Epic Theatre

'Epic theatre (German: episches Theater) was a theatrical movement arising in the early to mid-20th century from the theories and practice of a number of theatre practitioners, including Erwin Piscator, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Vsevolod Meyerhold and, most famously, Bertolt Brecht. Although many of the concepts and practices involved in Brechtian epic theatre had been around for years, even centuries, Brecht unified them, developed the style, and popularized it.' ~Wikipedia 'Epic Theatre' is a love story unlike any other, not just for the story, but for the way it's told.


1. Don't You Worry 'Bout Hypocrisy

Dear Leaf,
If you asked me why I spend so much time up here, I wouldn’t be able to give you the long story short. The air here is fresher than the air one hundred yards over there, and there’s still light and warmth. There are a hundred or so memories here, but over there I can only remember nights in with a glass of Coke or a pen and a pad, a screen in front of me either way. There’s no single thing it all comes back to, and there’s no truth in the idea that it’s nothing that special. Down here, there’s been a lot. Up there, there’s been a lot more.
And I guess there are things that help; the stars in the night sky have always seemed something to behold to me. I’ve never really had much to behold without them, but I remember that as a kid I used to get on my knees and pray facing the window, my thoughts going out to the stars. I used to pray that I and this girl would be together. Worst wish of my life, now that I think about it. She’s not who I’d want to be with now, but back then it didn’t show so much. It’s a silly wish, and I think that even though it’s wrong to call other people’s wishes silly, I have the right to call my own.
Although, there are a few things that are different about me. Things you only see once in a while when you look at every man and woman on Earth, and one of those things could be my hair or my eyes – the things you can tell about me from a distance – or my way of keeping people out and letting them in, or what I really think about people. Either way, I guess all these things are pretty special because they’re the only difference between me and the next guy, and while you can look at me and remember every single one of them from wherever else you’ve seen them, I’m the only place on Earth that has every one.
But I suppose philosophy is a strange thing. I can sit here and talk about what makes me different, but one of the things that you see in almost everybody is the ability to sit and talk about what makes them different. I used to say ‘You are what you do,’, because thought doesn’t count like action does – if you see someone dying on the street and their friend calls out ‘Is anybody here a doctor?’ you’re getting no-where by saying back ‘No, but I have a pen light in my pocket and a diploma in Drama, I can pretend to be Gregory House for a couple of minutes if you want.’ So in actuality, the thought only counts when there’s nothing else to do.
Nonetheless, if you ask me why I spend so much time up here, I wouldn’t be able to give you the long story short; but I guess I like to philosophize while I behold the stars and think to myself, ‘There are a few things that help.’
In the end though, I guess it’s all down to her.
The long nights we spent out here together, only twenty miles apart but far enough for our voices to travel by phone instead of you being here with me... Well we talked a lot on those nights, and they weren’t easy for us. We’d help each other through anything out here, and to you, here isn’t what it is to me. To you, here on the phone is your windowsill and here in person is the band room. Either way, I find it comforting to talk to people when we’re looking up at the same stars, no matter where we are.
Anyways, I’ve been wondering about something people do, and since you’re the one that actually studied Psychology and Sociology, and sees and aspires to become a therapist, I figured you were the person to go to about it:
It crossed my mind again and again how people can be so strict upon going back on their own decisions. If someone decides something and makes it publicly known, they just seem to refuse to accept it when they’re actually making the wrong decision. There’s something in there about not wanting to look stupid, or not wanting to have to undo the things already acted upon, but would it not be more effort to keep up the facade and fight off the accusations to the point where the smarter man – or, I suppose, woman – would decide to back off? Where does that point lie, and is it really different with every person? I understand you’re no doctor, but you’re closer than I ever may be to becoming one.
By means of example, we both know I get along okay with dogs. We both know I do not get along with my parent’s dog, not because it doesn’t like me but because it likes me annoyingly much. It never gets tired of doing the same thing, and it’s needlessly loud when doing anything at all. Besides which, it never feels any pain from anything. It’s fallen and slid and flipped and everything but the damned thing doesn’t feel a thing – I’ve put the fact that it never learns not to fall, slide, flip, etc, down to this – and it annoys me because there’s little one can do other than hit a dog on the nose with a rolled up newspaper to tell it off since it doesn’t speak very good English (though admittedly mine may speak fair Japanese).
Really though, I’m getting fed up with all this time on my hands. We need to get out more, like the day at the coffee shop when we went to Peanut Park and then up to the food places when it got cold and we ran out of change to put together for energy drinks and chocolate. Honestly, it’s a shame. It’s not like you didn’t know that, but I think despite everyone that was friends with you, I’m the only one that cares that you’re gonna go six feet under.


