Whether it be a prison, the cold expanse of the moon, or worse, an empty bedroom once deemed your own; things can and will become boring.
Hello again, tis I, Nic, hoping in a swirl of doubt that anything more then sweet reassurances could come of committing my ideas to paper. Maybe this is my many unfilled books and expensive diaries getting their revenge for never being used, all except I believe one -- it was very small, could fit in your pocket new, but as a summer three years ago wore on, I found ways of filling it; trivial facts, notions, borrowed ideas, serial numbers -- anything I could think of. I figured it was a good idea, even at such a young age I cherished nostalgia. I remember when I was twelve I had a calendar given to me for Christmas posted on my bedroom door where I would write little synopsis's of my days activities on them. One day would read, "Report due", another "read 'Amityville Horror' for English" (I'm Serious), a third would have said "pack your shit and break your ties, the snow won't fall forever", but I didn't. not till I really missed my home did I feel apathy for Victoria, Texas.
I'm sorry, that's the past.
Speaking future-wise, (yes, the reason I really wanted to write today), Kyle never wanted to return to me, so, heart broken, I would walk about outdoors in a ponderous state thinking of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Oh, I have so many choices, but ambition be the death of me, I can't decide on any of them. In no order whatsoever -- Educator, Artist, Film Maker, Erotic Politician, Musician, Writer of juvenile fiction, president, and finally, Ruler of the World. Would it be senseless to choose only one if boundless potential can come flowing at a moments summons?
I'd very much like to be a Teacher -- a drama teacher more precisely, or maybe English. Advanced English. I've checked out "Dead Poets Society" too many times to question whether I should buy my own copy (Video or DVD?) wasn't it so inspiring? Perhaps if you had my education (*laughs uncontrollably*) you'd see why. My teachers from Alaska all the way from 2nd grade onwards to my graduation year, SUCKED. Now two or three can avoid my disdain because they actually, and quite truly, cared about us, and teaching us, and education, and learning. Those of you who think I'm a flake for mentioning something so silly need only remind them of what they hated most in school? No, the homework would have been a blessing if you truly admired the person whom you were writing them for. And on the other end of the pantheon are the shit teachers. Yes, the ones who were too boring, didn't give it their "all", were more caught up in their personal lives to give a fat shit about shaping others -- THOSE, my friends, were the bad ones... I could go on but I'd miss my chance of entertaining you with my other fine points.
Artist -- now, art being a first love, would be an obvious, but dangerous idea to account for. Art, like many other single-syllable words, can imply anything. Like "Fun", or "Sex", or "Meat", "Work" (is there common ground between all of those words, if so, get your mind out of the gutter! That's not what I was implying) for instance, I made $100 painting some fantasy artwork on the wall of a headshop. Does this make me an artist with a tangible career? Most likely, but poverty scares me, and not everyone wants a very big pretty picture posted on their wall (but the guy at the Capri Lounge does, obviously) all I'm saying is, I wouldn't trust something as trivial as art for security...nothing against it, get your degree and off you fly, WHEE!, into the great wide expanses of commercial and industrial art. enjoy it if it suits you, I for one, am a professional, and tend not to be the hired gun, so to speak.
Film Making -- Another very broad, interstellar Job. A person who makes Film. No, doesn't synthesize the actual film stock like those very well paid Fuji-guys, but their customers rather, people who make little personalized tributes to themselves & the geniuses who thought up all the ideas they rip off. Sad to say but I don't enjoy being scammed, I've bought a used car already, thank you. all the film schools are out to do is to capitalize off of confused people -- most who are seeking vocational instruction in the visual arts because they can't comprehend the very substance in which their arts were created -- Discovery. In that, I wouldn't want to go through such means to get certified or degreed to hound studios with it for opportunities as a cable-humper on some OTHER guys movie set.
Erotic Politician -- Well, writing that was more a joke then anything else, but to be totally honest, Philosophy would be a great path to follow on the road to self-actualization. I mean, I'm doing it right now. I have an audience, people are reading, and in a calm state such as while scanning pages one can comprehend more then say, at gun point. I won't be as great as, say, Nietzsche or Wickenstein, but I say people aren't going to make very good, well, people, if their lives are too screwed up to contend with managing themselves.
