I’ve got it all right here. The source (a book of Bukowski poems). The source (a scotch and soda). The source (loud music of various sorts). And yet. Nothing is coming. The words aren’t ready to flow. Or I’m not ready to let them. And yet…
There are a lot of things that I am not ready to say. So that holds me back. I have never been good with timing. I never know when the right time is. I can often tell when the time is wrong. But I am never sure if it is right.
Love and Alcohol. Because it would seem that that is all my life ever boils down to.
I don’t know why I write so much misery when I really have no miserable experiences to speak of. I suppose misery is easier to fake than happiness.
Fuck it. I’m getting nowhere with any of that. End of legit post.
“Don't be concerned, it will not harm you. It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of. Across my dreams with nets of wonder I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love.”
- Bob Lind, “Elusive Butterfly”
And then the rest…
He was always a quite child. He never felt that he belonged or that his opinion mattered to the general consensus. He let the others have their way and kept his thoughts to himself. It was as much his fault as theirs that he never felt in. But he knew that. He knew that he could change it all. He knew how to do it, too. But he was scared. Dating was a big deal in 6th grade. Not that his reputation could be hurt. New kids don’t have reputations. No one looks at them twice. Once they get over that “pick on the new kid” phase, anyway. So now he was going to make his mark. He was going to vault himself into popularity. He was going to be somebody again. Like he used to be, at his old school. Her locker was 634. It was across the hall and a little down from his. But still close. They were in the same class. He sat behind her most days. He used to sit in the front of class. But that was at his old school where everybody knew him and didn’t call him a nerd for sitting up front. They knew that his eyes were bad but that he didn’t like to wear his glasses. There was no way that he was going to sit in the front of class at this school. Or wear his glasses. One whispered remark and he would be a nerd for the rest of middle school. And that would ruin everything. She smelled nice. Like flowers. He always found it hard to concentrate on class when he sat behind her. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Besides, he was way ahead. He could do most of this in his sleep. Not that he would let on that he was smart. Smart kids never got the girls. He had seen enough movies to know that. It was after English that he went over to her locker. Her friends had just headed off to their next class and she was standing there all alone. The timing was just right. The Universe was pulling for him. He cleared his throat. He was nervous, but he fought the feeling. Now or never. Death or glory. It was too late to turn back. He would look like an idiot. And that would be worse than rejection. She looked up, pushing a strand of her long blonde hair out of her face. She smiled. “Hi, Isaac.” She knew his name. A good sign. “Amywillyougooutwithme?”