Welcome! Come on in, Dearest. Come on in. Come a little closer. Or sit over there, in the corner. Sit or stand, still or in-dance wherever you like. I just want to feel you near. I just want to perform for you. You're here, in front of My Open Closet and I want you to know, before you know anything else, that I love that you're here.
Now, I feel I should say something, relatively brief, about the name change. Mason is most definitely my middle name, but I often debate over the use (the over-use and under-use) of the concept as my blog title. While it does represent my feminist ideologies, I worry that it is not universal enough and that it will not make enough of an impression in the world of the Search Engine. I don't know and I don't have a lot of feedback to work off of (my network is quite limited), so I am working with my own devices (mainly vices) to try to come up with a concept that accurately and creatively describes what happens on this blog. So what happens? I think what happens is Consciousness Theatre. Theatre of the Mind. A Mind Theatre is very much like a closet - the doors of the m-theatre are like the curtain. Curtain up, curtain down. Curtain in, curtain out. Up, down. Open, close. Here, though, the doors never close.
A closet door will remain open for good if you chop it down with an ax (that's what my aunt's neighbor did to my grandparents' door in order to "save" her when my mother played a practical joke on her and pretended to be a be a serial killer breaking into the house...yeah, that joke went well. It tore the -door- off the place!). If the closet door is closed, no one gets to see, know, feel, or love what's inside. I find that the most interesting of stages, of closet stages, are the ones that are, first and foremost, OPEN and the ones that have a lot of curtains. Curtains of every texture, thickness and color. I bet you can guess what kind of drapery I prefer for my closet-stage. If you guessed sheers, you would not be incorrect. My Closet is OPEN to the public. I have an open closet, I try to have an open mind. The doors (of my mind) have, at the very least, unlatched and swung open. My Open Closet, the STAGE and mind of me, has its fair share of colorful backdrops, legs, borders, teasers, austrians (yes, apparently!), contours, tableaus, scrims, travelers, and grand drapes. Of all of those, it is the color-changing scrim that I fancy most! I'm considering taking the doors to my Open Mind/Closet/Theatre off altogether. It could happen, you never know.
For now, I'll just anchor the doors down to the sides of the closet and leave My Closet Open. For you to witness, learn from, unlearn from, curse, loathe, love, whateveryoulike. And that's because I like me and I like you and I like us in this arena. What makes this blog different than other blogs? Well, for one, it's mine and it reflects my creativity and life experiences. So the name should reflect me. I am not my blog, but who I am directly influences what goes on here. I am Jess, and Mason is my middle name. My blog is a space in which I express myself, critique and speak about my life experiences, art, popular media, anything and everything. What is it that makes what I have to say different than what all of the other people in the world, writing about similar things and sharing themselves, have to say? That's a very good question. One that I don't have an adequate answer to - my understanding and concept of myself is evolving. I think my gimmick, forgive me, is that I am forthcoming and open about my sometimes out-of-the-box/sometimes in-the-box thoughts. This blog is like an open window, or an open door, into my mind, into my thoughts, into my heart, into my life and my being. Or at least into parts of all of those.
My Open Closet is a safe space for you because when you come here you're the audience. I'll do all of the acrobatics. I'll do all of the lifting and levitating. I'll even do the digging and the drowning. I'll fly and I'll burrow to and for you. Sit back and relax, you. You don't have to do a thing. You don't have to be on stage. You don't have to be seen or on display. The choice of whether or not and how to participate is yours. You are a welcome guest at my free-for-all show. YOU are an audience member at my (peep?) show. Yes, "Come to my window, I'll be home soon." Come to my window, come to my open closet. And, please, look inside. I'm here. I want to be seen, I want to be watched, I want to be witnessed. You can sit in the dark and watch the show. No one has to know who you are. Or you can come in the back of the chakra house, and slip in and out (almost) unnoticed. I know a perpetual stage show is a little daunting. Ibsen pushed the limits with Emperor and Galilean. I will push them further here. You really have it good, though. You can come whenever you please, you can excuse or recuse yourself, you can remain in the shadows or come into my light, you can stay away for years and return again, you can stay for years and then never return, you can witness a train wreck and then feel safe again in your home, you can witness a train wreck in your home and then feel safe again in my (our) theater, you can go eat a burger and come back smelling like salt, you can pull out your hummus and eat it right there in the dark, you can spill your crumbs on my floor, you can spill your heart, you can slurp through the best part, you can light the sparks. By the way, sometimes rhyming gets out of hand in My Open Closet. I'll try to keep it to sinimum. You have all the power. I have all the power. We're separate, powerful, entities, free to be what Marlo Thomas calls "you and me." I'll probably be you sometimes, but never completely.