Musician -- This is one I can handle and may frankly say, was born to do. I've got the looks, the Sound, and the feel of someone destined to make a brain rattling noise with a piece of hardware. Now, if only I can find three or four others who'll help me. that's the tough part: I'm being pulled in four directions musically, only one way of course being my own: I have the leanings to become a Gothic Industrial artist, but friends of mine (questionably), want me to play in either a Punk rock band (guitar), Nu-Metal type "hardcore" crapola (guitar again) and most recently, a "Power Metal" combo. Maybe this needs some explanation, but Power Metal is a style that sort of died out in the early nineties when Alternative meshed too deeply with what was once known as Metal. Power Metal soared with beautiful vocals, lightening fast guitar, very fast double-peddled drums and deep bass. Those of you in the world who'd like to believe it's still alive love to make the other music fans look stupid in some form or fashion by calling them "Trendies", "Posers", ( I know there's an alternate spelling for that) or "Rapper creeps"... it's all pretty unnerving, but on my end of the switchboard there's the Gothic Industrial artists. People who are quite sure there's a market out there for stuff that can't get on the radio, nor MTV. They may be right, but should they be striving for some monetary means for making that which makes them happy. Be it relate to anything, I feel they should be shot for it. it's exactly what this world doesn't need. It's for Your Own Enjoyment. Naturally.
I had a couple of other headings in my list, some of which include Author, President, and for the sake of over emphasis, God. I couldn't be president, too much drug use. (and that discredits George W.??), or I could be an author for children, a VERY positive idea, but I don't write very well under stressful circumstances, or during daylight hours for that matter, so I'd turn into a vampire who'd sleep in a coffin throughout the day & come out of my casket at night to write the next bestseller-list Blitzing Young-Adult thriller...yeah, right. I mean, I'll probably get a million thoughtful reassuring emails telling me to go for it, I write well, I'm lurid, I should jump off a cliff cause kids wouldn't get it -- whatever the case being. But can you recall those books ever being different I any way? There's millions and millions of Y/A novels that were and still are on the market -- but aside from obvious genre placement & promotion, could you tell if they were any different from the others on the shelf? They all dealt with disillusioned/alienated kids who come upon a predicament that they can't trust in confiding with their parents, or in another case, they wont listen. It's then up to the protagonist to save the day & make everyone happy at the very end. A similar summation could be found in the Scooby-Do cartoons: a group of idiots get led around by their noses while being instilled with fear of the unexplainable, then as they have some downtime to figure stuff out, the whole pretense that was worked up to in the body of the plot is revealed as being utter bullshit, so all is left is to "Yank" the rubber mask off "previously introduced minor character with enough stake in the situation to get involved & not let you know about it till it's up in your face as being overtly obvious" credits roll, everyone is happy, all is well. Maybe my conscience is a little too protective of my affairs, but I'm pretty confused. And, for the sake of purpose, how would life be like if I were to undertake any one of these as a Gay individual? Life as a teacher would be tough -- I'd have to closet myself (something in which I have no problem, like anybody out there alive who's afraid of the consequences if someone finds out they have bad gas, pick their nose, have a small dink, stutter, B.O., leprosy, stigmata, autism, a deaf ear, a cleft palette, a missing leg. ANYTHING WHICH COULD HINDER YOUR SOCIAL LIFE.) and worse yet, if found out, there's always the possibility of getting fired on assumption that I, in contact with impressionable children, would molest them, or worse, teach them about prejudices like homophobia. That's intolerable in the modern American educational system. (Be warned that I'm laughing at that above sentence, I apologize if I offended anyone, that wasn't meant in a serious manner, I've got a warped sense of humor.)
