I Should Know Better. To Be A Fool Is One Thing...but To Be A Fool And Expect Love? Tragic. And Just

It's the likelihood of being caught that creates "danger." Unless you believe that whatever you do will enrich your life, there is no true danger.

hitsujiotoko_xx

🤍

reminder to self: u are worthy and loved, good things are coming ur way !!!!

You need to come in and conquer me. Take me down a notch from my overlapping thoughts. Knock me down with your kindness and wisdom. Just help me, and I will help you.

What risks does having dreams pose, if any? free to let one's thoughts stray and get lost. But that's all there is. Lost. Maybe lost means you don't want to be found. Imagine that the joy is in being above the clouds, gazing down as the body is motionless. Still adrift. to fly into the air, temporarily erasing all concerns and doubts. Expressionless, immobile, and hyper-focused on everything at once. trapped in the labyrinth of my own consciousness. Is this the cost of freedom, though? This never-ending web of anxiety... the agonizing impression that dreams are unreal. yet actual to me. My objectivity is unique. within this body...

Nothing is meant by this body, these words. a moron with a body, I am a poet who speaks foolishly. Usually unheard, rambling, and losing charm; merely musing and muttering. A never-ending mass of nonsense masquerading as... Collective words. I'm hoping someone somewhere will understand. This mind's soul is imprisoned in a machine-like anger, much like a demon. Typical. Although essentially silly, intellect is marked... And what conflict does my body have? I'll continue to float, staying in my dreams, and perhaps...

Perhaps...

—3/30-’

The tension battle within oneself is hard to comprehend. How does one separate themselves from metaphorical clips of things that haven't occurred yet? Is this all anxiety-ridden? Has the subconscious taken over?

I believe it is consciously acceptable to be happy and understand unknown emotions. Naiveté is damaging. Being happy implies accepting naiveté. It is not comforting at all. I rather believe that being naive is damaging.

So right now, I have no idea what to do, but I'm still happy. I don't know where to go, but I'm still happy. I am in the abyss of ‘it hasn't happened...but it might’—but I'm happy. I'm happy that I can acknowledge where I am.

Xoxo— Angel.

—Solo—

V.

“What qualities do you look for in a film?”

Angelina's mind was circling around that question. The interview with The Rolling Stones Magazine had been going on for approximately an hour. She was, however, unsure whether her response was sufficiently clear. What was it that she was looking for? Her choice of characters and films was clearly made with the help of her agent and herself. What, on the other hand, lured her to Lisa Rowe? Was it the same as Amelia? Gia?

Her elbow leaned against the wooden seat; it made a tranquil squeak as her lips pressed together a delicate sigh. The inquiries proceeded — before Angelina knew it, she had finished the interview.

Where to next? Her trailer sat between two incredible celebrities. ‘A dropped in on party’ is the way Angelina felt. She was vigorously moving into the major leagues with her movies. It resembled a bleary eyed dream nearly. However, the main thing that she was amped up for was the arrival of her mom.

Her mom, had gotten back to the States. Subsequent to spending, God knows how long on her profound excursion in Cambodia. Missing her mom was an extraordinary misrepresentation of reality. Angelina felt nearly lost without her mother close by. Yet, she understood the reason why she had taken the risk to move away and explore.

The way to Angelina's trailer opened. Her brother James showed up; a grin from one ear to another crept along his face. Was now the time? Had her mom, Marcheline arrived? Jumping up from her seat, the actress clamored around the room snatching just the essentials.

“Plane landed two hous ago,” James talked as he got two of Angelina's duffle bags.

Her blonde hair covered a portion of her face as she hung over, getting the scattered magazines she left on the floor. On each set, Angelina dealt with — she ensured each trailer felt like home. Peruser's summary magazines, in style magazines, and scrapbooks loaded with blossom fields and nature. “Two hours? Has Mom just been sitting in the terminal?”

She and James conversed as they walked to the car. For himself and for her, he outlined the future events. Angelina was entirely oblivious to what was going on around her. To see her mother, she was ecstatic! It was imperative that she see her mother and be near her. James tipped his head at the driver as he climbed into the SUV before turning to his younger sister.

