I want to be an Actor. I want to be a producer. I want to be a writer. I want to be a costume designer. I want to be a director. I want to be a dancer. I want to be a singer. I want to be a choreographer. I want to be a composer. I want to be a lighting technician. I want to be a scenic designer. I want to be a lyricist. I want to be a key grip. I want to be an artist. I want to be a cartoonist. I want to be a teacher. I want to be a professor. I want to be a student. I want to be a bartender. I want to be a stage combat coordinator. I want to be a stage manager. I want to be an editor. I want to be a musician. I want to be a fireman. I want to be a farmer. I want to be a makeup artist. I want to be a critic. I want to be a hairdresser. I want to be a cook. I want to be a cowboy. I want to be a clerk. I want to be a dramaturge. I want to be a courtesan. I want to be a secretary. I want to be an ideal. I want to be the summer sun on a hornet’s wings. I want to be a superman. I want to be hot and spicy snow. I want to be Buddha. I want to be the three legs of the glass corner table upon which the world rests. I want to be a stroke in a Gustav Klempt. I want to be a breath of Thoreau. I want to be the first thing ever. I want to be inside the mind of an animal. I want to be on the tip of her tongue. I want to be ethereal sensation. I want to be the suppleness that doesn’t decay. I want to be a low, throbbing hum.

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