You Get So Alone Sometimes That it Just Makes Sense

Thank you, Charles Bukowski, for making me feel like being weird was okay.

I'll never forget my first experience reading him. Back in 11th grade, there used to be a bookstore near the Walmart. This was back when mom and pop shops still pretty much existed everywhere, before corporations ate them out. Anyway, my cousin Anthony had been spending the weekend. This was actually the weekend that I last really remember him as a little boy, before he somehow got older so fast. I cherished him.

My mom had taken us shopping, and one of the stops was the bookstore. I found the Bukowski book. The main reason that I purchased it was because of the title, something about playing the piano until your fingers start to bleed. I unfortunately don't have the book anymore. Sadly, I lent it to an ex of mine that I really trusted, someone I thought I'd know long enough where he would actually realize what books meant to me. There were certain books I'd never lend out on principle. One was that Bukowski book. The other was Kafka was the Rage, which I recently re-read and found much of the magic lost, but aye, that is another posting entirely. (It is worth mentioning that this particular ex not only kept my book, but also a favorite pair of butterly printed intimates.) Bah.

Anyway, I found the book, bought out of dramatic's sake, and then proceeded to read each and every poem, with juicy hunger. When I came across "The Night I was Going to Die", I read it out loud in a very dramatic voice, making Anthony laugh and giggle.

Anyway, fast forward years later and his words still make sense to me. Maybe that's the point of writers. They give us something to identify with when we are going through the emotions. They give us examples of "Hey, I've been there. I felt that". They've done it for me enough times. Any crisis I go there, a book has been my best friend. Books help me.

I've been writing alot lately because a friend of mine suggested that I put my sadness into writing. I can produce something really powerful this way. This echoes the words that a former aquaitence had said to me many moons ago as well, and it always stuck with me. Sometimes we get our greatest inspirations through our pains. I haven't been in pain in a while where its moved me, but the way I feel right now, over this loss of a friendship, I just feel more moved than ever to put it all into words.

So, I actually finished the 2nd draft of a short story that I've been working on, and started the first draft of another. Instead of sitting here, feeling emo and sorry for myself, wondering when will I be loved, I'm going to try and make something of this.

But don't let my ex-friend take all the credit, unless you know, it ends up being bad.