What’s The Fun In Being Realistic?

What’s the fun in being realistic? If I was being realistic, I wouldn’t want to make movies. If I was being realistic, I wouldn’t come here. If I was being realistic, I wouldn’t be wanting all these things in life, doubting if it’s all realistic, while continuing to engage, hoping for the best. 

We are not here for that long, don’t take it too seriously. We are not here for that long, we should make every second count. Both valid, opposing, bipolar, engaged ideas. For every positive, there’s a negative, for every hero, there’s a villain, then am I, the hero, or the villain in your story? 

This is my universe, my world, I live in it, I make the rules. 

I’m an adult, I make the rules. I give my money to whoever I want to give it to, I don’t care if I know them, if they know me. I’m an adult, I make the rules, I don’t follow circadian rhythms, I don’t watch what I eat, I play tennis when I want to, I box when I’m mad, I dive when I feel free, I watch a bad movie and rant about it for 20 minutes in a group with 495 strangers. I offer marijana to Chinese people who've never had it and tell them it’s extremely safe, after having an anxiety attack from the new batch. 

I leave scribbles on the wall, hoping someone will understand. I don’t explain myself, but I do explain myself, it’s a treasure hunt, what’s hiding in plain sight for me?