She appeared to be drained. Angelina was also restless. As the car drew away, her eyes faded from the low light. She suppressed a yawn, mentally preparing to hug her mother. Their interactions on the phone had always been hasty.

Marcheline— was too preoccupied with expanding her spirit, getting one with nature, and letting go of whatever had been bothering her.

Angelina wouldn't hide her swells of jealousy. She, too, needed to flee her home and travel to Cambodia. Moreover, she would — though it was most likely a future arrangement, it was still an arrangement.

James raised his eyes from the magazine he was reading. “Is Dad on his way?”

That, among the many things to say, may have brought the silence to an end; James had brought up their father. Respected, Mr. Voight. Angelina and her father were not in the best condition. Consistent tension, quarrels, and the overtly passive hostile ways he handled her. It was terrifying. Angelina had spent the majority of her childhood seeking to form a caring relationship with her father. In some ways, they were the closest partners in the beginning, and then came the distance.

“Has he returned from...?”

“Texas. He was in Texas at the time. Don't act as if you don't know—” James mockingly chastised her.

Angelina shrugged callousedly. Was she faking it? Or had she simply had enough of her father's emotional whirlwind? Angelina sighed huffily, her arms folded across her chest. It would be yet another showboating move if her father came to welcome their mother.

;

Angelina and James were able to locate their mother after a few hours of back and forth, deception, and worry. How did she wind up on the other side of the city? It remained a perplexing riddle. Marcheline's belongings were being unpacked upstairs in the rental property by the mother and daughter duo. Angelina, not one for unpacking, rummaged through her mother's pictures and personal essentials tote bag while she played along the bed.

Her mother wore little to no makeup, but she wore a lot of buttons, bracelets, charms, and perfume.

“Is this following the rebirth ceremony?” Angelina inquired, her face lit up with wonder.

The photo appeared to have been taken in the midst of a frenzy of action. The photo's boarders were crinkled, and there were a few pieces of charred residue on the upper corner that had been dog-eared. That just contributed to Angelina's admiration for her mother's photograph. She was joyful and carefree, with the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. Her finely manicured fingernails stroked the photo as her gaze glanced upward to her Marcheline, who returned her nod.

“It was satisfying and refreshing.”

They swapped stories, laughed, and debated about the placement of specific vases and mirrors. Angelina, had never been a fan of interior design. She'd given it her all at home. Angelina's thinking was too jumbled to pay attention to such details. She'd open the windows and doors and let nature take its course if she had her way. Her mother took one hand and stroked Angelina's hair.

“I want to hear everything now that I'm back.”

Angelina snuggled next to her mother. Nothing in the world compared to how complete Angelina felt— it was ecstasy.

“I'm not sure what to say."

“In the last postcard you mentioned, you were getting into photography. Did you bring any pictures?”

Angelina put down whatever she was focusing on and gave it some serious thought. Did she bring any of her pictures with her? If she had, they were in her purse, which had been flung downstairs. Angelina sat up from the bed with a lighthearted shrug, still clutching a few of her mother's bracelets.

The mother and daughter sat silently. They always linked and bonded in this way. Sometimes through laughing or the soothing sounds of quiet. Angelina didn't believe they needed to converse; she was content just being with her mother.

When Marcheline cleared her throat, the quiet reached its pinnacle. Angelina's caresses had faded.

“Have you and Jon spoken it?”

“No.” Angelina's response was succinct. "Do you plan on going to the set tomorrow? If you're as excited as I am, we'll have—”

Marcheline could see why it was necessary to change the subject. In any of the postcards she had sent to her mother, Angelina had not held back. With each postcard, Angelina dug deeper and scribbled her feelings more forcefully about why she thought she and her father couldn't get along right now. Marcheline was well aware that she and Jon would never be the same, but she continually urged Angelina to give her father a second chance.

Angelina hesitated before facing her mother. She did so after mentally preparing herself, laying her elbows in the mattress and offering her mother a blank expression.

Marcheline tried to grin after biting her lower lip. “He's a lot of things, Angie. however, cares about you and Jamie."

