Who is the Prisoner?, March 2, 2009
(On a quick rant for a late I Hate Fridays, I really, but really hate people who write blogs or messages UsInG aLtErNaTiNg cApItaL aNd lOwEr CaSe LeTtERS!!!! AND ONLY USING CAPITAL LETTERS FOR THE ENTIRE POST!!! And an over excessive use of exclamation points!!!!!!!!!! Rant over, lets continue.)
So anyhow, I was looking through my past posts, looking over the topics and re-reading what I had written, cringing at all the stupid things and hitting myself for my dumb mistakes. I wondered what I would write next. What great, life altering topic will I traverse next to tutor the minds of all who visit the Chateau, I was stumped, but I searched for inspiration. Clicking the Next Blog button, there at the top of the screen, I was shopping through the different opinions of many different blogs from bloggers around the world. Many of which I could not understand for obvious language barriers, I could not help but notice that aside from a very select few, most blogs consisted of pictures and folks keeping a daily journal. The select view, where those blogs that slightly resembled mine.
“Is this what I am doing?” I wondered. Is the Chateau D’if my journal, my way of expression by written word as opposed to verbal conversation? I have a journal, an actual book of hand written musings, poems, drawings, songs and meaningful things for me. I wonder why I started this blog.
Naturally, it is named from a place of the coast of France. A place made famous by only the greatest book ever written, The Count of Monte Cristo(and if you have never read it, you might as well call my mother a hamster, just go to the book store and buy it, thank me later). I gave myself an identity that added to the theme of Monte Cristo, Prisoner 34. Why? I think maybe to give me some courage, to wear my mask in this masquerade we call the internet. And who uses their real name online anyway!?
I looked for some; I would guess say more intellectualism in my life. A place where I can speak the way I really want to. In my everyday life, I am not able to use words like intellectualism or disincline; people will just look at me as if I was a sea urchin. Not to bring down the people I converse with in my reality, but living in California around valley girls who always talk, “like with a question mark at like the end of every like sentence?” “With an upward inflection?” Its gets old after a while.
So who is the Prisoner? The prisoner is not my alter ego, it is my true self. I called it my mask earlier but I was wrong. The prisoner is me, and I am the prisoner trapped in this reality. It is a reality that constricts my true sentiments and thoughts, a reality where I wear a costume to hide my true identity. Because even though the cage I live in is made of gold, it still remains my prison. I hope one day to break free. And breathe the fresh air.
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