The prison that is my mind

I often find myself thinking of the past, of the present, of the future. Of me, of my life, of accomplishments, mostly when I see them – so glamorous, so perfect, all so pretty, some of them naturally, some due to the make up, or some due to the love they have in their lives that they breath out through their pores, or at least they seem to – they make it seem so easy, so perfect so like they never had to work a day in their lives – I mean they do work, but their work is a game, it is something they like to do, they do it well and it sells in these days – be it fashion, make up related or other “frivolous” things, frivolous for my old age thinking not for the consumerist thinking of today, not for vanity.

I am an old soul, and I would not have it any other way! no matter how much I fight it, no matter how much I would like it to be different, no matter how much I wish it – I cannot wish an inclination for a job that can put more food on the table, and I cannot wish away my inclination for the magical world of stories, because it is indeed magical, the way it feeds me and keeps me alive: it can’t be anything but magic. For them, for you, my magical world of stories: books, films etc. is just entertainment, just a way of passing free time, just a recreation, but for me is life!

My stories pump the blood in my heart and make my synapses pop, but the sad part is I cannot give myself completely to them due to the constraint of time, of routine and of having a job that pays actual paper money, the currency of today’s world, consumerism and bullshit. You might say yeah! Today you can also do that, the media especially the online media is doing well – what is it doing? Lying and more lying for people to buy! buy! buy! I am sorry I do not sell crap, and I am not a prostitute to sell myself for money, that would have been so easy indeed, but I realized that money is not why I am here, the soul does not crave money, at least mine does not.

My soul wants to live, and love and be loved, it wants to create beautiful stories – I ask myself that is not progressive that is not real, but then again there are so many storytellers nowadays – I can only dream of being one like Steven Spielberg, or Tarantino… oh, my dreams!

I was scared of my stories, and of my mind and of the stories in my mind, I just now realize I need to let them out, let them be free and maybe I will be as well, I can only hope they will do good out in the world. I can only hope they will be read and seen and loved, as they give my love out in the world. God speed!

Maybe I won’t be as glamorous as you, maybe I will not have the perfect body and flawless face and a job that I can do with pleasure, and a husband and perfect cute little kids, but at least I would have done what I felt I needed to – freed my stories from the prison that is my mind.

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