Angelina was certain of it. She was, however, fed up with her and her father's combative arguments. It always led to a selection of her choices. In terms of both personal and professional development. Angelina shook her head, her eyes downcast.

“I'm not him.” Angelina licked her lips as she paused. “If he'd understand that, we might, stop trying to kill each other.”

“He would say that.” Marcheline burst out laughing, an attempt to lighten the mood.

Angelina Jolie, too, busted out laughing. She and her mother laughed for the next five minutes, wiping their tears as if it were the funniest thing they'd thought possible. Angelina let out a ragged breath once their laughing faded down. She might, just might, let it go. And she might ask her father to the dinner she and James were throwing to celebrate their moms' return.

Marcheline sifted through the strewn pictures on the bed. Several of Angelina's numerous postcards were among the pile.

“I've seen you through several stages now. You seem a little happier at this point.” Based on the writing, Marcheline made a comment.

Angelina sat up straight and blushed shyly. Her mother had a knack for seeing right through her.

“...In a different mindset.”

Her mother eyed her, in a proud way before reaching out, and bringing Angelina into hug. The hug had more implications. And the tone was deeper and more meaningful. It was a proud hug, not just a "I've missed you" hug. Angelina had always known that her mother was proud of her. Her mother was the most reliable source of support during every stage of her life. They both sniffled and giggled shyly as they rubbed each other's backs at the same moment.

After breaking up their embrace, the two went downstairs to try to unpack and arrange her belongings. Marcheline spoke again as she gently nudged her daughter.

“Did James bring you a dog? He informed me.”

“Mhm! A chocolate Labrador. Almost like our old Tonto.”

“Now you'll think twice about feeding tacos to a dog, right?”

Angelina quickly elbowed her mother back in a fun manner, as if she were 14 all over again. This turned into a game of chase and tag, which she and her mother enjoy doing together.

“You could always higher professionals, to hang up your things. Komm hierher zurück!” Angelina chuckled as she chased her mother.

Reflection.

I find myself somewhat amusing the grim ideas. Having trouble finding the right words while having a lot to say. How your brain may change and turn against you while you're silent.

I am everywhere and nowhere at once. once to be seen, loved, and heard. Am I being heard? Can you sense me? How much longer can I take? stuck in translation, clinging to hurtful hope. Hurting. aching and wishing. Indeed, such is life.

—Solo—

VII

It was peculiar. More sophisticated but still possessing an odd charm. Only a one-hour special with Barbara Walters was all that Angelina had consented to. What happened to make it a three-episode event? Because of the ping-pong-style questions about her father and their rocky relationship. Her romantic life, her tattoos, and finally, what mattered most— Angelina's new life course. Her life had undergone a very significant transformation. In some ways, she appeared to have found her niche. There would be no more ricocheting between high and low emotions, no more craving for a spark-igniting sensation. Angelina felt at ease being who she was. She genuinely enjoyed being alive.

Barbara moved about in her chair, her eyes seeping right into Angelina's. “Before we start, I have to ask— have you done something different?”

“...Different? You mean like dieting?” Angelina's eyebrow lifted softly; she was confused about the question.

“The last time I interviewed you, you seemed...”

“Unhinged?” Angelina laughed softly but boastfully. She didn't have an issue with calling herself unhinged. Because it was true. There were heavy moments in her life, that didn't add up. If they so happened to— it was due to other outside influences. Which never seemed genuine.

While the cameras were rolling, the ladies' hair and cosmetic artists patted their cheekbones and nostrils with subtle glitter. To check her watch, Angelina slightly craned her neck and narrowed her eyes. This was consistently the part of Hollywood that appeared to drag on. Interviews never appeared to have a single subject. Angelina never felt especially skilled at them, though. In an effort to divert the conversation and draw attention to crucial concerns, she would do so. However, trivial issues like hair, makeup, attire, and dating rumors kept coming up. That was always Angelina's favorite. She seemed to be dating every prominent person. It was amusing to her when they pinned her to Ethan Hawke the previous week.

