Fight The Dawn
An Abstract Legacy

Truth

Truth

The City of Angels

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The only thing holding me back from becoming an actor is Los Angeles; I hate that city.

On holiday this year I traveled back home to San Diego to see my parents and uncle as is usual. I love San Diego, my birthplace, and every time I go back it has changed; cities are like the people that make them up. Not only has it changed but each time I go back I feel more disconnected to what San Diego was to me. The landscape has changed drastically as has the feel and energy of it all. My memories of what San Diego was are old and stale, for what I remember is an entirely different picture of what currently exists.

The people I knew there have all left and moved on. The places I used to hang out have been changed out for new businesses according to the time and place. The city has continued its own life forward while I have been away in Phoenix and I have grown in my life in Phoenix, being reborn from the ashes of my old self. I’ve noticed this evolving change every time I would go back to visit but it really hit me this time. The last vestiges of memories and nostalgia are simply that, with no concrete structures or monuments to contain them. They live entirely in my own mind now; new generations will not be able to share in them.

San Diego has changed and I have changed. I knew it would never be home again but for the first time there was no recognition of home. If I were to move back it would be as new to me as say moving to New York. The mix of feelings was hard to stomach but at the same time I felt free. I will forever hold memories to a time and place that no longer exists, and can never be resurrected. It’s as beautiful as it is tragic.

For Christmas we drove up to LA to visit my Sister. Los Angeles, the city that I cursed on every drive to and from college. The town I hated and despised and swore I would never ever live in. I imagine God laughing at my childish ridicule knowing full well what was in store for me. For, potentially, this time next year will be when I move to the city of Angels. A fact that has been a brick to my head for the beginning of this year.

My time here in Phoenix is drawing to an end and as with all things that begin to leave us I grasp on desperately. It will be time though. I know it will be time, because with every visit I’ve made to LA this past year it has grown harder and harder to leave. This last visit for the holidays was the hardest. For the first time in my life I felt that I was actually leaving my home of LA, and I haven’t even moved there yet. So strange that a place can grow on one; a complete reversal to my youthful angst.

There is still much work to be done in this last year, or year and a half, in Phoenix and for that I am thankful. I am not ready to leave as of yet, there is still so much I wish to conquer here. Still, the time is drawing near and another milestone in this journey of life must draw to an end to have another milestone begin. It is not the time for reflection as of now but a reassurance to work as hard as I can in this time left—that will pass as quickly as the wind doth go by.

Acting, Truth

Faults In Our Stars

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Everyone expects the shadow of something underneath,
with the current struggle being an obvious deflect through gritted teeth
but the search below is simply an illusion as I am losing the ability to breathe,
beginning to crumble as I bumble on stage, wondering if there is any worth beneath.

This song of my heart is wrong but I only want to belong
To something bigger than myself, but I get triggered,
Body going into rigor as I figure there is no way I can reconfigure
This heart to this mind, so I say I’m fine, while the insides break apart
Realizing that this pain I chain to my soul is lifelong.

Expectations rise as I start to despise the lies that I can now realize.
I am agonized by the truth of being misadvised in my youth.
My uncouth demeanor starts to get meaner as the dreamer in me dies.
I try to rise above the the loss of love inside to resurrect the deject man who died,
Back in that room that became a tomb stealing two sons instead of just one.

I’ve rejected and deflected against any greatness that one could witness,
Trying to destroy this life in a great ploy to get even with the heathen that took my friend.
But that has only let the pain extend and so it’s time to ascend out of this hole,
And end the self-torture I attend, forgiving myself so I can start living and be whole.

Acting, Truth

The Contender

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I’m always at my best when I’m overlooked, when I’m the underdog. I am the unknown contender at heart and it is the essence of who I am. I’ve never been the most talented or one with an aura of charisma. There have always been hurdles and obstacles in my way, things to overcome. My path has always been enshrouded and I have used it to my advantage to strike from.

My memories are filled with the times I have been looked down on and disregarded. Since I was 9 years old I can remember not having the faith of those around me to succeed and succeed I did. That continued on through high school and into college where I entered into a boxing ring against an opponent who was in a weight class above mine. He was known and had the primo coach in his corner. I was a nobody, with a coach in my corner who was also looked down on and disregarded. I remember people telling me that they were scared for me because I obviously should not have been fighting this guy; they didn’t know my heart. I knocked his ass to the ground in the third round and won the fight.

