As a young girl I was just a little paper doll one to dress up and show off. I smiled at the right times and looked serious at the right times. I spoke elegantly and had a charismatic nature when needed. Yes I was breathing, I was a living paper doll. It happened without me really knowing it. One day I was a geek and the next day beautiful, only I didn’t know that. People just treated me different, boys admired me from afar, some were bolder but I always thought they were just kidding with me with their advances, and most girls just plain hated me. Many of my teachers shunned me. I grew up with jealousy and the guilt of being me.
I didn’t realize I was guilty, but I was guilty for being a beauty who did not know it, guilty for being talented and using it. I tried to come down to a place where people would accept me, so I made myself look homely, and I hid my talents, but it was to no avail. So I became a recluse and refused to let myself shine for fear of being scolded and hated. It helped a little with my peers and girlfriends but in the end men always found me and woman saw through me. So I was made a doll for profit or for lust, only paper dolls don’t last long, they get torn easily. I am very torn.
I have many dolls left over from my life, all torn and in a drawer in my head. I learned to kind of cope, I put on a fairly good act for the masses. Yes, I could fake a smile that would launch a thousand ships. I have the look of a movie star, and carry myself like a fragile, yet strong woman. But really if ones looks deep I am just a little kid, with stringy hair.
I could never find love only obsession. They say they want me; it is just the paper doll they want. Me I am way too deep for most men or women, so I don’t let them know who I really am and they like that. But it is so hard for me to lie, and when they see I am not ordinary I am not really a paper doll or the kind of paper they have been programmed to want well that is when all hell breaks loose.
Me, I have the passions of the great artists that were tortured for their dreams. When this is discovered many run or gossip or try and destroy the character. So I have lived my life in a bubble of protection for I never found the great ones who understand.
I dream, yes, I dream of meeting a man whom loves me for me, and brings out the inner beauty, and the deeper passion hiding deep inside this ocean, I dream of having just one friend, who loves me just as I am.
I don’t know were he/she is, are they hiding, do they exist? I have read about great love and friendships in novels, and seen it in the movies. You read about finding love on websites and think perhaps that that can happen, or that a snake oil salesman who is holding a seminar on love will help open a very closed heart and you will ‘attract’ the right people. I never go though, I do not believe them cause I know love is a gusty thing; and these days way to many men don’t have guts and woman live in fear.
Don’t get me wrong I tried it; I gave it my best shot but in the end they want paper. They can rip the paper when they want. Yes rip it all up without a real thought, and get new paper. So I looked into how paper should handle itself, I have read that the proper way for paper to handle this situation is to sell ones soul for security. I can’t do that though so I am lost in the flood of life, to put it bluntly I am fucked.
Now look at this word fucked, an unconscious word in many cases, but cutting up paper is good? But who sees the truth, why do we let our society and the media tell us how to think, speak, feel, look? But in reality, in truth, we are told how to think, speak, feel, look, so few really live. Yes, we live our parents, lovers, siblings, friends, and enemy’s “visions” of who they want us to be. So of course the paper gets blocked up, smashed, and ends up crumpled in distorted balls than thrown to the curb. The crumpled paper balls well they just start to get plain mad, or go mad, whichever comes first, no judgment, nor morals no metaphysical truths, it is just what it is.
So as most are programmed via our industrious media, most really don’t like paper, even if they are paper. They do everything in their power to shred the paper around them. It works most of the time, for generic paper is very fragile, and can’t fight back well. You see real paper is hand milled and has character and flaws. Of course there is bulk paper at Staples and that is what is wanted now, it is what Hollywood and fashion has made of many. Or at least they try their best to put that paper out there in mass. That too is an illusion for it is not real paper, it pretends to be paper, there are sharks underneath that generic factory kind, but we have been taught to want that kind of paper. Woman, they aspire to it, men, they kill for it. And the real paper gets mixed in, and gets all ripped up. Someday hold hand made paper in your hand, in the other hand hold a piece of generic paper, that my friend is the difference. Feel it, touch it and experience it if you can.
Ladies, I don’t mean to get down on you for being paper, you have been programmed with fear, and men you have been programmed to want corporate milled paper, most don’t know how to handle real paper, for real paper is strong, the leader, the visionary. Humans can’t be that anymore that seemed to have vanished in the 1940’s and 50’s in a purple haze.
Fifty years of being programmed not to think not to feel to become generic corporate, to let the government, the schools, the big mockers in Hollywood and the fashion industry think for us and this is somehow progressive. No, this is a mess. I can walk down Sunset Blvd, or Madison Avenue., or any mall USA and see so much generic paper, it deeply sadness me.
Through my life I have invited to the “in” parties, and generic papers are floating all over, we need the victim to have the victimizer. No one wins. I sometimes put my solace in the few artists and brave souls who are trying to make a difference, but they are so hard to find.
I read that Francis Ford Coppala said that in a few years the film market would be flooded with kids with videos, and that would make the difference in Hollywood. He was right in a way, but he did not add to that equation that many of these young filmmakers would have to become generic paper to have their movies made.
Simply put there are not enough people with guts anymore. Why you may ask am I picking on Hollywood a lot, well, one I am in the system, on the fringe of course, and they don’t like the real handmade paper at all. It’s all about commodity. I hear twenty two old girls on a movie set say, “if I don’t make it in a year I’m washed up.” I say what the hell happened to art, were is it, why is it hiding out in a dusty corner in a closet somewhere? Because we let it be put in that dusty closet by our silence. Those twenty two year olds are right, a paper over twenty three is not considered marketable in Hollywood. How many Lauren Bacall’s have been killed I often wonder to myself, how many with great brilliance have been stuffed in the bulk paper box?
Will you, can you fight back, will you look in the mirror and say enough. Will you gather your friends and strangers and say how much more of this fracturing of humanity can we withstand, because it starts with the one who is willing to be “a first” We would have nothing without the people who were a first, would we? The spirit in man is dying quick, who will stop it? The media is a great canvas to heal the world but few have the guts to go in a different direction.
If we shape shift our life our surroundings, than at this point the media and cooperates at large will have no choice but to shape shift, for in reality we run them with our money. If a few chosen do this we will create magic, but if we stay with the status quo we will all self-destruct.
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