I get it! Politics, performance. I had an epiphany this morning, on that same question that always seems to evoke epiphanies: why am I living like this? Well, okay, the question is more specific. We've been talking here about performing for different audiences, hatching out of our shells and speaking so that we can be, um, understood. Somewhere in the choreography of this stageshow, I found the subplot. And I don't know how to feel.
Someone tells me I'm speaking obscurely, that I'm not illustrating my ideas, that I don't write clearly. And immediately, I'm defensive. But why? I know I'm not the world's best writer, and that I'm a bit lazy. I also know that one of the more cherished pieces of my identity is that I see myself as someone who can communicate when called upon to do so. So I guess I just know I'm wrong.
There are a lot of feelings here. I want to say that I shouldn't have to dilute my vocabulary. I want to say I shouldn't have to make ideas easier for other people to have, when they're so complicated here in my head. I want to hide behind myself and tell everyone I'll wait for them to catch up, but that I'm not going to retrace too much of my thinking, either. I want to ask the world if they've ever read Michel Foucault, or Antonio Gramsci or Karl Marx. So that I can say 'see!?! good ideas are hard to understand!'. Yes, I want to get away with my own impatience and be, at the same time, inaccessible. All complete and total narcissistic bull@!$%#.
I don't want to have to perform the actions of becoming a better writer, because it's hard work. And I want to come across as an obscure genius. I've seen the script for that thing we call 'deep', and I want to follow it. I'm feeling the gravity of authoring dense prose because it lets me get away with lazier writing, and because a big part of me has this [mostly] insane idea that dense = smart.
I'm afraid I've misread the script. Because this version doesn't have the politics. Isn't this precisely the crux of the performance-meets-politics dialogue? How can I do anything but kill the politics when my mind and body are so turned toward - and tuned into - this idea of wanting so much to be an elite? I believe that all politics is an idea. And how are those ideas supposed to thaw out, and run where they need to, if I so assiduously ascribe to my role as inaccessible. How could anyone expect emergence, that organic, non-individual 'becomingness', when there's no dialogue and no society to produce it?
Where are politics ever going to happen if my own personal ethos of rectitude is predicated on my distance from the everyday? How might I collapse this paradox, where the only place I feel like I have something to say is where there's no one left to hear me say it? I guess another epiphany may be in order.