My Open Closet is an open closet of emotion. Every and any emotion. I feel it here, you are free to feel it here in the shadows or in the light. You are most welcome on my stage, though I have no problem being on the stage alone. On the wall of my open closet stage there is a motto (or two dozen). I think one goes something like, "Coming out of the closet, so you don't have to!" Or is it: "Keeping the Closet Open, so you don't have to." It's definitely right above, "You don't have to come out of the closet, you can just cut down the doors." I'll do and say some of the things that you could only (and might not ever) dream of saying, and I'll do and say some of the things that you wish you could say. Sometimes I'll cross your line and you'll send a rotten tomato my way. I don't mind, really, I'll take it right in the kisser if you send it. And then I'll dish it right back out to/at you, because I have audience-vision (like night vision) that allows me to know exactly where that tomato came from and from whom. If you can't stand the seat, get out of the opera house! There is a diva on hand in My Open Closet. There is also a clinician. And every other necessary role you should imagine. I know every nook and cranny in this godforsaken theater. I know every phantom and ghost. Let's just say: I have a lot of friends in high (and low and sometimes small) places.
Back to your experience. I want it to be a good one, for the most part. If any heinous acts (axes) are committed (thrown) during any of the ACTs -or during the length of the whole life-long production- please stay seated and remain calm until further instruction is given. In the case of an emergency, the exits are all in the rear! However, don't expect the Fall of Rome. No, Rome wasn't built in a day and it isn't likely that Rome fell in a day either. If, Satan forbid, this House of Her-err should fall in a day, at least you will know that YOU will survive. I feel good knowing that you will survive. As for me, many of my friends are ghosts so I'm accustomed to and unafraid of death. I only hope to die in the spotlight!!!
Everything I do, I do in my open closet - for you and anyone who wants to attend. When I do my homework, I do it on stage. When I take a crap and comment on how it looks like a demented squirrel before I flush, I do it on stage. When I fuck up as only I can fuck up, I do it on stage. I don't want to do it in the dark. I don't want to do it back stage. "Curtain up, light the lights," I'm about to menstruate and you don't want to miss this. Oh, oh, it's coming. Now dim the lights (i.e., I say dim the lights and then run back stage to dim the lights and then run back on stage to say 'thank you' to myself for dimming the lights). I say "Dim the lights" because I want to be able to make menstrual and other dark arts for you - and I want you to see me in my shadows. If you stick around My Open Closet, I'm pretty sure you'll see it all here.The Universe in me (in My Open Closet).
A word on the look of the theater: I know it's a little hard to look at. It, like the work on the scrolling stage/page, is a work in progress. I kind of wish I had this blog set up at/on Wordpress, but I started it here on Blogger so I don't want to leave what I have started. I'm not one to start all over again, I'm one to keep on truckin' (Subaru-wagonin'). That said, I also want to make it known that I am not a technology-savvy person. I neither have the funds to hire nor the connections to enlist a "blog crew" (stage crew) for my scrolling theater. I could really make this place shine and sparkle if I knew what I was doing. It's more complicated than sweeping and mopping the floors. You're bound to get a bit of dirt and dust in the face. My in-sin(cerest) apologies! I want My Open Closet to be a personal space, I do not want it to look like other theaters. Yet I have no idea, technically, how to make that happen. I have to use my own photos for background art because I own them (and because I want them to be original)- but that isn't working to my benefit at this juncture in time. If you want to help or you know someone who might help, then by all means please help. If not, then sit back down and zip it. I would like to build this Ship of Fool (no "s") up enough to be happy with the way it moves and operates. I would also like it to be attractive because I like attractive houses.
