When you live in a town that doesn't have an active theatre community, or a town with at best a low level of theatric quality, theatre begins to lose meaning in your life. You first as a story-lover perhaps gravitate towards film, then perhaps into ordinary television, then cable television, then into one's own drama. Life is that way -- a gradual spinning down into one's own story until only a few details are left, and even those could be easily left untold. One's own story becomes punchless -- without meaning for others, and then finally, forgotten.
Have we lived on this earth? Who is to say; and what exactly will they say? All my stories have been told too many times. I am tired of them. And too tired to write new ones -- especially those that must be written by experience. By really living. It is easy to see why people live in dreams, or games, or fantasies, or nightmares. Or the past. I am trapped by my own experiences -- and like the "ancient mariner" am doomed to repeat them -- until they mean nothing, to anyone, anymore.
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