Jolieflows - 𝐴.

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.

𝐷𝑒𝑛𝑛 𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑏𝑡 𝑆𝑐𝒉𝑜̈𝑛𝒉𝑒𝑖𝑡... 𝑢̈𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙.

Unkempt. morning relaxation I wake up in the sunrise with a new lease on life. That was borrowed language. Life is only temporary.

Life isn't just about big things; it's also about small things. “Life is fleeting...” Gestohlenes Zitat.

There is beauty within and around us, yet—what does the human mind focus on? the haze. the night. the gloom. However, grey has been painted as a distasteful color. It's extremely lovely. It's almost perfect; it's refreshing enough.

And when I write, I encounter little comprehension. No maps of my route exist, I am aware of this. My brain is spinning. Where have I come from? What should I do? Where should I start? Oh yes. Beautiful art exists. Art is beauty. I'll write this down in my journal. I'll take a picture of it and draw it. I'll stamp a postcard to seal it after that.

Auroras glow above Jupiter and moon, 1981

Ron Miller

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.’

—Blondie—

(Life Or Something Like It Solo)

She was frightened by the comedy genre. She wasn't particularly amusing—clumsy? She was, indeed. Angelina had no experience with romantic comedies. It didn't appear that "Playing By Heart" counted. In fact, whenever her filmography was brought up, the movie never seemed to come up. So perhaps Angelina wasn't the best at comedy. However, this chance presented itself. The project "Life or Something Like It" seems to be enjoyable. It was a character that embodied everything the actress detested about people. Her co-stars made the set beautiful, and the screenplay was excellent. It nearly felt like she was on vacation with her favorite folks. One of the best benefits, too? Now, for just a little a while she could be a blonde hair chick again.

On the far side of the set, her trailer was located. As she read her script, Angelina was reclined against her desk. Despite how much she enjoyed reading, she was never able to focus on scripts on her own. When the trailer door opened, she stretched out her arm and got hold of her tea cup, ready to sip. The director, Stephen, leaned his body partially against the doorway as he stood there. His thin lips were playing out that cunning little smile. Angelina was no longer a childish actress. She earned her spot in Hollywood, which has always made her nervous. Realizing that she was now regarded as one of the best actors in Hollywood. It looked like Stephen was going to capitalize on it.

“Angie...?” Stephens voice raised in pitch—Angelina stop to stare at him. “I need you to sing.”

Sing? He needed Angelina to sing? First it was the outpouring of support, getting the woman to star in this comedy. Even though, Angelina was still convinced she possessed not one funny bone in her body. Now, there was singing involved?

Angelina was ultimately ready to deliver the script to someone else if she had been acting in her right mind. And perhaps change her mind about playing the lead in the movie. She was not a singer. Stephen hadn't seen any of her recent movies, had he? She was able to swim, swing from ropes, fire weapons, and throw punches. However singing? Was he attempting to transform her into the Hollywood clown, or what? Angelina had to restrain herself from letting a barrage of expletives escape her mouth. She started to speak and gave a slight head shake.

“No... No, I can't sing.” She finally spoke, trying to gather her composure.

Stephen let out a squeal of laughter, “I’m not asking for Opera or a Madison Square Garden performance.” He paused with a slight tilt of his head. “Just some old school rock singing.”

Angelina still wasn't understanding where he was going with this. Now, standing from her chest she rested one hand on her hip. “Rock singing? What're we talking...?”

It was widely known that Angelina cherished music. She couldn't carry a simple tune, yet every time she went on vacation, she ended up in a record shop. When she was alone, Angelina would use music to lighten her home, possibly upsetting the peace outside due to her excitement when listening to specific songs. And that was okay; it was groovy and enjoyable. To do it on camera, though? Have it filmed, edited, and made a significant contribution to the movie? That idea made Angelina's heart shiver. She and Stephen exchanged a brief look. His weight changed from his left foot to his right. Angelina shook her head "no," biting the corner of her mouth.

“Trust me on this. This will be fun, you'll look amazing and it'll be amazing.” Stephen nodded on and off, as to add reassurance to his statement. As he made his way out the door of her trailer, he called out another “trust me” before closing the door.

𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎? 𝑮𝒐 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇? 𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒆.

