Anonymous
This is the discussion spot for unidentified characters.
Also, any new characters ideas should be put here, for lack of a better place to put them.
Questions:
- Do they have to be characters?
- Can they be unidentified, communial narrative thoughts?
- Is there distinctly more than one of them?
Also, any new characters ideas should be put here, for lack of a better place to put them.
Questions:
- Do they have to be characters?
- Can they be unidentified, communial narrative thoughts?
- Is there distinctly more than one of them?
posted by Dustin at 1:12 p.m.
5 Comments:
- Hosseus is included as "anonymous"
- are the anonymous thoughts random thoughts on the astral plane? Does everyone say them at once, are they recorded and played?
- We should see what was said by anonymous that should have been said by a character and vice versa.
I thihnk we can borrow anon speeches for any other character when we do the rewrite reshape thing
"Anonymous" could also be a collection of different voices that are currently not that of the other characters.
You can create a new character out of the salvaged lines..the ones that beg to stay together. There's something there, I thought. No?
The rest- yes, re-directed.
REally rough...but I just got this all in place like yesterday...we need to work it out...maybe...if not it coudl remain anon...an unspoken addition...becasue I didn't bring myself to the table. but yeah. I understand me better now...
ANON
Anon is a plant in the audience. who is alawys telling of what is being told around her..refelcting them back at ahtem.. ...when she talks she is always unsure of where she is. She calls out every so often but is busy making notes to herself all of the time..She is finally fully expressing her annoyance.
ANON: FOR FUCK SAKE stop fiting and see the irony. see how you are ironic and you will see yourself...face your fears...here litereally...you are in your fucking subconscious...but freas always odn’t make sense and you do...but you are ironic that you won’t face yoru fears...face them here.
The promised one: You over there. Explain what you are thinking.
ANON: You want to know what I have been thinking about. No they don't...why did I grow up knowing to ask the person who appears unsure the big questions...I know my flaws. I use heroin. I have for 15 years. I feel too much. Emotionally I was laid wide the fuck open for everyone in the world to see...because I was never acting like I was being myself...hell my mom and dad were gone...I had to act on nothing...so I ask questions. Sorry I never explain. I don’t know how to catch you all up...but wait you are only watching...I am watching in this crazy place. because I am safe in my subconscious I guess...but fuck I am a drug user...dreams are fun places. Hell I live by living other people;s. I pretended all of the time...but I didn’t see myself, my influence. I suppose now because my parents see me.
I am sorry...when I finally do talk of my journey I say too much. I am sorry. You all won’t stop facing your subconscous until you face it. You all can’t end your stories because you are all too rational...you are trying to be artists...artists are fucked up. you are too rational to be fucked up when you aren’t fucked up you arne’t lost in a place like this. It is boring. But I got here...I just was pretending all the time. I am not smart like you. Because I understand that you won’t listen which is why you are here in the first place. But don’t you all see that you can’t see these people in real life. the hidden twist that is driving them. It is ALL ironic here. US artists are fucked up enough to feel at home here...becasue we are so insecure we are always excusing it. They are crazy because they know they are different and remain so. Artists walk in here all the time...some talk in pictures some talk to me about their stories...but I got here through over thinking my emotions...I can’t feel and I was too curious. I am too smart for my own good. And that is why everything is ironic. So I stay here. But they won’t listen to me...Tehy can’t till they start to talk. And can’t let go. I am always scribbling notes to myslef becasue I can’t explain it to anyone lke I see it. becasue I don’t belong in here...like able to understand in here...how each of these people are what they say they are not...it is all about when people say the words I’m sorry.
With these people no one ever appoligizes...which is why...they all won’t appologize to themselves about something...maybe an ideal from their youth. Some irony in their childhood they were born to misunderstand. I can tell you in personality if you would like but you cannot understnad when I laugh or why I enjoy you.
