You know, I was thinking about it, and I realized, that many of my interest are very. very, very, taboo. Even today. For some reason, things like the history of homosexuality (note: HISTORY. I'm pretty sure everyone knows that I know almost everything about homosexuality............being homosexual you tend to learn these things). Like, did you know, back at the turn of the century and the 1920's, homosexuality was actually very much widely accepted? Some of the biggest stars of the day were gay. Valentino was suspected to be, much to his annoyance, other men's jealousy, and my disappointment, he was straight. And then, everyone's favorite bad boy & rebel, James Dean, liked to take it in the panusch. Some say that early on, most studios turned him down, and he didn't get his 3 big roles until he finally decided that, despite his obvious talent, he was gonna have to bend over a few desks in Hollywood to get famous. Not that brings me to my other odd fascination, prostitution. I've never known why, but the idea of selling or trading someone's own body for money or something in return has always piqued my interest. Now, of course, you'd probably say, well, that must mean you want to be a prostitute. Well, actually, no, I'd rather avoid that if possible, although, if it's a deal breaker when I begin my hopefully successful Hollywood career, I'll put out if neccesary. What's always really interested me though, is the existence of gay prostitution almost as long as straight prostitution. It fascinates me really. Just like suicide. Suicide, has always been just this fixation for me. Visions of slit wrists, smokey garages, bloody sidewalks, and cut throats filling my brain, unbelievably, since I was around 7 or 8. It's like, when I first heard of the movie, "The Virgin Suicides", I just HAD to see it. The sight of Lux's limp arm hanging out the station wagon door, clutching a still lit cigarette, the garage filled with deadly fumes, is now imprinted in my mind forever. The there's her sister, Mary, only her legs being seen, the rest of her in the oven, the hiss of gas inside, the obvious bloody knife. Now, the mention of sisters brings me to one of the most disturbing interests of mine, incest. I've never onc ehad an incestual thought about my family in my life, but, I eat it up like trashy gossip whenever I hear of another incestual love story in some place in the world. Like that father and daughter in Australia who never met before, and fell in love, before realzing their connection, but then, ignoring it, and starting a family. My odd fascination has gone to the point where I actually got an idea for a story about it, about twin brothers in 1930's Italy (no matter how disturbing the story, my mind always places it somewhere far off in another time) who find themselves falling in love with eachother. Things like this, just popping into my head, sometimes make me question my sanity. But then I realize, if I was crazy, and I was put on some sort of drug, then what do I have left? My immense and seemingly "mind-of-its-own" imagination is the source of this, and if I lost that, well, then I'd be nothing. In my opinion, not being able to dream and imagine is the greatest crime of humanity. That to not have imagination, is about as good as being dead. Now, Death. Another one of my fascinations. Possibly my greatest one. The subject of death has been instilled in my brain since I can remember. I went to my first funeral when I was 4. No one ever talked to me really about it, even though it was the death of my great-grandma Trinny, who from what I can remember, I was good friends with as a toddler. But not once did anyone ever try to explain to me what happened. I asked what actually did happen to hear when I was maybe 5, and what I got was an explanation about how she was elderly, her organs were very weak, and her kidneys failed, causing her to pass away during the night. I understood the first time that death was the end of life, but to this day, I wonder, is it really? Is it the end of all, or really just the beginning of something else? An afterlife? A higher being, presence? A becoming of one with nature? Or does my soul simply disappear, vanish from the earth, and my empty body rotts in the ground. No more thoughts, no more dreams, no more self-awareness, just, nothing. What religion is correct? Do we join jesus in the holy kingdom, or god? Do we become one with Nirvanna, or Buddha? Are we judged when pass on to this afterlife? Are we judged harshly? If we do not meet some standard, are dropped, descended into a torturous hell for all eternity? Or just for as long as we did what we did wrong? Does the punishment reflect the crime? Or is it just unending pain? But most importantly? Do we actually go somewhere? Or do we instead become one with nature? Retaining our self-awarity but coming some element? Do we become the wind that sweeps that hat of your head? Do we become the wave that crashes on that shore? That gust that sweeps throught the city? That torrent of rain that soaks your clothes? That wind that you hear late at night, sccccrrrreeeeeaaaaammmmmiiiinnnngggg? I just want to know.
On top of all this, is my most un-taboo, un-odd, obsession of all, love. We crave it, we seek it, we need it, we...............love it. I know I want love. It's pretty obvious if you were to know any of the many stories that have shoved their ways into my head, waiting to laid on paper, and heard around the world..........just the way a love-sick person wants to be laid down on a bed. It's like the song "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?". "Is this a lasting, treasure? Or just a moment's, pleasure? Tonight with words, unspoken, you say that I'm the only one. But will my heart be broken, when the night, meets the morning sun?". People need it. Almost every story I have locked in my head, has some sort of love. Even in the story a 1920's male Lolita, who seduces a british Duke, then uses his age to blackmail him, eventually ends with love. And really, doesn't everyone desserve some sort of love? Love makes everything better, makes the world go round you could say. Everyone desserves to be loved.
Despite my insane, somewhat disturbing interests, thoughts, and admittedly unpopular subject ideas for novels & movies, well, when you think about it, there's a film festival for everything, and you have to admit, something I said must've gotten you thinking. Well, that's just me. A slight case of ADD, possible cases of kleptomania & pyromania, possible insanity, and a generally warped vision of reality, and of course, to top it all off, homosexuality, you get me, homopsychotic.