[][][][][][][][][][][][]

Sylvia touched Angelina's nose with the cosmetic brush. A week had passed since Stephen had asked Angelina to sing. And her response? She wasn't sure yet, but she was leaning strongly against saying yes. By choosing to film the other events instead of the singing scene, she was able to avoid it. The set was entertaining. Angelina found that the more she disliked her character, the more she liked the movie. However, Stephen was determined to shoot the singing sequence today after spotting her diversion strategy.

“It’s part of the film. Have fun with it.” Sylvia spoke, teasing Angelina's platinum blonde hair.

A glance at her reflection in the mirror was cast by the blue-eyed actress. Each day, two to four hours were needed for hair and makeup. Angelina occasionally had trouble identifying herself. Her dark hair was completely gone, the tattoos were covered up; she had changed significantly. However, she enjoyed something about the acting industry. Playing dress up and temporarily assuming another identity could be thrilling a way of escapism at times. Sylvia shifted to the side while talking, attempting to tame a few flyaways.

“Aren’t you always going on about taking risk?” Sylvia took a beat, grabbing the curling iron. “This is a risk. A fun risk.” Her heavy Russian accent made Angelina giggle a bit, whenever she said ‘risk.’

Taking risk? Yeah. Angelina was the number one German-American risk taker. Jumping into pools at award shows, kissing fans, bungee jumping while on LSD. So what the hell was so scary about shooting a 5-10 minute singing scene?

If Angelina's father were present, he would undoubtedly rant about how she shouldn't constantly be terrified. Additionally, he would probably provide a long-winded narrative about his time spent on sets and filming projects that he didn't particularly enjoy. If Angelina's mother had visited the set this week, she would have given her a big hug, sing her a tender song, and tell her to stretch her wings and fly. And that would all be beneficial. But there was just one problem: Angelina was getting in her own way.

“Warum bin ich so ein kleiner Angsthase?” Angelina mumbled as Sylvia finished up her hair.

Sylvia narrowed her squinty brown eyes at the pretty actress, “You forget I know German too.”

Amusingly, Angelina stood from the chair. “Ja? What did I just say then?”

The two women were to begin in a heated battle of Russian and German talk, before the five minute warning knock erupted on the trailer door. That was Angelina's cue to get out there.

Her attire of choice was appropriate for the setting. Her idea to add a hat to the costume was to make it appear more relaxed. Angelina followed the security onto the set while keeping one hand in her pocket. Along the walkway, extras, regular people, and paid fans lined up in an attempt to get a glimpse of the action. Stephen appeared to be deeply engaged in a discussion with his assistant director. Angelina pursed her pouty lips, mentally going over each word of the scene while she tried to control her heart rate so she wouldn't pass out before the filming even began.

Breaking from the conversation, Stephen approached her. “How ya feeling Blondie?”

“I feel like Marilyn Monroe!”

“Really?” Stephen asked excitedly.

“No. No. I—I was being sarcastic.” Angelina playfully rolled her eyes.

Stephen pulled Angelina aside, off to a mildly secluded area. Stephen Herek, was a fairly unknown director who wasn't the largest in Hollywood. But he worked hard at his craft. He respected the input and effort of his actors. With seriousness and sympathy in his gaze, he gently touched Angelina's shoulder.

“This entire movie is about living in the moment. It's about doing things, you'd probably never do. Your character is realizing that.” He stopped, his lips twitching with a smile as he continued. “You’re the raddest chick in Hollywood right now. Be that way, for this scene.”

This was the pep talk? Angelina could be considered the boldest woman in Hollywood. Of course she was— who else would get a tapped in tattoo tiger on her lower back and flaunt it, for all to see? No one. No one but her. A gleaming smile spread across her lips, and Angelina gave a thorough nod in agreement.

“Alright! Alright... Let's film this fucking thing!”

Maybe it was the character, the writing, Stephen's motivational speech, or maybe just the fact that Angelina was working on a movie that allowed her to have a little fun. Whatever it was, the scene was filmed in a single take. She enjoyed herself and rocked out in front of a large crowd. Angelina even succeeded in living out a rock star fantasy by being able to crowd surf! Production would take close to six months, delaying the release of the film. Still, she enjoyed herself. Angelina had truly begun to enjoy her career as an actor.

