Tonight we had our last rehearsal of Shivah/Proper. Until saturday at 10:30pm each of the four of us can do our own thing. What a process this has been. What a. Nothing could have prepared me to act. Shivah may as well have been the first play I ever undertook. What I do seems to be going over with the company. They tell me good things. There's no explaining this.
I will do speed-throughs tomorrow. When I have abslolutely no desire to work, which is most of the time, then I can do speed throughs. I just do the monologues over and over as fast as I can. So many words. There was no direction really. The words found their meanings in our bodies. Eventually you can learn any script. I know now what it means to act.
I found a way to weep. I just did it. I imitated myself weeping. Weeping the way I don't even let myself weep. It was weird at first. Now it's as natural as sweating.

Now we're all weeping. One by one the other monologues are reaking into weeping. Tonight Alexis (woman On cross) began to weep when she finished off her husband Prayer. What a weird fucking play man.

I keep listening to MURDER FOR THE MONEY by morphine. They were so good.

New York is so good. It's its own fucking thing. Today I walked down Broaodway in SoHo to look for a pair of adidas *mali* indoor soccer shoes. SoHo is a horrible mega galleria super-imposed on 20 city blocks. Every storefront is a clothing boutique now. And people are mean. They are not nice. I can't believe it but I knew SoHo in another time, when it was on the brink of this transition. The lower eat side is pretty much the same. Fuckunting nitwits. Native people selling crafts. Gaaa.
I was thinking about L.A. all day. i =found myself talking to y dog. Aloud. Good typing. I'm glad I don't live here. But i'd be lying if I said i hadn't thought about moving back to NYC.
It's Murder. For The Money. I wish i had more to say. I feel funny but have no thing which strikes me as being worth talking about.