The Extra

At a certain point in life one ceases to be oneself, and from that
moment forward one chooses one's own personality, which is necessarily
someone else's. This is not a moment to be sanguine about onešs past.
It is, rather, a moment when one must focus all onešs energies on the
question at hand, and make the right decision.

In my new role as extra, I have no role at all, but only a presence.
My character may be someone else's, but without a character of my own
there is no way to distinguish between them. The lie of my being may
therefore be avoided: truth is possible, in the absence of substance.

The extra was seen in the background, maybe acting badly. But in the
foreground was the deception, the big lie. The background is only a
set piece, a hint of time and place. Flats lifted away and stored
after the performance. Scrims hoisted dramatically into the flies...

When Hart Crane jumped into the painting of the sea, he did indeed
drown. Extras jump and jump and jump, and never fall more than a few
feet, into bales of hay. The hay is scratchy, and its smell is of the
barnyard. Extras are rolling in it.