Thoughts on a play
There’s just about nothing that made me as anxious as being alone in a room with all white walls that I couldn’t see out of. Or at least, there wasn’t when I was little. Nothing I feared more then a bare cold room with white walls and no proof that there was something outside of it. I feared it in the same way I feared being devoured. If the windows were so dark that they seemed black sheets in the morning I felt a sense of dread and aloneness. If I couldn’t clearly see out I imagined dark presences in the outside of the room. I remember a time where I was almost never comfortable at night really.
What a hell, to be in one little place with no way out. No way out. Those are my anxieties’ favorite words really. The idea that I am stuck. That I no longer have a choice something is just going to happen. What hateful people too.
(Am I oversensitive or is the dreaded lesbian especially evil? Did lesbians only show up as villains in this time period? It feels like women who love women never get a spotlight in fiction except as the occasional villain or titillation. Interesting addition I suppose… maybe I’m overthinking it. I would like the historical context for that though.)
The characters so clearly embody three ideas in response to a chaotic and nonsense world. Pessimistic embrace of the chaos and the darkness and seeking one’s own ends, trying to shut out all the ugliness and seeking ones ends and trying to simply bare it. I find that thought I do not find myself believing in a greater order to existence I find no use in despairing over it either, or being unkind and slinging abuses onto others or draining them of all themselves. But perhaps there was a point to that. There must be a reason for their hell. (Or maybe not, maybe even that is arbitrary). Story wise though, I empathize with their position, with their hell in spite of their awfulness. Perhaps not with them as humans, but I still don’t want them to be tortured forever. Forever is a long time to be arbitrarily punished for actions in a unfeeling and chaotic universe. The thought of being forever in a small room with any amount of company makes me ill-hearted.
What a depressing narrative. Guh. What horrible humans walk among us what horribleness I have done and will do through inaction and existing, therefore continuing to feed the endless injustice of how much food the world generates and who arbitrarily is born in places and then gets to eat it. Yet the choices I make hopefully will not lead to someone else deciding to arbitrarily put myself in one room forever, be that a barred windowed on in this world or some terribly hot other world.
What madness. What madness to stab someone for a little bit of peace. Schmience tells us that all life forms will kill others for what they need. History tells us some rare people are different. To kill to hold some man, any man. To validate ones existence…If I had no love left for me what would I do to regain its illusion? Does it matter?