That’s the way it’s always been in my life, at least for the times in which I truly excelled. When the pressure hits I come to life and lately that pressure has not been there. I’ve grown too comfortable in my cocoon of my acting environment. I have reached a place of some success and accomplishment, and moreover praise, and erected a throne out of it. I’ve sat on this high-ground too long. I’ve grown too relaxed. I’ve come to expect compliments and praise. I’ve envisioned myself too much in the limelight.

I must remember that after two years I truly have nothing to show. I’m still at the very beginning. I have many more miles to tread in this contending shade. One day, far in the future, I might peak out again to catch a glimpse of the sun, but then it will always be back to the cold dark road I travel. For in the shadow of defeat is where I truly shine.

Acting, Ramblings, Truth

Boyet Up

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The taste of salt entered my mouth as she began to speak, so familiar a taste in these past couple of days. I witnessed clearly her mouth moving to form the words that surely reached my ears but all I heard was my own growing smile inside my head. Outwardly my head was hung in shame, matched with an emotionless face, but inside I had climbed this bloody pile of dead bodies to ascend to my throne. Yes, I could feel the bitterness and defiance growing in my blood—giving vital warmth to these thoughts that began to form.

Her frail words broke against the vanguard of my attack as I effortlessly parried each counter word. Her wish to affect me was futile and each tactic she employed was dismantled with a growing ease. Worry caught in her throat, a rare display of fear from such a woman, as she turned for assistance. Her ever faithful subject came ambling forth covered with the armour of intuition and armed with the sword of rain, which brandished, wet the ground behind him with each forward slide of his gilded feet. Slack-jawed he spoke, “hush child the grave you dig yourself only grows deeper.”

Ah finally, the moment I had been longing for; the battle with the paramount prodigy. I did not think my smile could widen but I guess I even surprise myself sometimes. My eyes glistened with glee as fire ignited in my core, coursing forth through my arteries to set every nerve on edge. Yes, this grave you speak of shall be deep, very deep, but the deepest grave will still reach closer to heaven than any throne afforded to you in service of her.

Crying out we charged at one another. His steely blade of rain burning into steam against the fire of my breath. Battle was waged as we crossed through into all the world’s stages. Fire was met with ice, open expression with inward reflection, and boisterous reckoning with the soft whisper of death. And then it happened, the moment I had long prepared for. With his guard weakening I unleashed my secret attack: the Boyet. “Oh my little heart,” I declared in ridiculous fashion, and that was that.

My grave was dug and I went to lie in it. The faithful subject returned victorious to his full estate which was everything she promised. You have everything you ever wanted now and when your tears dig down to try and pierce this earth I will not feel them. My grave has been dug so deep; nothing can reach me now.

RICHARD NIXON OUT SON!

Acting, Truth

Good Ole Days

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There is held within an ambition that threatens to take control. A singular focus on an ending point. A dream to chase with reckless abandonment. My head floods with the lifeblood of fame, fortune, and notoriety. I lie awake fantasizing about where I will be in 5, 10…20 years and someday seeing my name up in the bright lights of the city of angels. I envision the journeys I will be embarking on and the accomplishments I will be reveling in.

I wish somebody would have told me, babe
That someday, these will be the good old days.

I visit friends who have gone before and witness the joy and agony over the hustle to get there. I prepare myself for the disillusionment and heartbreak that will follow in my tread. All the while keeping my chin up to keep sight on that small glimmer of hope and faith in this craft and dream. I cast out the doubt that takes a hold within and build up the self-trust that has been beaten down. I break apart and put the pieces of myself back together, only to fall apart all over again. In the nights that my world is viewed through the hazy prisms of my tears I close my eyes to imagine that future day when I will be sitting back with confidence in my achievements. An earned rest and relaxation.

All the love you won’t forget
And all these reckless nights you won’t regret

Then it happens, my perspective shifts, and I get a first hand look into the beauty of the current moment. I live it on stage with another actor in a small theatre found in an unknown city for the arts. I witness first hand the beauty of our art and what we strive for: living moment to moment. I watch my peers go up on stage and struggle to shed their insecurities and lifelong walls they’ve built up to simply play. I see the grand breakthroughs and the embittered defeats each and every night. I have the privilege to watch as unknown stars rise to unseen heights. I partake in performances hidden from the world that share a deeper truth.

I’ve spent so much time recently looking forward to what I imagined would be the good old days. Those days when I would be great. When I would be showered in applause from a full house of 500+, or receiving an award for a critically acclaimed performance. I’ve forgotten the here and now that contains precious moments to be cherished endlessly. For the days I have now are the good ole days. These moments now are the moments to be reveled in and lauded over.

