Three Sisters (II)

Three years ago, we watched this brilliant (and I mean it, I just didn't know it then) adaption of Three Sisters by Chekhov in an old abandoned meat market which looked like this on the exterior

So the adaption was based on the film Taxi Driver which also starred Jodie Foster so the whole premise was this bloodshed nudity and violence that I, with my eagerness, could not understand. I was frightened by the whole grandeur, elapsing between shock and the modern calm where some scenes were acted out.

And now three years later, three years of nothing's changed- something's change and I understood or I pretend to understand the avant-garde theater tricks that had failed to get to me before. Its pessimism infected me like wildfire and when my final paper came, and all literature beckons- I crippled before the face of it, only understanding it meant the hopelessness after the murders of the Tsars, the fallen Empire.... everything, life.

There is nothing in life for the sisters, but that doesn't mean there isn't anything in ours. To think otherwise is too depressing.

But that's a hard thing to understand, even now- especially when you're leaving, telling me about your dentist, there is always a sentence that never completes itself