Horizontal Lives

True Tales of the Infamous Courtesan: Persephone N. Hades and her Horizontal Life underground. How she got there, her mis-adventures and her struggle to re-surface.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Just Call me: 'Jane Ho'

Just call me ‘Jane Ho.’

(I’m not liking myself too much today—can you tell?)

About six months ago. (Eight months ago?--I'm not good with dates.) I received a call on my work voice mail from a Playwright. He explained he did not have the funds to see me but asked if I would mind terribly, returning his call. I did. He explained, in a voice trembling with vulnerability, that he had seen my website for years and was inspired by the words and philosophy of my profession I had written there.

He told me he wrote a play based on the Profession, but hadn’t the nerve to interview me so instead he interviewed other Working Ladies. But, he confessed, he kept my picture and website on his desk throughout the writing process. I was intrigued.

We met for drinks several late nights after work and I read the play he had composed which was based on the inner psychology of a Working Girl. The play was insightful, his words, an honest, precise arrow into varied struggles with painful shame a certain type of lady in my business can wrestle with. I related to the character only as myself many years ago, before I transcended that emotion.

Knowing I had been a professional actress for many years, the Playwright asked me to audition for the part. Although flattered, I could not. My daily life and responsibilities would not allow me the time necessary to prepare for the audition much less put in the rehearsal time needed for just a reading. I declined but promised I would sit beside him at the Reading.

The Reading:
As expected, his words glimmered and shivered with Truth and love for his subject.

The actors, however, as much as I tried to let it roll over me, were somewhat annoying. They read the material from a distance far from their hearts and understanding. Because the subject is so close to me, as is my love for acting, I found myself getting a bit cranky. This subject was too close to the bone. The character he created, was me many years ago and his subject was my life. I had too much experience and too much too say and I hate being misunderstood. Perhaps because I feel that ‘misunderstanding’ of who I am and what I do, every day of my life. The ramifications of that ‘misunderstanding’ can even be dangerous to me.

After the Reading Discussion:
To keep my own mouth busy and shut, I found myself pacing the back of the room, drinking a glass of wine. It would have been wiser to have left right then. Mostly out of love and respect for The Playwright, whom I admire, I stayed to listen.

The lead actress finally came to the stage and was asked how she felt playing this type of woman, ‘a prostitute’.

She had not mutilated the role, but she hadn’t gotten close to the soul of the words either. She made an effort, but it was clear, she had no way to bring the material into her being. Unaware of this, she was in her ‘star-of-the-moment’ glory. She tossed her hair from the back of her head to the front, leaned forward clasping her hands, placing them in a serious pose on her knees and said to the audience:

"Well, you know," she said thoughtfully, "I discovered Prostitutes are just people, sort of like you and I."

The detonating device that had been ticking in my solar plexus, exploded. Placing my empty wineglass on the hosting table, I saw myself as if from a distance, turn on my heels, Military-style, and briskly walk out the door.

The Playwright, noticing this from the stage, I surmise, must have seen the steam blasting out my ears. His hand caught the elevator door and together we descended to the lobby.

Hugging and kissing him, I reassured him I thought his words were brilliant. He would not let me go, wanting to know what had happened to me at the end. We played, "No nothing. I just have to go home." And, "No. I want to know. It must be something." Back and forth for a few moments until finally it just erupted out of me:

"Prostitutes’ are just like you and me? My God! How insulting. That’s like saying, ‘I met a few Jewish people and discovered ‘they’ are ‘people’ too! Wow. What a discovery. Ugh! It’s like saying, ‘black people are people too. Who knew?' So, so, so—ugh!"

(I have a brilliant way with words, no?!—that’s why I prefer acting—the words of genius minds are lent to my mouth.)

I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have let it affect me. I should have had more class. I should have had a second glass of wine.

Should-a Would-a Could-a

Haven’t heard from the Playwright since.
Wrote him to apologize.
Wrote him to again tell him how much I loved his words.
No reply.
Woke up this morning hating myself. Finding it difficult to forgive myself.

The only positive quality I could assign to myself was Consistency.

If I’m anything, I’m Consistent: I suck.

Both figuratively.

And literally.


At 8:55 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

yo Jane
Don't be so hard on yourself. Somebody "gets' where you're coming from and then immediately you meet someone who "slapps you" with the old prejudiced bias that you are trying to overcome. You're dealing with overcoming Millenia of reppresion and denial of the innate power and transcendence of sexuality and the divine feminine.
Personally I think this has occured because of fear. It is said that being "loved" by an Angel can be terrifying because of the intensity of the experience. Be proud of yourself that you are willing to try to overcome all this and in doing so express who you are
freely and openly and try to share with others in an environment that is openly hostile to what you are trying to achieve
BTW I don't think you suck at all figuatively
as to the literal, I have no experience and cannot comment (wink)
Think for the moment , what would happen to society if everyone openly embraced your philosopy. It would literally be heaven on earth. Too many powers & principalities have a vested interest in seeing this not happen. The fact that you feel anguish over the situation is to your credit, and is understandable. But try to cut yourself some slack.
If it's any consolation , I think you're great, even if right now you don't agree. And I've never even met you.
Save , of course, thru this journal.

At 12:22 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dear Anonymous...how can I thank you for you kind understanding of the inner struggle? Extremely perseptive of you as I am not that astute a writer, but you managed to see through to the heart and that alone was a salve on a self-inflicted wound.
xx+ your o

At 12:25 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Also, I have a story that occured tonight that deals with what you said regarding 'what would happen if the world took on this paradigm of thought'..but I need a day or so to mull it over as to how to express it best..stay tuned and i will try to address it!

At 12:27 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

And also, I love your words..'being loved by angel'..I hae a story about that as well..remind me and I will attempt it but it is a bit long..


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