Too Many Flashing Lights

The Packers won. Kanye proved once again how much of an idiot he really is. Pink joined the circus. And Lady Gaga proved that her lyrics really do flow through her veins. I say that all the time: these words are my blood. Usually in reference to whatever novel I'm working on, or some play I'm part way through writing or recently I've gotten into song writing. Yes, some things about me are very stereotypical. Like me writing and wanting to be an author and/or playwright. I draw inspiration from everything around me. But a lot of it comes from what has happened and what has been done to me. Sometimes I'll turn something that I lived through into a play and then the play itself becomes some kind of closure for me. Words alone haven't been cutting it lately so that's why I've gotten into writing songs. The process of writing is very helpful, but imagining how I would perform them is what really helps the heart. Most of the time I see myself in some kind of Velma Kelly kind of situation. Not only singing, but emotionally releasing the words onto the audience. I don't just sing a song, I usually end up acting it out. It doesn't always sound good, but you can hear the panic, desperation, hurt and frustration in my voice. I think that is what makes it a good performance. The kind of day that I went through in the last twenty four hours leaves me so broken, hollow, drained, empty and furious I'm so overly inspired I don't know what to do. I want to sit and write a new play, but I can't stay seated long enough. I want to work on a few chapters for the novels I have been writing, but I wouldn't be able to seperate the character from myself. I want to go running, but I have no iPod and I would totally play chicken with cars given the mood I'm in. I want to have wild crazy sex, but even though there's a cloud of stupor around me I can still see that would be a bad idea. I want to talk to someone, but all my friends are on other continents or busy. The closest thing I did to talking was try to get a hold of one of my housemates girlfriends. Now I want to smoke a cigarette and listen to the Lady Gaga Paparazzi performance over and over again until I fall asleep. I have been listening to it since I got back from classes. I'm sure someone in the house is annoyed, but no one has said anything yet. I am completely obsessed with right now because her passion and hurt mirror what I am feeling on the inside. Even the bullet to the stomach emulates what I am feeling. I do feel like I was shot in the stomach. I feel like the life and energy is flowing out of me with each beat of my heart. And, honestly, I don't even feel the need to find a suture. This kind of wound has been done to me repeatedly over the past several years. You might think I'm being dramatic and simply distraught over some guy. But this is not just mere boy problems. I guess the problem is due to the fact that I like boys. This has caused such great shifts and chasms amongst my immediate family that I can not even begin to describe them on here. Hence, the me writing a book thing. What I can say about what happened today, is that I am now no longer just at the core of problems in my immediate family, but the destruction that is my "choice" has now effected my extended family. Pinning brother versus sister, and pulling even more on the unraveling family blanket that I was once protected under. All I can do is shake my head and try not to scream out loud and violently dance myself into an exhaustion. I've matured enough to no longer want to punch walls and break windshields, most of the time. Nowadays I just want to scream a song, dance myself into a sweaty exhaustion and then sleep the world away. Which, again, is why I am dangerously in love with last nights Gaga performance. The whole thing kind of mimics how my day went. It starts out looking glamorous, albeit slightly unique, and then just turns into an aggressive, fast paced, bloody ending. Complete with tears and bellows. Even the lyrics have new meaning today. I keep chasing after my parents to love me for exactly what I am. But we both keep wrecking one another and now it's even more complicated because there are even more people on stage. It seems like every conversation and sentence turns into a some big explosion, a flash of light that blinds me, stuns me, annoys me and makes me want to retreat to a dark corner. With so many flashing lights going on recently, and for the past few years, I am too lit up to even make my mind up. It's hard, pretty much impossible, when you constantly have flashbombs going off inside your brain and behind your eyelids to function at normal speed. I just need some peace and quiet in a darkroom, maybe then I could try to develop a few photos. But I don't want to be in the darkroom alone. I am criminally tired of being single, but simultaneously unsure if any guy out there could even handle the flashstorm that is my life. I mean, how many guys out there deal with their problems by sweating them out to dance music? Even if there is such a guy, he probably won't want to put the effort forth. Or he'll think I'm too young to be taken seriously. Or he'll just hit it and quit it. Yeh, you know who you are. So that leaves me to rely on me alone to wipe up my wounds, disinfect my bullet holes and sew up my own cuts. I am all for self dependency, but I am also a firm believer in companionship. And, the word all gays fear, relationships. I can keep shielding my own face from the flashing lights, but that leaves me little energy to be useful for anything else. My grades suffer, my personality darkens and my smile fades. And, I must confess, it all makes me Marlboro friendly. Don't give me that look; you try holding the epicenter of family destruction on your shoulders and see if you don't take to bad habits. I think I should get free tickets for not turning into a coke head. You think that my now I should be use to the bright lights, but they still sting my retinas and make my flinch. As much as I would like to succumb to the weight of the lights and just refuse to get up, I tell myself I have to hold out for the day when the lights are for my new family portrait.