day 200

To cut my hair (and to shave) is to relief me from the dilemma of choosing to be either the renegade artist (mostly the desire to be a film-maker) or the clean-shaven pseudo-academic with a blazer to match the ambition. Frankly, those two archetypes are just visions - of a future-to-be who I am not. Next, try guessing.

This mis-match of external identities is perplexing to the eye. I've given up, trying to be. Not because for lack of want but a lack of purpose and my innate disdain for categories. After all, I could very well still film my own performance as a teacher and teach it in same class afterwards.

(Performance of Pedagogical Discourse - How to watch and read such performances)

The truth is that I am truly lazy and ambitious at the same time. I love my aspirations simply because I can imagine and dream of them. And each time, repeat the sequence of events, right down to the costumes I will wear and the montages of me behind a huge-ass camera. At the same time, I would imagine myself vexing and walking up and down the black box, pushing myself for the punctuation-ending that I so crave for each of my creative work. Frankly, they are all full of shit. The often lazy and self-gratifying me will excuse myself, laugh at my image on the mirror while I hide from the person in public and in dream, and tell myself how I am wasting everyone's time and effort to understand what I am doing. Frankly, I never quite know. I mean, knowing in a kind of efficacious manner that truly touch the lives of others, instead of spending money on electricity, space, and manpower. I am truly blessed with people who once believed in me. I don't mean to disappoint, but I am really full of shit.

Maybe, that's it. Giving up - to give so as to rise - is what compels me to move forward. I can't resist. I just give up each bit of my existing life so I may rise for the one sweet moment of irony. Each time I become, I un-become. It is like participating in something worthwhile that I may later know it is futile. Ah, the irony. But I like. Because I get to play pretend that I could be Don Juan only if I was more good-looking and cruel to women. Or I could be a contemporary pastor only if I weren't so boring, reserved and so not charismatic. (After all, the sermons I wrote and probably would have preached were all extremely depressing, degratory and devouring, it's scary.) I stop pretending that I know, or at least I want to think that I've stopped. I just rise to occasion when it happens, and somehow I know, that I will be. I will be what I least expected to be. Because, no repetive imagination can match up to the actual event of being there and not there at the same time.

It is frightening and exciting, simultaneously.
I can think of no other way to feign death and life at the same time.

And so I cut my hair.