« on: March 21, 2015, 04:08:15 pm »
The audience is part of the show.
Haha, I thought that, when I was given my mask and when a pretty little actress made hard, fearless eye contact with me. I'm a small part, a phantom voyeur that they know is always there and that deeply unnerves them. The sordid life of nobility is mine to absorb, mine and the rest of the phantoms. We have power here, and freedom, and do we float from padded cell to witches' hut or do we see the beautiful players at their most vulnerable but wait there are so many of us I can't find a moment alone and the white faces line every action and the players stride through throngs of packed ghosts.
The audience is in the way.
I thought very briefly they played just for me, at times, stumbling down corridors and turning mirrors away from themselves, slamming them against the wall. But I see only the lead up to a larger thing in a room of blank white faces. Their posture bothers me, slouching or lounging so casually in a such a deliberate setting their juxtaposition is jarring. They are not creatures of flesh but they struggle for the best view. Here another player enters the scene and the phantoms part like mist and the ones who don't are waved away, gently but firmly.
The audience is not in the way.
We are neither part nor annoyance we are just there, blank staring faces in a crowd. We follow lights and sounds, we peer over balconies and through windows for a glimpse of the real. We cannot hear true words or music only distorted hints of them, rising and falling and drowning each other out, recurring as a scene plays out again or leading us away to another about to start. We cannot speak. Our world subtly funnels us, pushes us as much as the players might, disregards us because
the audience does not matter at all.
Everything happens whether we are there or not, and so many of us try to follow but it is fast and while we follow one player so many others play elsewhere. A gruesome scene unfolds, a violent and tragic one and there is nothing we can do to stop it, not one of us or four dozen. We are flesh but smoke and featureless nothings with eyes. We do not matter at all.