So, no, My Open Closet does not possess the funds or resources. My Open Closet is a whore house and a poor house, but "If I were a rich man / Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum / All day long I'd biddy biddy bum..." All day long I'd make things creative and attractive (they'd be attractive to me, like exposed pine beams). I want to look professional-enough and unprofessional-enough to give you the Opera of the Open Closet Mad Tea/She Party you deserve. This is a one-woman theater, this is one-woman closet. I have to be my own producer, director, stage manager, costume designer, set builder, props master, choreographer, tech crew, sound manager and performer. I'm used to handling ONLY the performing portion. I'm a player. All the stage's a world. Unfortunately, player that I am, right now I'm an awful clutz when it comes to managing and carrying out all of the other duties. But I'm all this blog's got. I'm all I've got. And, apparently since you're here for the show, I'm all you've got. (Insert sound from the sound machine in your imagination: wah-waaaah). I'll try to improve my modus operandi as time goes by.
The first person to open my closet was the First Lady of the School of (Closet-Opening) Language Arts. She, bold sorceress that she was, cracked open the door with her hands tied behind her back. Meaning: she did not crack open my door intentionally; Sheer Coincidence (i.e., God) put us both in the right place at the right time so that as we were walking along, long long, we bumped into each other, head first, and cracked our closet-mind doors open on one another. I can't say what happened to the doors of her theatrical mind after that; I can only say I thought about chopping down my doors ever since the incident. The second person who got ahold of my doors was my mother. She tried to shut them. Close them, bolt them, put a large boulder against them to keep them shut. It didn't work. What was inside my theatrical closet-mind was more powerful than her bolts and boulders. Thus, the doors never closed again. THANK SHEER COINCIDENCE.
And, once again, welcome to My Open Closet.
Now, I feel I should say something, relatively brief, about the name change. Mason is most definitely my middle name, but I often debate over the use (the over-use and under-use) of the concept as my blog title. While it does represent my feminist ideologies, I worry that it is not universal enough and that it will not make enough of an impression in the world of the Search Engine. I don't know and I don't have a lot of feedback to work off of (my network is quite limited), so I am working with my own devices (mainly vices) to try to come up with a concept that accurately and creatively describes what happens on this blog. So what happens? I think what happens is Consciousness Theatre. Theatre of the Mind. A Mind Theatre is very much like a closet - the doors of the m-theatre are like the curtain. Curtain up, curtain down. Curtain in, curtain out. Up, down. Open, close. Here, though, the doors never close.
A closet door will remain open for good if you chop it down with an ax (that's what my aunt's neighbor did to my grandparents' door in order to "save" her when my mother played a practical joke on her and pretended to be a be a serial killer breaking into the house...yeah, that joke went well. It tore the -door- off the place!). If the closet door is closed, no one gets to see, know, feel, or love what's inside. I find that the most interesting of stages, of closet stages, are the ones that are, first and foremost, OPEN and the ones that have a lot of curtains. Curtains of every texture, thickness and color. I bet you can guess what kind of drapery I prefer for my closet-stage. If you guessed sheers, you would not be incorrect. My Closet is OPEN to the public. I have an open closet, I try to have an open mind. The doors (of my mind) have, at the very least, unlatched and swung open. My Open Closet, the STAGE and mind of me, has its fair share of colorful backdrops, legs, borders, teasers, austrians (yes, apparently!), contours, tableaus, scrims, travelers, and grand drapes. Of all of those, it is the color-changing scrim that I fancy most! I'm considering taking the doors to my Open Mind/Closet/Theatre off altogether. It could happen, you never know.
