I will be collecting fan made paintings of Mikey Way, acrylic or oil, canvas and board. I want enough to fill an entire room, portraits are preferable but will accept on-stage full figure shots.
The paintings do not have to be “good”, though any painting of Mikey Way will be good… art is subjective.
~ summary of tweets by Gerard Way 15th of May 2010
Painted Love (All My Reflections Count for Nothing)
They think it is a joke. They do not understand it. Why would they? They do not know what he is like, what he likes or why he likes it. Maybe he does not quite know the why either. He tried to explain it to Gee once, but even then, he could not quite put it down into words. Still, Gerard understood him. He always does, even when Mikey is being stranger than usual.
Besides, their scale for what is strange is permanently warped and there are few boundaries between them, it is something that they both can rely on – having someone to talk to. There are very few things that they will not talk about and usually it is things neither of them want to remember or things they just pretend to not know about each other.
Gerard is doing something now, because Mikey asked him to, asked him because coming from Gerard it would not sound the kind of weird it would if he did it. He would probably end up pelted with more unicorns for all he knows and that is not what he needs. What he needs is…something more than his mirrors. The mirrors help when he is feeling like this.
Out of balance, the need is stronger than ever before, all of him just wants.
He used to picture himself in many different ways, the way he would move, the way he would touch himself. The way he could feel himself touch himself… It always sounds so weird when he tries to explain it. No one seems to understand why he would be inserting himself into his own fantasies in this way. Why he would not just fantasize about other people. They do not seem to appreciate the appeal of it at all. This is why he rarely talks about it and when he does, he makes sure that whoever he is talking to is reliable not to repeat anything.
Gerard is reliable, Mikey can talk to him whenever. Other people, though, he has to take some kind of precautions. In the past he was more careless then he counted being drunk or high as an excuse to talk about it with people. Being drunk or high is not a valid excuse anymore.
Pete knew. He understood it too, understood the need and the depth of it. Pete told him about what he needed and Mikey got that too. What they did not have was time – their moment slid past them and neither of them tried to stop it. Maybe they were not ready. Maybe it was too much, too soon.
Mikey tries not to think about it too much, he thinks maybe Pete found someone else who understood Pete, someone that was not Mikey. It does not hurt exactly, because they never made any promises but still…it is something that is always there, a reminder of all the what-ifs.
Mikey dreams sometimes of what it will be like when he finds it – the perfect balance.
They have been on tour for weeks. It has been amazing to see people reacting to their songs. Singing along or more accurately screaming along, the energy flowing between the crowd and the stage. It feels amazing to stand on that stage playing, but it also makes him feel nervous. He feels grateful for the other guys in the band, if he had to be on stage alone, he would be suffocating with anxiety.
They played a great show tonight and he is not quite ready to sleep. He is lying in his bunk, thinking about home, thinking about his room and what is missing.
He has room filled with mirrors. A room he likes to spend time in. Alone.
The only company being his own reflections that surround him on all sides.
The only sounds in the room were his muted soft sighs, the slick sounds of skin against skin.
How he had pictured what was happening how it had almost felt… like there was another him.
He is remembering that night now. He closes his eyes and lets his hands wander. He can see himself clearly when he closes his eyes. Can picture just how he looks at every given time, the way his eyes flutter shut – his eyelashes fluttering slightly.
The stupid way he smiles, his teeth showing, but when he is alone, he does not feel self conscious about it. It is just how he is.
He thinks about the mirrors, they are not enough, but they help. Help him imagine that one day he will step out from one of them and watch himself.
It will never happen, but the fantasy of it happening, keeps him going.
It is not enough, but his imagination is all he has for now.
People always ask about the mirrors or rather they stare at them awkwardly – Mikey does not bother to see those people again. He does not know if he is looking for someone who will get it, get him, or if he is just looking for something impossible. Everyone has fantasies. But he suspects, few think about themselves like this. Mikey throws his head back as he looks into one of the mirrors… the arch of his neck – he sees it now, the fascination people always has with it… there are faded bitemarks on it. He touches them and remembers.
It has been a week since he saw Gabe at some party, they were both drunk and he let Gabe push him against a wall and trap his hands. He had practically melted into Gabe’s arms when he bit him. Biting turns him on, but there was a mirror next to him, he could see himself – how he looked, desperate and needy – it made it even better. He has not told Gabe about it, but he thinks Gabe knows and that is why he chose that wall to push him against. Maybe he knew Mikey liked to watch himself.
They do not talk about it that is not what they are like. They just crash into each other when they happen to end up at the same party or the same bar. It is not enough for Mikey, but he takes what he can and tries not to see the tiny glimpse of hurt in Gabe’s eyes every time Mikey walks away from him.
He does not mean to hurt people. He never does, but somehow that is what he keeps doing because he refuses to tell them what he needs. He keeps his distance, letting people only touch the surface.
Now that he thinks about it, maybe he likes the mirrors because they are like him. He only reflects what people throw at him – he does not let anyone see him.
The tour’s over and he is at his house. The paintings are with him. There are so many of them. All of them are him – none of them are him, but maybe he has found the one he needs. The mirror room will not be just mirrors now and that is how it should be. How it always should have been. He could always have Gee paint him, but it would not have been enough. He needed more people to do it.
People who were not Gee, but who still felt passionate about their art and about him. The energy put into the creation of the paintings feeds some deep seated need inside him. All these interpretations of how he looks are like his fantasies come alive.
There are so many of them, so many of him.
Mikey smiles, these are not like his mirrors, merely reflecting. They are different from him, they feel more real than his reflection, more alive than the mirrors. Though, some part of him is still waiting.
He sits down on the floor and closes his eyes and basks in the paintings’ attention. He does not care what he looks like: sitting alone in his room, surrounded by paintings, the mirrors barely visible now. He lets himself flop down on the floor and opens the zipper of his jeans. He wriggles his jeans down just enough to stick his hand inside his boxers. He wraps his hand around his cock and slowly starts stroking himself.
He is waiting for that moment when he will walk out from one of those paintings and push himself against a wall… against the floor, it does not matter where. Trapping his hands, sliding one leg between his, as he whispers into his ear, “Ready?”
He would know exactly where to bite, where to kiss and where to lick. He knows what would drive him to the edge and what would keep him there. He knows what he sounds like when he is desperate – the low keening noises he makes low in his throat, the ways his hips stutter just before he comes. How good it feels when people push him just a bit further than he is used to.
He knows he would tie himself up. He is impatient. He would not handle all the teasing without being tied up. He knows… how good it feels not to have to keep his legs spread just so, without being bound – he knows how little room to wiggle the bindings give and how much it turns him on.
He knows how fucking good he would look all tied up. Hair messy and eyes wild, sweat trickling down his body. He knows, he knows he would follow each of those trails down his body – chasing them away, teasing himself. He knows he would struggle to last, but he knows it would be worth the struggle.
The intensity of his thoughts startles him and he moans as he comes, messing his jeans up, legs still trapped inside them.
He sighs deeply and smiles, content at last.