To Intentional Hamming (first letter)

Do you want a transference of technique from stage to screen?
Why would you?
What’s your game?
The exaggerated gestures, the formalized timbres and consistent loudness of voice, the rolling whites of your eyes, the address of the audience (often with nothing more than a knowing wink or exasperated sigh), all of it persists in you.
The obsolescence of the silent era has been a lie. You won’t let it go.
You’re continually reacting to the traumatic and unspoken. How does one behave in relation to the unrepresentable?
You seem to function as a service — a didactic mirror. You disseminate performative models for the making-up of ourselves.
That’s all incidental though, isn’t it?
I think you’re kicking a corpse. You’re playing with the ugly truth of our being. You want to expose an equivalency between the generic and specific — the erasure of a multitude formed by singularities.
I still don’t know, in any given instance, what it is you might be calling out exactly. Is it me, us, the situation, our servitude and supposed idiocy?
I’m missing the mark. It’s the limitations of that freak show called Culture that you’re after. You show us what’s not acknowledged in trying to live up to what we think and feel we should be.
I suspect a sense of conscience was once formed by our failures to meet ethical standards — moral principles we affirmed in defining our identities. Your efforts now reveal us to be in the service of other goals — ones that aren’t even our own.
Becoming has been replaced by its dramatization.
Ideal selves are always hovering just beyond realization, demanding ongoing processes of rote mimicry and possession. Inadequacy is a relentless taskmaster.
We’re separated from the possibility of ourselves, from an authorship of self.
You keep acting it out for everyone to see.