While I’m glad for the world’s concern
That they think I earn
By sitting here crying,
They don’t seem to
Understand that I
Don’t deserve it;

It isn’t me who’s dying.

I lift my pen, knowing I’ve finished the stanza. It’s a pretty dark ending note, but I like having ending notes that encourage people to think. It’s probably odd that I write poetry when I think, but I need something to put the thoughts down as.
The phone rings.

Dear Earth,
It seems to me like the world’s running out of decent folks. I don’t mean that they’re all dying, or that there aren’t enough of them being born, but there are too many of them being broken by the people they’re left with unguarded. I guess there just aren’t enough people that are decent and strong.
And I guess it’s like this; if someone makes something really, really clever, it’s almost always fragile at first. We’re there. We need to find a case to put it in or something. Something to make it resistant to all the crap people’ll inevitably throw at it.
Though, in truth, I love meeting decent people. They’re always kind and curious, but not ‘pardon me while I do this cavity search’ curious, they’re just curious as to what’s getting you down so they can help you again. There’s something to that, if you ask me.
But really, I’ve gotta wonder if there’s some reason that I keep following the people that aren’t decent. Maybe all the decent people follow them or something. I can’t stand that I never end up in the right place at the right time, but I guess it can’t be helped until I understand why, which is why I’m trying to figure that out. I guess a lot of things though, and while a fair few of them are right, they’re never the ones I put ‘I guess’ in front of. I’d wonder if I’m a decent person, but I don’t think that’s something that the decent people tend to do, so I stop doing that pretty quickly.
And here I am again, changing for someone else. I’m making myself think this and not think that because I think it’s what someone else would do, and I’m not that person but something seems to make me want to be I guess – and there I go again, ‘I guess, I guess, I guess; something, something, something,’ and I must never have a definite thought.
It could all just be insecurity. Or history. Projection, rejection, reflection, deflection are all reasons for people to do the things I do, that everyone does, but I guess I’m too busy trying to be something in the middle of society while I’m also trying to be part of society in the middle of society. I guess...
Was it Terry Pratchett that first made the joke about first sight and second thought? Everyone has second thoughts though, right? Only ‘first sight’, that where someone would be able to see what’s really there instead of what you sum the scene up to be mentally, that’s something you only have if you get it, and to get it you have to watch scenes enough to take them apart naturally as you walk past. ‘That’s not bullying, that’s someone beating another kind up for being who he is when the real reason is the tough guy’s insecurity, his want to project, reject, reflect, deflect his situation, and this kid doesn’t fit his picture of a world where the bad things that happen to him don’t happen, so he gets it from this bigger kid even though it’s not his fault at all.
But when is it the little guy’s fault? He’s always either given too much to do or too little, and so it’s the person who’s giving him crap’s fault. When it comes down to it, he probably is – or was, before he was broken by the people he was left with unguarded – a decent person. That’s completely unfair.
I don’t know... I spend too much time watching, and not enough time doing. And still less time watching than avoiding, projecting, rejecting, reflecting, deflecting society. God, if only society didn’t ask so many questions. But I guess I ask too many questions as well, so that’s not fair.

I can sit and ramble like this for hours, mentally playing tennis with the ideas that pop up into my head. While I read somewhere that the average person has 25 thoughts per minute when she’s not paying attention to them, I find it funny that the average person probably has 10 thoughts per day when she does pay close attention to them, watching them, exploring them to their deepest points and then evaluating them.
I haven’t been into school recently. Too much time with society, everything I’ve been doing’s been blowing up in my face so I decided that field practice wasn’t working out right now and I should sit and theorize. I got a guy, dumped the guy, got a new guy and got dumped by the guy, and now I feel useless, and this was one week, so I can’t be done with going outside right now. The world’s just running out of decent people I guess.
Meanwhile, the only decent folks I know are under ground. Six feet is a strange depth to make a grave. Seems really kinda weird to me. Why six feet? Could go four or five feet deep, go home and morn, so why six?
God I need something to do. I just sit here and think. Who do I know that’s decent? I guess there’s no-one right now. What am I searching for though; a friend or a guy? And I don’t even know.
I put some music on my earphones and sleep. It’s only five PM but I’m not going in tomorrow.

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