‘Cause someday soon, your whole life’s gonna change
You’ll miss the magic of the good old days

I sit with others as we struggle to just be. I write for three different projects and have barely a minute to spare in my day. I throw away more things than I keep—doubting my work constantly. The work I do put up only produces humiliation. I boil inside and scream with rage alone to myself. I give up. I call it quits. I hustle endlessly, seeming to see no light at the end of the tunnel. I take on too much and fail endlessly.

I also cry tears of happy joy with those I struggle with as we breakthrough our own bullshit. I receive a positive push and praise on a project, and decide to take it to the next step. I release the hold within and a creative spark is forged as I begin to write with ease. I find that I am not alone but surrounded by the greatest support group I could ever imagine. I get back up. I rise, to work again. I create my own light at the end of the tunnel. I’m inspired by those around me. I push onward. With every failure I am learning successfully.

You don’t know what you’ve got
‘Til it goes, ’til it’s gone

Every day we live is a good ole day, especially the days we toil in. These tears we shed and these smiles and laughs we share are the blessed moments. I have not even begun the real hustle, I have just begun the real good ole days. There is much to look forward to, we are never finished in this craft—there is no end to what we do. So I’m not worried about what tomorrow brings. There will be plenty of time to look back later. Here and now there is something special to be had, and I want to capture it.

Good Old Days
Macklemore

Truth

Quiet Home

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This house is a lot of things. It is cold. The ocean breeze floats up this gentle hill swirling around through this woody enclave before it wistfully leaves to continue on east. It is warm. The villus of the carpet stretch out to sneak in past the gaps of the toes wrapping them in a warm embrace. It is comforting. Passing forth across the threshold I can feel all weight being lifted off my shoulders and a familiar ease enter into my bones. Above all, this house is quiet.

Every time I come to this house it sits quietly on this hill. A deafening silence embraces me through every hallway and room I walk through. I stand out on the balcony to look across the ocean and feel the breeze and it is quiet—still. At the same time this house is alive and noisy. As I sit hear covered in the silence, the walls speak with such volume the numerous memories they hold dear.

I hear the laughter of my childhood, the joyous exclamations of my fortunes and exploits, and the many cries of my pains. It has been many years since all these and still this house echoes them as if they had happened yesterday. As my hands run across these gentle walls ancient memories come back to life, to replay in my mind. It remembers better than I do. I can feel it talking to me, reminding me of all that we shared.

It sits here, steadfast, in this present quiet awaiting me to make a sound. Patiently longing for more memories and moments to be added to its brimming structure. But I have no sound to make anymore, no more memories to share. Others fill this house now. Their laughter, screams of delight, and tears fill this place. Their memories are now embedding themselves in this grand majestic place. Adding on to the memories that laid the foundation of my life…continuing the future so bright.

This house is home. I shall never live in it again but it will always be home.

Acting, Truth

Strength In Our Bones

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Acting is all about finding the vulnerabilities in yourself, the uncomfortable truth we hold so deep within, exposing it, and then running towards it with reckless abandon.

I’ve been on edge as of late: suffering through a bout of depression I haven’t experienced in close to a decade. I hate to admit that because I don’t like acknowledging it, it just doesn’t fit. I haven’t lived a sad or hard life. In fact I’ve lived quite the opposite of a hard life, as I grew up sheltered or in a bubble. I feel like admitting to having depression is a huge disservice to all the people who struggle through such a serious disease in a truer sense. I minimize my own struggles in fear of minimizing something greater.

Not acknowledging it doesn’t get me anywhere though. For in this mode the primary thing that I do is isolate; I push everyone away. It also steals my passion, drive, and love. I become a desolate wasteland of a person: hard and cold. It’s a defense mechanism to save others from myself and to preserve my great insecurities and struggles from seeing the light of day. For how could anyone love or care for me when I cannot do that myself. I have lost belief in myself. This is death to my acting and so I have struggled.

There are many times when the belief in ourselves will fail. Something will hit hard or strike too deep. The nature of this art and business will crush a bit of our souls. It is in these times when a support group goes a long way. To find someone or someones who believe in you. I have countlessly been reminded that no man is an island, and that is true. We are not meant to go at this alone. Grit and determination might carry us far but a support group will see one through to the very end.

I have found that I am the worst judge of myself and often times the worst judge of my potential. As of late I have given into this judge seeing nothing of worth and thus, I’ve found myself sitting in the morose pit of self-loathing. I’ve seen many friends in this pit as well and for now that is OK. We can all chill in this pit for a little—watching others soar above us. But we must know that this is not our lot for long. We will all climb out of this pit, one by one, and take flight into the clear sky above.

