... stuff I've stumbled upon and now I'm shouting from the rooftops about  ;) :)) 



How naturally spontaneous -the actors!
With sleeves rolled up,
How much better they know how to live our lives for us!

Never have I seen a more perfect kiss
Than the actors' in the third act,
When the passions start
To make themselves clear.

Stained with oil,
In authentic caps,
True-to-life in their perfectly plausible jobs,
They enter and exit with speeches
That unfurl like carpets under their feet.

Their death on stage is so genuine
That, next to its perfection,
Those in the graveyards,
The truly dead,
Made up for tragedy, once and for all time,
Seem stagy and unstill!

Whereas we, so stiff within our single span,
We don't so much as know how to come alive!
We speak our lines at the wrong time or keep silent for years on end,
Histrionic and unaesthetic,
And we haven't a clue where the hell to keep our hands.



Marin Sorescu - Actorii

Cei mai dezinvolti - actorii!
Cu manecile suflecate
Cum stiu ei sa ne traiasca!
N-am vazut niciodata un sarut mai perfect
Ca al actorilor in actul trei,
Cind incep sentimentele sa se clarifice

Moartea lor pe scena e atat de naturala,
Incat, pe langa perfectiunea ei,
Cei de prin cimitire,
Mortii adevarati,
Morti tragic, odata pentru totdeauna,
Parca misca!

Iar noi, cei tepeni intr-o singura viata!
Nici macar pe-asta n-o stim trai.
Vorbim anapoda sau tacem ani in sir,
Penibil si inestetic
Si nu stim unde dracu sa ne tinem mainile.



Shakespeare created the world in seven days.

The first day he made the sky. the mountains, and the spiritual abysses.
The second day he made the rivers, the seas. the oceans,
And the other sentiments
And gave them to Hamlet, Julius Caesar, Antony, Cleopatra and Ophelia
To Othello and the others
To master them, themselves and their descendants,
Unto eternity.
The third day he gathered all people
And taught them the tastes:
The taste or happiness, of love, of distress,
The taste or jealousy, glory and so on
Until no tastes were left.
Then some characters came along late.
The creator patted them on the head sympathetically
And said the only thing left for them to become was
Literary critics
And deny his works.
The fourth and fifth days Were dedicated to laughter.
He let out the clowns to do somersaults
And let kings, emperors
And other unfortunates have fun.
The sixth day he solved some administrative problems
He plotted a storm
And taught King Lear
How to wear the crown of straws.
There was still some waste left from the creation or the world
So he made Richard III.
The seventh day he was wondering whether there was still anything to do:
Stage directors had already flooded the earth with posters
So Shakespeare decided after so much labour
He deserved to see a show himself.
But first, as he felt quite exhausted,
He passed away for a while.








 Writers. Actors.

We see things that others overlook.
We care too much.
We feel too much.
We’ve been in love.
We’ve been hurt.
We’re easy to love.
We don’t love easily.
It’s painful to have a writer’s mind.

-James E.

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