“Okay, last time we spoke, we talked of your enormous success. Your ground breaking roles. Your amazing achievement— and the films that helped you do it.” Barbara took a pause, her thin lips pursing softly, then she continued. “Now, you've signed on to do Tomb Raider 2, A movie with Ethan Hawke, and you've become a member of the UN Special Envoy Council for Refugees. A writer for TIME magazine. You've certainly changed course, yes?”

Angelina crossed her legs at her ankles. A nervous flutter hit her stomach, “Yeah—yeah, things have really changed.”

“Is there a reason you've changed? Is there someone who's pushed you into this change?”

“I wanted to change. I wanted to...well, I needed to see life from a different perspective.”

Barba had leaned forward now, her eyes fixing right on the actress across from her. “Was it your interest in foreign affairs that made you want to join the UN?”

Joining the UN wasn't just a result of Angelina's interest in one particular area of international affairs. She was aided by her inner and exterior curiosity. The difficulty of taking on significant responsibilities, which required some background knowledge, was another obstacle. And like many other things in Angelina's life, when she felt drawn to a particular topic and truly felt a sense of delight from learning about life, she had to be all in. She began to describe how she got involved in setting up for the UN Special Envoy group with a nod of her head. Babra continued to lift her eyebrows slightly, as if she were too shocked to believe it.

“I had received the script three years earlier and I wasn't sure I could do that particular role...” With a pause, the dark-haired actress gave a small laugh. “You get older, and things look different, you start to challenge yourself and I know for myself, I want to do more. Be more, help others through different ways.”

Barba smiled softly, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve certainly made an impact on others. Just last week you put out several TIME magazine articles. Is that a goal for you too? To become a writer?”

The middle and index fingers of Angelina were placed under her chin. She hadn't planned on that happening and hadn't given it much thought either. It was a release to write. She found that writing poems helped her maintain a healthy perspective on reality. She had strong opinions regarding the articles she had written for TIME magazine. Angelina understood that in order to be a writer, she would need to hold a lot of very strong opinions. Maybe. She might reveal her secrets at some point in the future, and she might even compose a couple scripts or more.

There were three sets of five minute breaks. In between those, hair and makeup bustled in and out of the room. They were rolling again, and Barbara was back to the personal questions again.

“You’ve expressed your life in many ways. You've also been candid about your relationships with woman.”

“Yeah,”

Barba chose her words carefully, “Is that something you're still interested in?”

Angelina absent-mindedly licked her bottom lip before answering. “I don't see it becoming something that I'll turn into a hobby. It isn't a hobby— I just found that I had a great time expressing myself in a relationship and that person happen to be a woman.” A few seconds of a pause came, and the actress nodded to continue. “I don't think it's a big deal or something that needs any further explanation.”

“Though, right now— are you in a relationship with a woman?”

“No.”

How long had Barbara been wanting to ask that? It was like she was nearly ready to explode if she couldn't ask Angelina, that question.

Barba continued by inquiring about secret marriages, which Angelina denied. She had two marriages in her life. Eight months were spent in each marriage. Eight months of total enjoyment spent together. Barbara gestured at Angelina's left arm as she was seated with her legs crossed and her hands folded on her lap. Angelina had a tattoo in lovely cryptic writing. Barbara and the camera could see that as well as the tiny roman numeral tattoo on her wrist.

“Is it true that you had a shoulder tattoo added and a tattoo on your back removed?”

“Mmhm. I uh, had to get that removed and then, I wanted something else.” Her laugh was sweet— Angelina's eyes widening from excitement.

“Something else? You've reported that you already have about thirty tattoos so far.”

With a goofy laugh, Angelina shrugged. “Yeah! What's the harm?”

Barba laughed too and like sly person she was, and slipped in a question. “Are you in love?”

Angelina slowly tensed up as her gaze focused on Barbara. She moved a hand to her head, tucking some hair behind her ear, and her facial gestures might have suggested a confused expression. “I am.”

“Have you changed because you're in love?”

“Doesn’t love or isn't love... suppose to bring change? Obviously in ways that are good?”

“You’ve been married twice, divorced...” Barbara, let out a trite chuckle maneuvering in her chair. “Do you think being in relationships changes you?”

