If there's one thing I know about people it's that many of them will go to the most melodramatic lengths to fabricate authenticity. Nobody is without insecurity, and there is a bit of a performer in all of us. But there are many that have a permanent spotlight hovering over them like a halo. These people can talk the talk. and they will talk all of the talk. Their script is never-ending. They will talk and talk and talk because if they do all of the talking there is little time for questioning. As any talented actor might, they practice wherever there is an audience. Except it doesn't have to be a sea of people. Performers will put on an act for any individual and all. Practice makes perfect. But to those who are enthralled by the magic, it is never so obviously staged. Performers are meticulous enough to make sure the audience believes. They admit to their character flaws selectively. They place their vulnerabilities on display strategically. These theatrics compel us like nothing else has, but there's more than meets the eye. Once you dare to pull the curtain back and remove their mask as an attempt to dive deeper into their true character, that's when you'll begin to see that the depth you fell for is contrived. You found the script. They are reciting lines. They could never walk the walk, so they distracted you with their over-rehearsed choreography. This discovery is a deep disappointment, so you may deny it, but once you suspect, you can't unsee. Everything they say begins to look like a part of the performance. But somehow knowing this secret about them just adds to the entertainment. It may become impossible for you to look away because you know that the reason for this song-and-dance must stem from insecurity which is an imperfection in itself. So they become a sympathetic character, which is their very best role; the victim. You pity them because you understand why they are the way they are. You find yourself questioning whether they are the villain or the hero. You may applaud them one day and boo them the next, but you're still buying a ticket to every single show like a devoted fan. Witnessing them bask in their angelic spotlight as they seduce the crowd is oftentimes maddening, but you're conflicted as it's absolutely riveting. Because the truth is the charm of their character has bled into your vision of the actor and although you know their delicious secret, maybe it is the ruse that captivates you like nothing else has. The irony is that their performances become predictable after so many alike, and your heart can't take it anymore so you eventually stop showing up. You join the band of critics who've also tired of the antics. But the performer isn't a performer without criticism. The performer is a true believer that no publicity is bad publicity. They are a master of twist and suddenly the criticism colors them the victim again. So they don't mind that you've crossed over. They appear to be heartbroken, because the mezzanine is full of fresh eyes, who will be easily satisfied by shallow fanfare. As long as this continues to be true, the performer will have no motivation to change. As long as there is an endless supply of momentary gains from each production, the attention, the ego boost, the pleasures they feel they deserve for their artistic contributions, the show must go on. The booming applause serves as proof to the performer that this upkeep of a facade is imperative to society. It encourages a lack of original identity. You eventually realize the performance is more for themselves than it is for the viewers. The amount of time they devote to creating their persona is because they so desperately need to believe that they're above the audience no, above the world! It kills you because they're painfully close to true reflection. They're putting effort into manufacturing a false idol when they could be putting that effort into themselves. As you mourn the existence of a person who never existed, you wish the performer a happy ending. You force yourself to consider the possibility that one day they could remove their costume and be rid of the need to shape themselves for public validation. You imagine their euphoric epiphany. It's a nice daydream but the scene is unlikely. Whether it does or does not play out, find comfort in the fact that you won't be there to witness it. .
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Eternal Metamorphosis 