For now, I'll just anchor the doors down to the sides of the closet and leave My Closet Open. For you to witness, learn from, unlearn from, curse, loathe, love, whateveryoulike. And that's because I like me and I like you and I like us in this arena. What makes this blog different than other blogs? Well, for one, it's mine and it reflects my creativity and life experiences. So the name should reflect me. I am not my blog, but who I am directly influences what goes on here. I am Jess, and Mason is my middle name. My blog is a space in which I express myself, critique and speak about my life experiences, art, popular media, anything and everything. What is it that makes what I have to say different than what all of the other people in the world, writing about similar things and sharing themselves, have to say? That's a very good question. One that I don't have an adequate answer to - my understanding and concept of myself is evolving. I think my gimmick, forgive me, is that I am forthcoming and open about my sometimes out-of-the-box/sometimes in-the-box thoughts. This blog is like an open window, or an open door, into my mind, into my thoughts, into my heart, into my life and my being. Or at least into parts of all of those.
My Open Closet is a safe space for you because when you come here you're the audience. I'll do all of the acrobatics. I'll do all of the lifting and levitating. I'll even do the digging and the drowning. I'll fly and I'll burrow to and for you. Sit back and relax, you. You don't have to do a thing. You don't have to be on stage. You don't have to be seen or on display. The choice of whether or not and how to participate is yours. You are a welcome guest at my free-for-all show. YOU are an audience member at my (peep?) show. Yes, "Come to my window, I'll be home soon." Come to my window, come to my open closet. And, please, look inside. I'm here. I want to be seen, I want to be watched, I want to be witnessed. You can sit in the dark and watch the show. No one has to know who you are. Or you can come in the back of the chakra house, and slip in and out (almost) unnoticed. I know a perpetual stage show is a little daunting. Ibsen pushed the limits with Emperor and Galilean. I will push them further here. You really have it good, though. You can come whenever you please, you can excuse or recuse yourself, you can remain in the shadows or come into my light, you can stay away for years and return again, you can stay for years and then never return, you can witness a train wreck and then feel safe again in your home, you can witness a train wreck in your home and then feel safe again in my (our) theater, you can go eat a burger and come back smelling like salt, you can pull out your hummus and eat it right there in the dark, you can spill your crumbs on my floor, you can spill your heart, you can slurp through the best part, you can light the sparks. By the way, sometimes rhyming gets out of hand in My Open Closet. I'll try to keep it to sinimum. You have all the power. I have all the power. We're separate, powerful, entities, free to be what Marlo Thomas calls "you and me." I'll probably be you sometimes, but never completely.
My Open Closet is an open closet of emotion. Every and any emotion. I feel it here, you are free to feel it here in the shadows or in the light. You are most welcome on my stage, though I have no problem being on the stage alone. On the wall of my open closet stage there is a motto (or two dozen). I think one goes something like, "Coming out of the closet, so you don't have to!" Or is it: "Keeping the Closet Open, so you don't have to." It's definitely right above, "You don't have to come out of the closet, you can just cut down the doors." I'll do and say some of the things that you could only (and might not ever) dream of saying, and I'll do and say some of the things that you wish you could say. Sometimes I'll cross your line and you'll send a rotten tomato my way. I don't mind, really, I'll take it right in the kisser if you send it. And then I'll dish it right back out to/at you, because I have audience-vision (like night vision) that allows me to know exactly where that tomato came from and from whom. If you can't stand the seat, get out of the opera house! There is a diva on hand in My Open Closet. There is also a clinician. And every other necessary role you should imagine. I know every nook and cranny in this godforsaken theater. I know every phantom and ghost. Let's just say: I have a lot of friends in high (and low and sometimes small) places.
