Perspective And Perception

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The world is static, silent, still. Steadily, tediously – I am watching. Watching and waiting for my performers to enter the stage. The streetlights are illuminated for you, acting as spotlights. The road is prepped as a makeshift stage awaiting your entrance. I, the audience, am piqued with anticipation. As I sit here avidly observing, I prepare to wield my perspective as a powerful mouthpiece to see the world through a different lens. I shed passion on the gnawing silence of life, imagining the world to be a miraculous performance acted by the raw cast around me. Let the performance begin!

You enter stage left, a red, latex trench coat clings to your limbs, draping against your calves. You stand out amongst the sea of shuffling feet, a bright melody immersed in a surge of muted mundanity. A notification is emitted from your phone, piercing through the muffled atmosphere, you begin to scroll mechanically in swift thumb motions. Perhaps you could be scrolling through social media, one of the many whose life is controlled by meaningless selfies and shameless flaunting, but you are different. You are an avid reader, particularly of classic novels. You use your phone as a gateway to literature. I imagine you are venturing the sea with Captain Ahab, falling in love with Mrs
Bennet, or even battling your inner demons with Dorian Gray.

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After twenty three minutes fixed in a phone-holding stance, a gentle ringtone is emitted from your phone’s speakers. A one-sided conversation, an exchange of formalities. “Yes, this is her, how can I help you?, meeting at nine AM.” With each reply, you remake yourself. A straightening of posture, a tone of resounding confidence. Perhaps you could be exercising a mundane business call, but no, that insipidity is above you. Instead, you are meeting with a dear friend in the morning, planning to take a spontaneous trip outside of Sydney city life, to explore new, powerful places.

Peeling back the trench coat from your wrists, you glance at a brown watch, succumbing to its’ impatient ticks. The constant momentum akin to your perpetual, adventurous drive. Hastily walking closer to the roads’ tar-filled horizon, your hand beckons the attention of an eager taxi driver. Perhaps you could be retreating to your home, no, that’s not in character. You are journeying to Capitol Theatre, immersing yourself in a spectacle of music and stagecraft. We are the same. We find comfort in observing people transform the quietness of existence into a loud performance. Only, I use my voice to alter realties and you observe a non-existent one.

As you leave in the taxi, I feel a frisson of sadness. The kind you feel after finishing a book series or coming back from a holiday. “Only temporary emptiness” I remind myself.

Silence, static, stillness.

That familiar feeling, anticipation. Go on you, take centre stage, I dare you to walk into the spotlight. You, in the vividly green scarf. I beckon you to perform… The show must go on!

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