go on a road trip with no predetermined destination

noon. just got up. i have to say that yesterday was a real kind of hell. i didn’t go to sleep until 5:30 on Friday, even though i was sick the night before, and didn’t really sleep. i remember when i used to write just to make myself feel better. complete stream of consciousness. it was easier then to not worry about the professional pressure i mentally hit myself with. because i was still physically trained enough and, well, was still in the closet. it really hit me yesterday that my entire life up till now has been a lie. keep writing. although i am on my side in bed typing with one hand. it doesn’t work quite as well for the typing. but it’s comfortable everyplace else. keep typing. my room is a mess. a bomb – no – christmas hit the place. seriously, i am sick dude. sneezing coughing runny nose headaches. ii took a drive all over residential north seattle yesterday. it was the only way i could start to feel better. granted i did use about 1/2 a tank of gas, but i did talk myself out, which was good and that i am now happy for. in this ‘wire’ black voice. angry about being gay. putting it further into perspective. like the thought that if i have been in the closet for my entire life, then i can’t actually separate the closet from my identity, because there is no data for that situation to draw any conclusions from. then complicating the matter is the fact that i have been so many different people, felt so many different ways about myself over the course of my life. what’s really confusing – ‘been inside many heads in different positions’ – is the sense that all my good times and successes, that i strongly reference and am proud of, also need to be reinterpreted into the context of me in the closet. because i pretty much have now done all the memory work putting all the bad memories into perspective. wow the sun just came out and totally brightened up my room! i love it when little things like that happen. i tried to … keep typing. i usually try to take pictures of those things when they happen, even though i only have a camera phone so the quality is not that great. i’ve been watching a lot of good film and tv this year – hi q – and ever since i went on my stoned eddie izzard trip last christmas, i’ve been trying to work out the values professional cinematographers and photographers put on different sectors of the screen. and how they use everyday objects to symbolically tell stories. i mean, i’m not high on this, i do have a theatre degree with real directing experience, though not in film. and anyway it seems that not only do the cameras and actors follow this certain set of rules, it also seems that people in real life do, too! like where god is, where sex is, what different physical tensions mean. physically for the actors and pictorally for the camera. where real remembering is, where feelings are, how people find their own ways to stand tall, through their personal relationships, how sex and death – especially death – are symbolically given and taken between actors and people in every scene or exchange. i ran across one of those pictures yesterday in residential shoreline. it was a quiet, kinda shabby part of town, with no sidewalks and the roads just give way to dirt and ditches on either side, some houses with tarps in the windows, others new two stories over large garages. reminds me of home. funny since they’re all probably at least $400K. i had just eaten my little meal from arby’s and had my first coffee when i drove up to this place i don’t even know where now. i came up to this intersection – no. i was going south on this little residential road with the shabby houses and i was coming up to the dead end, but there was this last intersection with the “Dead End” sign where you could turn right. i stop at the intersection for a few to realize i had left my phone at home. i could see the end of the road from where i had put it in park, and there was this line of trees separating it from the elevated freeway on the other side. and hey, maybe since it was supposed to be a picture in my mind, (oh – haha) the trees were closer on the left side of the mud smeared concrete than they were on the right, so they had the effect of receding as you read them. as did I-5; headlights streaking slightly up and away. i bet there was an underpass nearby. i couldn’t get to the freeway if i kept going this way. i was being forced to turn. right. and it was getting late in the day, so that’s actually where the light was coming from, the west. i know that to get to the freeway in any city across america all you have to do is follow the signs; it hit me that i’ve been following my own signs for years. so maybe i’m already there, on the freeway. there just aren’t a lot of other cars on this stretch, i guess. as i continue to separate my understanding of the real world from the one we represent to ourselves – i realize that my continuing sense of fear is based on a secrecy that, the more i transgress it, appears to be a prison with no guards.