Emotions played out after three hours. What does it feel like to play out one’s role in a framework inopportune? Lines still half remembered, volume too constant, emotions too regular yet, not slowed down to a crawl where they need to be. Is it the recitation word perfect of the ever too voluminous dialogue? Or is it just feeling comfortable rolling around in some phantom character’s skin who never has been? Acting a profession of lost moments. One’s self lost to the abandon of the moment when another spirit takes over and your forget yourself. Daring to not give a damn about the instrument but fluid in the melody of the intonation of rote dialogue cut loose. How splendid the sound of that other being within you. That entity that never drew breath save through the sustenance of inky fluid upon a page. Jupiter’s sow come busting out of the author’s forehead. How crazy that crafty dance playing upon the audiences sentiments in the moment. Willing to endure a yawn or two if the applause is genuine overall. This is the trembling heart of an actor. Vain, spiteful, egotistical and self aggrandizing of every eye in the room. Yet generous to a fault to the benefit of their costars if it comes down to driving the scene just a bit further. One’s true face portrayed upon that mask just underneath.