February 11, 2003 | 4:28 PM

It's funny how the present changes the past-- how the stories of our lives are constantly rewritten. I see people do this all the time-- and it's spead up more and more, so that on a daily basis there is a reinterpretation of even the most basic facts and held dear belief systems. My day to day life has become the constant unfolding of revisionist history.

Change is good, as long as its along some evolutionary line. But this change-- it's all chaos. There's no meaning in it. When there are no boundaries, no structure, no form, energy spills out everywhere and becaomes impotent. I wake up every day now and have no fucking idea how people will be feeling, behaving, or what their expectations are. It makes relating to anyone in an honest manner almost impossible because I feel as though lately-- since the first of the year anyway, that there is nothing of substance or stability in anything.

Events occur without cause or effect-- like dreams about natural disasters that you wake up from and no one remembers but you.

I often feel like I'm trapped in Ingmar Bergman's Smiles of a Summer's Night The intrigue and the endless restructuring of alliances has exhausted me beyond anything. Do you know how many times I have heard or said "I thought you were my friend" in the past month? Too fucking many.

I absolutely do not know what is real anymore. I have no fucking idea how anyone is going to behave from one moment to the next. I look at people and wonder if they are illusions I've created in my head, or if I am some kind of illusion, or if my whoile life up to this point hasn't been real and just some random firing of neurons, because nothing makes one whit of sense to me. Love disappears. People (including myself) do things they never would have done in a million years. In some moments I am overwhelmed with a certain f;leeting beauty, but overall I can hardly catch my breath. I wonder whether I or anyone else actually says what we mean. Or really if we even mean anything at all.

I can't stand living in a maze of fun house mirrors. I need something concrete and real. There's a difference between stretching as a person and knowing that everything you ever counted on hasn't been real. Does that mean the love you felt wasn't a real? I have no fucking clue.

I just don't know what the hell is going on anymore and I'm scared and overwhelmed. Honestly, when I am on stage rehearsing I feel like that world I am in is far realer and more signifigant than whatever the hell it is I am improvising my way through here.