one act, & it was over, for them or for us. To conclude, virality is easy and leads to fame. Staging is difficult & leads to legacy. How do we know the difference? Is it creating for an audience or is it creating for a well-done stage? I don’t want to think about it anymore.
In the style of non-fiction. I grew up being entertained by video & computer games. Sometimes the entertainment was playing video or computer games with friends. This was the reality of things. I, a hero, conquering tyrants & minions. I, a young boy, sitting & staring & creating dysfunctions in my body, forming walls & barriers. It was me doing my best then. So when teachers assigned books to be read, mostly if not all fiction, I refused to read them. It was not my chosen form of entertainment. I found them irrelevant. I already had my form of entertainment. Then, & still now, I do not or did not believe there was or is value in mostly all fiction writing. It is suitable I write this, or have written this on the toilet. It has come to my attention that my distaste for fiction & novels has created a barrier between myself & my best style: fiction! It’s true. Damnit, I am a fiction writer at my best. Look at The Chronicles of Mania–the only good pieces, in terms of writing, is when I write fictionally I think.. That time ago when we declared the style of “unfiction” has also created a block for us. It’s kind of been a safety vest for our writing. That is to say, when the mediocrity is apparent we find an excuse to protect it from a truth. This is also why the brown desk probably has sucked so far. I am not saying fiction is good, or the novels of our time are good– I wouldn’t know & will never know– I’m just saying that fiction is my natural, best style as a writer. For better or for worse. The voice of Henry emerges as a subconscious transition into fiction. We are to then cross from non-fiction, into unfiction [fiction writing almost based entirely on full truths], into fiction, which perhaps is the style of my treasured concept of “no limits.” It’s true. Carl got me thinking about it yesterday. & i like, just knew it. Rather than the overtones being so heavy, as is the style of nonfiction & unfiction, fiction offers play as the overtone, and leaves the heaviness as the undertone. That’s much more of what I’d like to do with my time here on Earth. No one is going to play with me otherwise. Hell, I may even stop playing with myself. It gets real boring after a while. Video games are best played with friends. Although they can be played alone, I prefer to play with friends. So all of this reduced: the universe has given me a signal to expand the way I write.
I wear it, have worn it throughout the seasons, every year, since I bought it back in 2008. It has this sense of ability to retain an inner, historic sense of self. As if it has this thing that furthers my ability to remember all that has happened as I wear it, Now, & it keeps this memory intact going forward. The weight of it sits on my left and right shoulders. I feel it on my ribcage. And on my wrists. Like, I wake up and put it on & I get shit for wearing it so. It’s my Blue Jacket. Someone told me it made me look like a Bosnian Rebel Fighter. I’ve heard it helps me look homeless. Its slightly or moderately too small. Seven years ago I found my Jacket in a thrift shop. The price is $5. I try it on. I Love It. It loves me back. Me shoulders, ribcage, & wrists. The it’s slight too small voice did speak, at that time those years ago, yet the love for each prevailed past all hesitation. Ching went the register. It’s probably my best purchase to date, like ever. Yeah I can’t really think of anything close. And yet an undertone exists, “it’s time to move on.” & I’m not entirely sure why it’s there but the child in me already has begun to cry to the imagined closet with dust outlining where the Jacket used to be, it now on, in this scary time of pendation retirement. A child of mine will be born soon, & I clutch, “maybe I should pass this jacket on, so she or he can directly feel where & perhaps who I am or was,” 279. It’s got silver zippers down the sleeves, small pockets “to hide weapons” I once told a chief of police. Aha. If I am of great good then I must be of great evil as well; there are pictures. & though a choice has been to G.G., the beautiful lure of G.E. pulls my eyes and giraffes my neck past this or that shoulder, to see the other option. This behavior has not ceased. It may never. We understand through 3nglish <—G.G.|G.E.—>, & to know one greatly is to know the other greatly, simultaneously, juxtapositionally, & through careful choice we can move in either direction without limit. I would like to explore <—, which means I am leaving My Blue Jacket behind, for another self much like my own, not my child, but to the one who buys it for 447 dollars. Until then, it will be locked away & never worn again from this |—> on.