Back to your experience. I want it to be a good one, for the most part. If any heinous acts (axes) are committed (thrown) during any of the ACTs -or during the length of the whole life-long production- please stay seated and remain calm until further instruction is given. In the case of an emergency, the exits are all in the rear! However, don't expect the Fall of Rome. No, Rome wasn't built in a day and it isn't likely that Rome fell in a day either. If, Satan forbid, this House of Her-err should fall in a day, at least you will know that YOU will survive. I feel good knowing that you will survive. As for me, many of my friends are ghosts so I'm accustomed to and unafraid of death. I only hope to die in the spotlight!!!
Everything I do, I do in my open closet - for you and anyone who wants to attend. When I do my homework, I do it on stage. When I take a crap and comment on how it looks like a demented squirrel before I flush, I do it on stage. When I fuck up as only I can fuck up, I do it on stage. I don't want to do it in the dark. I don't want to do it back stage. "Curtain up, light the lights," I'm about to menstruate and you don't want to miss this. Oh, oh, it's coming. Now dim the lights (i.e., I say dim the lights and then run back stage to dim the lights and then run back on stage to say 'thank you' to myself for dimming the lights). I say "Dim the lights" because I want to be able to make menstrual and other dark arts for you - and I want you to see me in my shadows. If you stick around My Open Closet, I'm pretty sure you'll see it all here.The Universe in me (in My Open Closet).
A word on the look of the theater: I know it's a little hard to look at. It, like the work on the scrolling stage/page, is a work in progress. I kind of wish I had this blog set up at/on Wordpress, but I started it here on Blogger so I don't want to leave what I have started. I'm not one to start all over again, I'm one to keep on truckin' (Subaru-wagonin'). That said, I also want to make it known that I am not a technology-savvy person. I neither have the funds to hire nor the connections to enlist a "blog crew" (stage crew) for my scrolling theater. I could really make this place shine and sparkle if I knew what I was doing. It's more complicated than sweeping and mopping the floors. You're bound to get a bit of dirt and dust in the face. My in-sin(cerest) apologies! I want My Open Closet to be a personal space, I do not want it to look like other theaters. Yet I have no idea, technically, how to make that happen. I have to use my own photos for background art because I own them (and because I want them to be original)- but that isn't working to my benefit at this juncture in time. If you want to help or you know someone who might help, then by all means please help. If not, then sit back down and zip it. I would like to build this Ship of Fool (no "s") up enough to be happy with the way it moves and operates. I would also like it to be attractive because I like attractive houses.
So, no, My Open Closet does not possess the funds or resources. My Open Closet is a whore house and a poor house, but "If I were a rich man / Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum / All day long I'd biddy biddy bum..." All day long I'd make things creative and attractive (they'd be attractive to me, like exposed pine beams). I want to look professional-enough and unprofessional-enough to give you the Opera of the Open Closet Mad Tea/She Party you deserve. This is a one-woman theater, this is one-woman closet. I have to be my own producer, director, stage manager, costume designer, set builder, props master, choreographer, tech crew, sound manager and performer. I'm used to handling ONLY the performing portion. I'm a player. All the stage's a world. Unfortunately, player that I am, right now I'm an awful clutz when it comes to managing and carrying out all of the other duties. But I'm all this blog's got. I'm all I've got. And, apparently since you're here for the show, I'm all you've got. (Insert sound from the sound machine in your imagination: wah-waaaah). I'll try to improve my modus operandi as time goes by.
The first person to open my closet was the First Lady of the School of (Closet-Opening) Language Arts. She, bold sorceress that she was, cracked open the door with her hands tied behind her back. Meaning: she did not crack open my door intentionally; Sheer Coincidence (i.e., God) put us both in the right place at the right time so that as we were walking along, long long, we bumped into each other, head first, and cracked our closet-mind doors open on one another. I can't say what happened to the doors of her theatrical mind after that; I can only say I thought about chopping down my doors ever since the incident. The second person who got ahold of my doors was my mother. She tried to shut them. Close them, bolt them, put a large boulder against them to keep them shut. It didn't work. What was inside my theatrical closet-mind was more powerful than her bolts and boulders. Thus, the doors never closed again. THANK SHEER COINCIDENCE.
And, once again, welcome to My Open Closet.
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