Fuck I am sorry. I am talking about me...and I know that none of you really care. Well fuck you for leading me here and not caring. I clung to artists...becasue they understand what my overly rational brain could not. Am I fucking crazy. Is that it? I was not afraid of anything in the past. I lived out every fantasy...I even found the place an artist goes to after sex, and I listened to peoples stories in here...becasue I was always telling stories that were misunderstood. And then I only told my stories drunk. But I was only telling other people’s stories. You know it is funny I always told myself I might have MPD...but I always knew I was an actor. I knew I understood how to be more than one thing...only I took it too far. I thought I wsa an artist. If I was an artist I could be pretty enough, or I dunno attentiongetting enough to get these people to each ask me to explain to them...becasue I am f’d up I can only glimpse myself throguh other people. and I glimpsed the artist in myself in the artist. I just was impersonating...everyone all the time...and so I saw how artists are...but I am an impersonater...I prestend...anon...pretender. So I hid what I thought...my biggest guilt was my suburban priviliage opr whatever...I was too comfortable...and lucky...so I went out and got lucky...I knew I was my image...but I saw how people could see me. And that is scary. DRugs do that. Sex does that. But I saw the artist. And followed. And saw how their irony worked in them and they loved that...but they got sick of attention...artists don’t like attentino...bt I had adapted to them so much I just missed the artist. And I found it. And got stuck in htere...talking to other people who basically talk to their subconscious...but I saw the irony of myself...through the looking glass...and realized I didn’t belong...I was pretending...I didn’t know how to live and be while conscious of my subconscious I was going to face. I am sorry. I am jsut trying to get you all to listen. You are all just trying to express in life what you say hear when you can say anything...you don’t move wit hthe grace of the artist...the promised one who intuitively knows how to leave when he chooses...he is living out his own story. Buddy will be a promised one too. The promised one will live up to his potential soon and come and go as he pleases...like all of these people who come and just know to watch the subconscous. I learned how...and got stuck. He he he...and I was always in control. I gave myself over to my desire...becasue my desire was to experience...I lived each day to the fullest. never tried to hurt anyone, and here I am, too nice and able to be used. so I help when I am asked...and all I do is get mad becasue I can’t help but express the irony I feel. Becasie I know it so well...come on...ask me to tell you how to escape from your inconsistancies. Think of how you are ironic in your past and see how it is your self. Acting 101. Which I never took,,,I just know. Before I dropped out I saw a book once. But I hated that I knew I could understand every part already. But I had my own journey of learning...and that was to love myself...mine was an emotional journey...because I was given the limitless intellect of having unlimited choice...I needed to face that I was being helped...but I hated my mom for not making me normal..because of shit from my father...polar oppisites...both smart and fucked up enough to be geneous when together ... and split up over coffee...becasue they are both so fucking strong. My mom had fear of loss of control...my father the artist who was forced to learn understood and hated...because he needed my mother. Anyways that is neither heere nor there. But I just want you all to not end up like me. really fucked up by talking too much in here. I know my way aroudn...go and tell people how you all really are...don’t hide it. You are trying so hard to hide the self you are showing in here, but your hiding grows in hiding...and you show the world you are hiding and pretending. Tyrant...you were abused...talk to me I will tell you why. All you need is somone who understands...or chemicals. for some...they are the ones who suddenly explode in here. It happens. they are these guys in the audience who look really attentive. It is all ironic really...like if anyone thinks about it I really am. if I stop to think about it is my sorrow making the few times I try to talk and to let them know I was here no one even looked at me. I just want to help...it upsets me that they won’t see me. I can’t help it that I am stuck in here...I made the switch. I have to tell them they don’t want the person on the outside they are using to hide something...it shows in the misunderstanding and thier own contradictions...irony...’random’ in here....but none of them belong here... I am trapped...becasue I can’t tell my stroy...like the artists...but the irony in me is that I don’t know how to tell you what I know...becasue you can’t understand me yet...but they always said I was a dreamer. Now I dream...but dreams makde sense...theya re inconsistancies in you...
