in all fairness...

i watch we flim, the lies we tell, and not only am i definitely still in it (playing sooo far from type...heheheh) it wasn' nearly as bad as i feared, although the awful script still shone through as such...
but it need to be said after yesterday's rant, that mostly due to decent-to-good performances (admittedly, with a few exceptions) and strong camera work, the flim turn out to be a totally watchable bacchanal. not brilliant but definitely watchable. and audience enjoy it enough to call for a part2 (possibly mostly the desire of a people starved for quality local representation to finally see our selves onscreen, but still...) look ting!
walk good

the love that doh love me back

this evening i skipping technique[dance] class to watch a flim@ttff despite hating both the idea+necessity because is 1 of only 2 opportunities and i suspect i performing sunday during the other. the fact that on wednesday i still eh know if/when i performing sunday is a whole 'nother post about a whole 'nother setta fuckery, though, because right now frustration rooted in skipping necessities for someting i cyah technically afford [dance doh pay bills here] because it concern me, all while knowing my [non]career in this place suggests i'll do all this to find meself cut from said flim and thus unconcerned, anyway...
i am an actor, and a good one. i know this, but nobody else in trinbago except the canals+blkbox[+sondu] does because i've had so little opportunity to do so. this is a flim with a script so bad i almost bow out, and didn't only because i needed to make money, and was cast in a small enough role to minimise embarrassment at my involvement...the latter being why i could easily reach+find my wuk left 'pon figurative cuttingroom floor.
i put down, as always, the best wuk i could under circumstances (once i commit to a wuk, i going through hard giving bes' performance, shitty script and all) but in the moment was directed to deliver wha' i consider a way more 1dimensional+basic performance than i come prepared to give; they clearly wanted a 1note evilbitch with no actual character, and demanded i remove all subtlety and attempt@realistic motivation (difficult as it was to find in the 1st damn place) from her terrible, terrible lines (and i mean terrible! even after my suggesting to writer/producer that even a woman who hates women generally wouldn't make fun of someone being gangraped+hospitalised) leaving me to hope their good sense prevailed+led them to cut my scenes for the sake of their movie. because being a decent human being leaves me to hope my 'career' suffers. and i eh even sure if that, or not being cut, worse, with a flim of suspect quality...
but wha' really grinding me is the more+more unshakeable feeling that this is as good as it gets for me as an actor here (was in more plays+films in 10years in d.c. in spite of being an accented outsider). this place rarely, if ever, doing ting that call for the likes of me (hence diablesse diaries; creating my own show/wuk) and the few times it has, other shit get in the way. the 3 instances where it technically on me for refusing a role or not auditioning were casting calls i chose to ignore or offer turned down because my interest in the production couldn' override wha' i knew to be poor choices of creative team, and the heartbreak of getting excited about a potential show then crashing when you hear the director or choreographer's name is almost as upsetting as cast-as-lead-but-eh-perform, like both carnival medea and this love, where directors had hidden agenda and fucked me over for it (to their own detriment because it severely negatively affected the quality of both productions [not just my opinion]; both ended up being shit shows, the former bad enough that we were jealous of the friend who wisely left@intermission!) or moksha, my 1st local flim, which after all the wuk (plentyplenty takes of jump-filled choreo, on sand) still never see a screen, we never see a single frame of footage, and we still eh know why 25years later...
i debate posting about the bullshit sometimes, but eh enough of a bacchanalist, oui, plus too busy trying to make wuk for me to make/art/wuk since this place clearly doh give a shit and is all one me for meself...
walk good

reality check

this might be a slight ramble, but wha' the fuck, is my blog, ent? plus i always saying i doh write here enough...
my whole life people telling me i need to lower my standards. needless to say, i eh trying to hear that. well, i guess i cyah say "needless to say" since people bother to utter such nonsense to me in the 1st place thus making me say ting now, but i feel anybody who know me even a little should know better. i consider my high standards a good ting; if you wanna roll with me, rise and meet them, raise yours, even; high standards should be the norm. why condition oneself and the world to do worse and accept lesser? how that good for anybody out here? i doh even think it good that my standards considered that noticeably higher than the norm because i think we need to raise the bar on the damn "norm", at least in sweet trini.
that said, with the understanding that i find lowering standards an unacceptable way to choose+do friends+relationships+life, i now finally trying to face the harsh reality that i may have no choice, where writing concerned, to pay bills.
allyuh. i eh facking know wha' to do with meself. i feel like this shit killing me (plus, i jus' eh very good@it) every second i agonising over it but i am a grown-ass woman with a parent to eventually mind (yeah, that whole no-chirren-because-cyah-afford gambit nullified by the way-longer lives parents living, ent) and diminishing options for making money if i eh willing to write fluff, or about shit i eh care enough about to write well enough about to meet my standards. and i know plenty shit i write that eh meet my standards and meet delete instead woulda be accepted and paid for by somebody, somewhere, but i have severe limits on wha' i willing to put my byline on and send out into the world.
but. bills hadda pay, ent?
so wha' i go do? watch others make money i need doing wha' i and everybody who know me know i could do better, because it fall below my standards of wha' i wanna do? stay too broke to celebrate my 40th birthday? be unable to mind the mother when time come?
i always a realist an ting, eh, but facing this reality hard like life, dread...
walk good

best of my possible worlds?

life just keeps on keeping on at an alarming pace, and the more mine complicates, the less i write of it, directly, here. sometimes i hadda remind self that i writing elsewhere and lack of it here doh mean lack...even if it still make me feel guilty sometimes...
speaking of which! i finally get to hear bits of diablesse diaries draft voiced out loud by others, and the difference from inside my head is as great as i feared, but editing is another love and it on like a socks...plus, my readers even like elements so at least i know i eh crazy. the wuk worth pursuing. which i need. someting need to wuk right now. someting hadda feel good out here, in these times of not nearly enough...
[that said, out loud against my better judgement, thank goodness for vitamin q!]
milestones cropping up and climbed over, clumsily, not at all the way i'd like, but survived and learned from as best i can, and yet, knowing as much, i feel underprepared, like i know nothing at all. which is about as much as i know, i think...see how convoluted? 1step forward 2steps back too mucha the damn time...this year's major project fall through after booking my time to the exclusion of others, leaving me broke+underemployed las' minute, once again, so the world in a mess as my world in a mess and all spiralling out of control while i jus' trying to finally complete the 2projects i wukkin on for me for these last few years, in between trying to pay bills. to reach so close to having both diablesse+other done by the end of carnival season then be thwarted by columbia ruining my money and machine (and thus, ability to earn more) then have this year's major income fall down on top of that making this year a punishment...at least q keeping me company...hm, 2mentions, living dangerously...or finally learning to trust?
riiight...sound like is time for better words, before i embarrass meself; wish i could cut+paste the txt right here so any passerby could experience immediately, but it more than worth an extra click, gabe moses, queer poetics: how to make love to a trans person.
and more words to check out later, how the beeb taking the new world on board@bbc pidgin.
plus this talk on the human brain hallucinating one's conscious reality, because, existential crisis, always, ent...and right right now, as i now type the words "existential crisis" i suddenly feel like doing the very writing i open by saying i do less+less of over time...mouth open 'tory jump out? maybe...living dangerously, indeed...
walk good
oh! ps: goodworks/resources; 25,000 old records digitized and made available for download!