To save space, the same could be said about ALL of the performing arts & sciences: Film Making, Art and Music, as well as theater and other acting pursuits, would all be hindered by being outed. I couldn't make a piece of art without people considering me as a person as well. Think of H.R. Giger, the surrealist. You can't help but wonder what sort of sick twisted nut would air brush pictures of giant ebony cocks all over his canvases. He's not gay, he's a basketcase. That's easily explainable; the inventor of Ridley Scott's ALIEN creation should be institutionalized. That's up to speculation. I don't know about, nor care to know, his sexual orientation, but that's what makes Giger special, giant penises lifting into the sky. People may think the same of me if my work were to ever go mainstream. They'd wonder what about the artwork before them could tell the most of who painted it. I may not paint anything erotic, but there definitely needs some explanation about why all the human figures I've ever drawn never have heads. Becoming a film maker wouldn't be much fun either if I had to spend all my will protecting what I made. If Ellen all of a sudden came packaged as a full length feature film (and she did to a small degree when that cute little 8-minute movie called "Trevor" was made) everyone will go "What'd the fag-hag direct?". They'd watch it and go, "The Eyes of a Lesbian are upon us. Cower in fear little ones, my legion of Mulleted dykes will eat your family. Roar!" in more simple less comical words, they couldn't watch it and wonder what personal message was behind it. maybe "Trick" and "Jeffery" and "The Lonely Hearts Club" failed at the box office for a reason. Subject matter. I couldn't help but want to bring up music as well in this introspective moment I'm sharing here. Why doesn't music by gay people work out? And don't you bombard me with silly nonsense like, "What about Elton John?!" and not let me finish, I'll get to that. People love you less if they can't identify with what you sing/speak/howl about. They understood Ginsberg because he was a Jewish beatnik and a very brilliant man, they understood (Sir)Elton john because in the seventies with enough cocaine nothing much seemed too bizarre for public consumption. Then what about Rob Halford? Wasn't there a period back there you were wondering what he was doing with all that sequined leather? Now you know. And no he isn't still selling records because of who he likes bonking in the bedroom on his own time, it's because he was in Judas Priest and he can kick anyone's ass. All I'm saying is that what I'd be spouting would take too much effort to convey without doing what I do best, let nature take it's course.
And to top it all off, who would be the first lady if elected?
So, after this WHOLE rant, my point being, what the hell would I do with my life if everything I do would be construed (not in it's literal sense) and put under a microscope, and being the person I am that HATES that sort of attention, what would I as a person do about without nullifying everything I've worked toward?
I don't know, maybe I'm just being too anal about everything. After all, I AM a perfectionist. You know what would be most relieving right now? A blow. No, wrong head, I'm talking a concussion, head injury, brain damage. By god, whoever first said Ignorance is bliss must have been either the biggest idiot on earth or the wisest man among us. I wish I didn't know the things I do, I wish my mother never read to me as a child, I wish I had a one-track mind & I wish I was SO STUPID I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. That's right, a real vegetable -- give me a feeding tube, turn on some cartoons and let my limited afternoon schedule of playing with blocks, finger painting and medication testing take full swing. I want to wear a blue bathrobe over striped pajamas, a pair of bunny slippers and the worst haircut imaginable. I want 30 minute increments of socialization with the fat guy & the narcoleptic who drools.
No, these aren't my wishes, just my fantasies. Wishes and dreams always come true for me... I'd like to have been groomed for medical school or something else as equally inane. I just don't want the responsibility of being the omnipresent shadow in someone's past. Love, Work, Play -- I couldn't live without them all... man, as a complex animal needs only worry about the four hierarchies of existence: Eat, Sleep, Fuck & Bite one another. Everything else is filler. But so few recognize this. I mean, what would happen if someone slapped you upside the head and told you "Man, you've gotta get with it and grow your own vegetables." They wouldn't become enlightened in the most optimistic sense, they'd become confused and scared... why go through such indignities when they can ride to the office, file that paper work, do things you don't like to do for people you'd never respect for money you can never keep. It's all so futile. And that's one of the problems I have. I don't know, in this ray of sunshine I call truth, what it could be out there that would make me happy so as not to cheat myself & others of the gifts of individuality. This is THX 1138 all over again, shave my head, call me Robert Deniro with a numerical surname, and lets get it on with that softcore on the glass tit. Lord knows I've got either the choice to put down the remote & make a break for the exit hatch or I can answer that page I heard over the intercom & keep up with all the degradation's of humanity.
Thanks for listening, well keep in touch...
(Nic, one of his many aliases, is currently 18 (stands 5'11, #140(?), hollow-eyed loves metal jewelry!) living with relatives in rural South Texas, Plays guitar in a local punk band, arranges synths for Industrial projects, writes when the moods swings him best, has made plans to go to college for reasons unknown, and spends most of his time either reading up on his favorite musicians, reading existential novels and detailing his beautiful Black Fiero GT with Koenig rims & post-factory exhaust. But most of all, Wishes he Could have Kyle back. But in the meantime, he'd like to contend with patching up neglected friendships that he had let fall apart too long ago & just wants to be loved and respected like everyone else. He works at a popular bar/ night hangout & loves to dye his hair. Calico has been a second favorite style. His ICQ UIN is 37470036, Email is firstname.lastname@example.org and loves feedback. )