I can explain everything ironically and nothing conclusively...and artists HAVE TO to come to a conclusion...I can never finish anything...so I seem unfinished...and people see through me in here...where the artists are...I seem fake and shallow compared...so I watch. Drugs helped me see my feeling...I am a thinker and a feeler...bedasue both of my paretns had SUCH an effect on me and the ywere so strong in their contradictions...becasue my mom wanted to raise me in the comfort her mom dreamed for her. BEcasue my mom is very controlling. anyways this isn’t about me, I can shape me for anyone. But in here...I am stuck, becasue I tried a few to many addictive things searching for love in myself...and on the way I rataionalized everything against itself. I was taught only to compare peoples contradictions...becasue I saw only their irony...becasue I want to please poepl and I am smart. but I looked out...from my contradictory parents adn was in a very ironic school with a very weird set of fristnds...who shaped me. So I can rally be anyone, sorry...I get started like this. I start talking when I stop understanding and caring about the situations....they understand me...becasue I can understand them and they like me becasue I showed them thme. I rationalized when my freidns were mean...but I was busy becoming them for them. I am now an actor, I was a reflector, but I then as an actor dug up shit in my past I should have left alone. Don’t you see how this is all subconscious digging ironic enough in the factthat it exists. You need to trust it and conclude as you go. My horrible secret is that I am here. And I hate that I understood too much. Don’t do drugs...ha ha ha...magnifies shait in your life. no I magnify shit in my life. the drug makes me rationalize and to rationalize is to make me happy. I live for this...look...when they finally understand. like maybe I am here to help. They caould all be artists soon. Though I do understand...no one talks to me. LEt me tell you of irony. Ask me. I know...The promised one will here me talking soon and will ask me to explain why he is the promised one. Like a book really. My problem was I coudln’t write my own becasue I was udnerstanding as I wrote...I look back and all I see is irony becasue I was acting outside myself...which I showed no one...this computer or blog has where I do all my work. work I am sure none but a trusted few see....my work is in finding the art in things...and helping...or was before I couldn’t accpet it at went out to experience...where am I ...Lying on the beach in pheuket...I am drawing masterpeices of my pain of misunderstanding. I like when people by them. and I spend my time in here....I am jsut really intraverted....and actor who is afraid to act I guess... I chose comfort...in the end. but the thing is I don’t care...but I really do just want to help everyone...I hate how I understand. becasue I was always criticized beacaus I was telling one parent who the other was...I got caught reflecing...and got myself in a preism of 6 girls. but they were wrong...I saw the world...and I love the world...I am soooooooooooooo comfortable. just here ... caught in the moment ...but I say what I am...stuck...and ironic in that I can only help everyone move forward. but you won’t. Ask me your question..I will try to understand...honestly...becasue I am honest in myself. I am ironic. and you cna’t understand...I can only help you...but NO ONE ASKS, fuck I am going to need to wake up soon. I dn’t get that mad at these altercations, I just hate when poeple are fighting with themselves in here...not good at all...artists interacting should be 5 at most...not this many...you have jsut all gotten tangled. and you all need to listen...and I will tell you how...you are in the subconscious...you each need to face that every motivation you have in here tells you of your fears...all you have to ask yourslef is f you face your fears or not. BUt they don’t becasue of some inconsistancy in their lives so they end up here. I understood my way here.. I forced the artist into me...I didn’t feel my way in. I am an actor. I am caught without much to express wth becsue I can’t express myself...and understood why. becase I am my fathers daughter...ironically what my mother proved I was not. But I never tell my story becasue I hve done enough shouting in my time. I jsut hate to see art go to waste...i jsut wish I was that expressive....sure. but I was born being forces to act out...when I really wanted to act in. Anwyas they can’t undersatnd me at all...rational ones can’t...and they are they ones that hide things in here...artists don’t...they just know to take it all with a touch of irony.
because everything around you can be taken ironically...the chosice is see the good in the irony or the bad...both conclustions are both...give me two people and I cna compare so well I understand two really really well..yet they could not be together...tehy could not understand eachtother...but I escaped to this island. in tahiti...and my subcosncious...which I know so well and can’t express. PEople think I am dumb all the time. Sensing poeple don’t know how I am always right...and get scared when they judge...and some level. I magnify people to themselfves...becasue I was shaped by 6 firends...about myself and guys...becasue I couldn’t see, and they had to comment on, the attention I was geting...becasue I alaways got attention. Yes I know you are all listening now becasue I think u all could identify. Now talk amongst yourselves considering that you have to choose to face that here you are what you fear in some way to move on...becasue you hide here what you don’t show and you don’t show your fears. Many seek comfort...you are looking at ehr...only my comfort was understanding...and I got how to feel. But I can’t expres.s...I rationalize everhting away...and I see I made up myself...I only prestended to belong. But yeah...I am a cry for help, maybe...come find a bad artist on the beach in pheuket...I’ll prolly be off chacing the dragon though...But I can help you, I know what you fear...it is only irony. Just ask me questions and I will show you the answers for you...becasue i understnad understanding contradictions...I am waht I was trying to be and couldn’t face....I fucked me up...with opium...fun and exotic...and addictive...and I get to watch peoples essences and udnerstand..becasue people are endlessly fascinating in their interactions...I suppose I should write...but I don’t know where to start...Irony is everywhere...besides people dont lisent...the irony of the bible and church is so deep. And I have only heared and echo...but in here I saw I didn’t need to stop and consider and pretend...becasue everyone that I was becoming I ws showing them what I wanted them to see me as...them...like my parents...whno I knew didn’t match...and I undesrstood them...and told them...and they wouldn’t face themselves...ironically...but I fucked myself up bout unfluencing my srroudings or something...I like it here on the beach...well now in here...but here I come to understand my irony...and the irony around me.
