What the hell... Shallow newsbreaks on the background are creating a harsh soundtrack to my mental cruising. Perpetual hostages, explosions, president's bullshit pumped up to comic size. Nothing new. Only the bad news, finely selected and concentrated, with a hint of a rancid sensation. They're teaching us to lose.
I'm kinda lost again. It annoys me, worries me and saddens at the same time. What he told me, maybe it's true? Until 18 years I've always been living in love condition. And after that - only naked cynicism, perverted thinking and amoral ambitions. Nice cocktail, isn't that? Falling in love for a couple of days, like an animal, weird imaginations, senseless and numb nights - that's easy, that's rock'n'roll. As Lenny would have put it, shabba labba living.
But sometimes, in my dreams I wake up, and I know that is for real. I wake up and I see what I have become. Yes, I'm strong mentally, able to fight, creative, living in a turmoil, facing numerous "stardom difficulties" - and all the more I'm amiable and devilishly sexy. What the hell do I need more? Everyone I meet of the "mere mortals" is falling in envy equally as the ones counted to be stars are falling in love. With me and about me. But that's a miserable surface cover. When I wake up, with these tears still hanging on my cheeks, with that pain, and desire, and urge, and... inability. They are praising what I do, but this is NOTHING!!! Then I could sing, I could write, I could compose - I was creative the way I've seen it. And now... I just remember how it was then. Lenny dropped a phrase during that conversation, that if he wakes up and is unable to see the artist in the mirror, he will jump out of a bridge. Maybe it's the time for me to do it? For the last three years mirrors have seen only a fascinating face, catchy smile and playful eyes. Shocking sight, brave makeup and... what more? Where is that depth, that seriousness in relations, that continuing feeling of love within?..
But on the other side, it's all right. I'm working days and nights for my career, people are telling me that I'm gettin' famous, half in earnest, half in jest. I have no time to date, to meet my friends, to study or to build my own home. I'm trying to calm myself down and justify it with my high goals, that after all I don't need this routine. But when my work becomes routine, I realize that besides of all, I have no time to create. To be creative, to bleed for every line - oh, how much I want it! To suffer thoughts messing around my brain, waiting to be written down, - but I only suffer the silence. The deafening silence.
So maybe he was right when he supposed that I need to fall in love? That condition has always inspired me, but... When the hell was the last time I ever loved?! And am I still able to experience such things?.. And... I don't want routine. Here in this country it's impossible to find someone according to my taste. Neither visually, nor mentally. I'm much too western. Much too active and willing. But still a twilight cruiser. Eager to sacrifice everything for this ability to create. And love is also included in this "everything". An endless circle. Aimless shooter, heh... I know what it feels like.
But what disaster should have happened within me to transform from that angel on a rack, who pierced himself and wounded his own flesh and soul with memories of one single day in mutual love with a married stranger, into the worm on a needle, also suffering, but suffering of inability, still knowing that the mechanisms of regeneration are working properly and that I will survive anyway...
I want to cry: Save me! But who the hell is listening?..