And as we chase our stars in this heaven above us, we will carry with us all that we had in the pit and put it on display in a beautiful aurora borealis for others to share in. Make no mistake, acting is brave work. It is demanded of us every time we expose ourselves on stage or in front of a camera. May we remember that it is not the specific grief, pain, or tragedy that defines us but how we survive through it. We are stronger than we know!

Truth

The Fog

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The fog descends from up above
Or maybe comes from down below
Where it comes from I do not know.

It comes to steal all that I love.
To fill my mind with permafrost
So that I feel hopelessly lost.

My heart grows dark and my eyes dim.
The world around a mere shadow,
No light inside to spark a glow.

Every aspect seems only grim.
Yet, as quickly as it doth come
the fog leaves from where it was from.

It’s like a fog has lifted. A fog that can float down and enshroud my mind. Seizing control and taking it hostage: bending it to its will. But now I am free. Free to think. Free to be creative, to express myself, and to come to life from within. Free from the bonds of self-doubt and crippling insecurities.

Whilst I was in the fog I could see nothing, hear nothing…I was alone. In the fog I was dead. Tormented by the realization that I could not find a way out. I was stuck—utterly trapped. My greatest fear come to life. I knew not where it comes from, this fog. Nor do I know where it goes to when it lifts, or why it comes and why it fades. All I know now is it has lifted. I can breathe again. And so with each breath I will breathe fully, as though it were my last breath before an ever smothering fog were to descend upon me again.

Truth

Pain & Happiness

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I have come to learn as of late that mixed in with my happiness is also my pain, and with all that pain—deep down in that well—is still happiness mixed in. I thought they were separate, not conjoined together. That happiness could exist without pain but I cannot get rid of one without getting rid of the other. I have tried and that is how I become DGAF (don’t give a fuck)—without feeling—void! That is not living.

I struggle with emotional pain. I want to avoid it at all costs; I want to minimize it. I want to make it glib. Yet, in doing all those things to my pain I do the same thing to my happiness. I become empty. Pain and happiness are my yin and yang and they will always be mixed together. One might be felt stronger than the other at times but the other is still there, intertwined.

I must learn to accept the pain that resides within me. To see its value and the fact that it is a part of my gift. So that while there might be bleak days, those give credence and value to the happy days. For how can we truly appreciate the ups without the downs? Thus there is no longer black and white—not even shades of grey. There is instead bright vivid colors. They are painted with the mix of pain and happiness. They create my own personal rainbow, and it is beautiful.

 

Ramblings, Truth

Forgotten Heart

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As I rise from this half empty bed the memory of you lingers on my heart as my eyes adjust to this transfer of worlds. My legs have no will to stand up on themselves. Reclining back I wish again for the world I awoke from. Phantom sensations spread through my hair and down my neck; my hand reaches out for the warmth it once knew but now only finds solemn chill. These pools of blue find only darkness enticing them back again to deep slumber.

I try to speak out but find hollow words filled with no breath. I look to write but every word fails just as pen reaches paper. This love has blossomed in a desert: containing nothing worth sharing. There is no forward direction to go. I am utterly alone with a profound longing for her, who can never see this place. This cruel mistress of the heart has cursed me to wander ever close, hiding in her shadows; never a path to come out into the light.

Her eyes search for something that is not there. She smiles at the globes of light encircling her, illuminating her splendor. Their soft rays being dwarfed by the beauty that enfolds her. Her hands make contact with solid instruments of the heart providing a resplendent aura that further casts out shadows of her soul. Deep within a longing grows for a hidden feeling within; something foreign and untouchable, deep and subconscious—an unknown taste on the back of the tongue.

I move with every move she makes. I rise with every jubilant exaltation and fall with each dispirited moment she encounters. I am closer to her than anyone can ever know but cursed to be farther than anyone will ever know. If only there was a way for shadow to mix with light. The smile in her eyes when all the lights around her dim and she is alone in the shadows entreats my soul. A slow drift off into the only world we can come together in.

With eyes afresh and open I examine my own irradiated state. Destined to always be a faded reflection of that which I can never know. These ill-starred eyes enraged by the fact that our worlds cannot collide. This heart must be torn and tossed to the side, left to be forever forgotten. Even wholly hollowed out their exists a yearning for your eyes in mine. Forever haunted by the three words we can never share.