waking up on the screen staring like the rest on stage...she is a wealthy woman on a beach...like in a commercial...british accent...something unexpected
DEAN: Columbian accent trying to be british HEre babe for later.. you were...uh...uncomfortable.
ANON:Yes...thankyou...
DEAN: Draw some more beautiful
ANON: But I am tired...
DEAN: Then rest. I am going out diving...
ANON: Maybe later. I might draw a little. preps
HE leaves...
ANON: I don’t think I’ll ever be sober...
DEAN: It is ok baby...i just want to help you hurt. I mena no hurt. I try
ANON: I know..I am sorry.
ANON: Shaking heroin bag. Thanks. I know I can’t undestand him...and he likes me anyways...he knows me...and like everything in my life with irony I am an open book...becasue I am ... and I can act as a looking glass for anyone..becasue I think and feel and have really really high verbal IQ and I learned while leading and holding myself back...but I found out no one got me... they thougt I was stupid...and I kept getting hurt. SO I chose not to hurt... Iwasn’t built to deal with it...and I can’t tell anyone why they hurt..irony...becasue htey can’t help it anyway. What those that wouldn’t can’t...and those that woudn’t naturallyalways regret...and I am scared to be me...becasue I don’t knwo it... and know one ever understands how I am smart...becaue I really don’t try at anything..but telling people what they want to hear. Anyways...back to the drama...I think I should talk to the promised one...he is an artist he needs to get out of there. OR maybe I’ll convince the tyrant...I doln’t know. LEts see... I need to sleep first. REal sleep...looks for pillsI Then I will help the artists know they aren’t crazy...and be able to tell rational artists how to express. I have to help...but after I sleep. I wish the ywould just ask me...I grew up answering questoins...that is how I learn...I didn’t pay attenition to anything but feelings...and not wanting hurt. But yeah. I need to sleep finds them.
ANON: wakes up onstage
TPO: She is awake
no one notices.
ANON: You want to talk..
TPO: I just wanted to say i got what you meant...thanks.
ANON: you promised ones always do in the end...when you face that you ahve nothing real to fear...and you are one becasue you got it so young.
TPO: But you like get it get it...
ANON: I was driven crazy worrying aobut being unhappy...like my dad...so I followed the artist. rejected it all...yets wasshaped by freinds...but you odn’t anna hear about me...I know me...go find you...
TPO: Ok thanks.,..what about them...
ANON: They’ll find a freind...everyone needs a friend...I just don’t know how to ask becasue I understand where they are going...I think...thought their inconsistancies...but I can’t line them up...I am not smart enough...so I live on a beach with my beautiful husband who calls me is laughing hurt bird...if only he had seen when this hurt bird flew the coop...
TPO: you are too honest all the time...people dont’...till they...
ANON: The irony is taht there are quotes of the best advice all around you...it is when you want to here...you found a friend in me...but I am a goodfirend to artists...becasue I am not an artist...I pretended...for a long time...anyways...go ...tell of your experinece undersanding your own contraduiciton I showed you you without....beucase I show people waht they want to see...in a way...I shape my varieable truth to suit...becaue I see how it all relates. Anyways go.
TPO: and I thought the war on drugs was bad...
ANON: you are strong..and drugs help you use your expres...me on the other hand...should never have made myeslef expressand feel for praise...but I did...
TPO: you are beautiful...but crazy...and I love you for it...
ANON: well express me then...because I don’t knwo what I do...I can only do...
TPO: you try to do wonderful things...but you should speak up...
ANON: no you just don’t know how to listen yet. you go with your ironic understanding you were searching for...byeeeeee...face yoru fears...don’t worry about them
Sorry about the typos. The last minute kid is here with the anon who chose not to be herself. Ironic...anyways I think I found out why I appoligize most hwne I am tryingto think...anwyas it was a journey...and I need a couple of hours sleep before we meet...though I might be late...
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