Angelina let out a dejected sigh; Barbara choose this subject to talk about out of all that was possible. In the unlikely event that Angelina ever wanted to discuss her personal life in this way, she didn't want it to stem from the past. “I don't know, I can only be myself. But I know that I've changed, I've grown up. I've stopped being so inwardly intense with myself. I've been through darker times, and I'm finally happy being myself.”

Behind Barbara, one of the onsite directors help his hand— signaling that they had five minutes. Tomorrow, part three would be filmed and that'd be it. Angelina was sure, it'd be awhile before she agree to do anything like this, again.

“You wear leather,”

“Right.”

“You ride motorcycles,”

“Mhmm.”

“You write poetry, you love photography, you travel for charities— are you still a bad girl? A wild girl?” Barbara finally asked.

There were brief bursts of eagerness among the unnaturally quiet sounds in the room. Angelina nervously grinned while fidgeting with the bracelet on her left wrist. That was a substantial and slightly challenging question. Her gaze swept over Barbara's stern countenance, taking note of the interesting way with which she asked the question.

“I am. I'm still a bad girl, I still have a wild side.”

“Do you? ...Where has it been? You've done a good job at hiding it.”

“I don't hide it, it just has it's place now.” Angelina answered honestly. “It’s saved for my relationship, my experiences, my adventures— for my passions. Friendships. I just know where it is.”

The segment's final wrap-ups got underway. Regarding the next projects, scripts, and premieres that Angelina would be undertaking, Barbara made some remarks. Surprisingly, Barbara requested Angelina autograph a TIME magazine for her. Given that Angelina was convinced Barbara had not read it, it seemed surreal.

Angelina was worn out after three hours of carefree emotional self-exposure in front of the camera. Speaking of oneself might always feel like an out-of-body experience. Or perhaps she didn't feel the need to defend herself in front of others. She was appreciative of anyone who supported her and liked her. She had no use for anything or anyone that was negative.

𝐃𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞~

Her script had previously been altered by The New York Times, which called it a "Folly-wood production." Typical. The War in Bosnia was, of course, a sensitive matter. Any aspect of warfare is extremely illogical and challenging to comprehend. Angelina was aware of that. She also understood that she couldn't anticipate an easy transition into the directing world. The actress was prepared to make her script a reality, though, now that the red tape had been removed.

There were a lot of files, pens, cameras, and storyboards in her home office. She had battled like an animal in a cage for this film to be made. She was certain that her mind had become scrambled from all the writing—and rewriting she'd done.

A good war movie gave Angelina a feeling of reliance, and she adored them. She could only hope that this film, for which she had done beneficial research, would draw a sizeable audience. It would be different to direct it. The devoted actress has collaborated with some of the best filmmakers throughout her career. As time passed, Angelina saw that she was taking notes. However, her brother was the first person she turned to.

Having chosen two separate routes, Angelina obviously appreciated her brothers' advice. They spoke on the phone for many hours, the majority of which were him assuring her that she could accomplish this.

Angelina had agreed to star in two major films between her major debut as a director. It was insane how she ended up committed to multiple projects at once.

The brunette sighed shakily as she glanced over the final script draft that Universal Studios had authorized. This would undoubtedly be different from still photos of flowers, sneaky photos of Brad, and all the other ridiculous things she performed with her camera. Angelina had to begin arranging auditions for the top actors and actresses with the help of her dependable team.

Angelina wanted— no, she needed this film to capture what couldn't be told by anyone else. In her veins, Angelina knew she could do this. She found herself up at night, penning and configuring almost every finer detail. That's just how it had to be.

Angelina pulled her hair back in a loose bun and gathered her screenplay, camera, and passport. Location, location, location. She had been looking for the ideal location to film the movie in order to hone her ability to make it. The US Embassy, of course, had its own restrictions on where she could and could not film.

She would have a full day with 5 to 18-hour flights, photocalls, writing, and solo photography. But she enjoyed it that way. Angelina discovered herself in a time when she needed to keep moving in order for the fire inside of her to be useful. The stunning actress closed the door behind her and turned to her script.

‘𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚.’