I need to keep my joy in mind when I write or alter. I've let my thoughts to fool me.

I've let my imagination to make me into a frightening devil. How clichéd. How depressing of me.

My scowl widens as I pick up the pen. I'm disoriented inside of myself and yearn to meet someone great. I feel renewed when they hear me speak.

What...if no one answers the call? Am I destined to roam the earth by myself? No.

I'll take my own call. I'll turn off my thoughts so I may continue to be content. Because happiness is now a decision. My decision.

—Angie💋

Christian Wiman, from Once in the West; "Music Maybe"

[Text ID: one wants in the end just once to be friend / one's own loneliness, // to make of the ache of inwardness— // something, // music maybe,]

Where does it begin? Every story has its origin. Of course, of course, nothing can not possibly exist without something. Of course! Okay, okay— here we go.

Angelina padded across her kitchen barefoot, eyes sleep filled, mind cloudy and her entire morning demeanor; groggy. Her warm body awoke to a chilling tile floor. The bare peaks of the sun were breaking their way into the kitchen, past the flimsy lace curtains. She kept her head low as if the sun was irritating her. She lived sometimes as if she was a roadie for Janis Joplin, setting up for three days of Woodstock. A far reach? Maybe. Although Angelina never considered herself to be too entertaining, she fought for certain roles, scripts in the entertainment industry. Angelina lived the “rockstar” life, but she never considered herself to be a rockstar. Far from it— but she partied like one. Always had. Everything Angelina wanted in life and everything she did was to access.

If she drank, she did that to free the chaotic terror of thoughts, that plagued her mind. She wasn't a looney bin case or anything; nothing clinical or diagnostic had ever been performed on her. But Angelina knew she was different. She had been in school, in acting classes, in auditions—she was different from her own brother. Hell, they didn't even share the same last name; of course they were different.

Standing with the fridge door open, the lanky brunette eyed her choices of the morning. A cold glass of water and...her head whipped toward the counter where she spotted the fresh bananas in the wooden bowl. Ah, Carolina, her every twice of month made must have gone shopping— a blessing.

That was settled then. Breakfast had been decided, now if only she could make the quick choices like that for the rest of her day. Or life. After pouring her glass of water, snatching a banana she shuffled downstairs to her bedroom. It was her seclusion bedroom.

Where she came to write, read, relax...and occasionally, do her extracurricular excessive activities. While Angelina's writing, attempted script and dialogue— talent was a kept seclusion secret. Her use of “recreational activity” i.e. drug use, was not. Almost everyone in her camp— knew she used drugs. And ‘used’ was a limp and loose term. Angelina had gone days, weeks, months, without using sometimes. Then like an uncharted gravitational pull, mustered up enough voltage energy and would pull her back in. And then, she'd be on the wagon. Tinfoil, spoons, baggies, would appear and disappear from her bag, bedroom, all areas of the places she'd go.

Angelina took a small bite of her banana and smirked to herself. How could she...work, agree to drug test, and yet...be an “addict?” But then again she couldn't really classify herself as an addict. In those almost paralytic, drug psychosis states... she'd vow for it to be the last time. And sometimes she'd mean it! Yeah, going months without even giving smack’ a second thought.

A half finished banana was tossed into the waist bin. Her lips disconnected from her glass of water as small dribbles of water, trickled down her chin. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Angelina shook off the impending heard of bison stampeding thoughts and prepared for the day. GIA was wrapping up, final scene changes, edits, cuts; the whole shebang. A nice hot shower, maybe a little coffee, and she'd be on her way.

𝑱𝒂𝒏, 5𝒕𝒉 97’

In love with someone looks like an adventure that never ends. It's as if you're walking a never-ending journey. Love sounds like a conqueror. Budding its way through life are two people who are making their lives about each other.

The word conquer keeps coming up in my writings, because there is a huge part of me that wants that to be, known as my love. Not that I want to conquer someone; rather that they conquer me. I'm always at the top of my game. I'd like to go down.

You have to be with me where the conversations are endless. That the silence is as loud as laughter. You need to wear the ringing dissonance of anger that comes only seconds after a heated argument. You must conquer me. Recite poetry with me. Cry with me. Laugh with me.