today i was sitting on BART, scribbling in my diary when i had noticed that someone has sat kitty-corner from me. i just glanced at him from the side, and didn’t pay much attention to him till i noticed the book he was reading. i squinted and peered closer — was it? could it be?
bukowski.
from my journal:
“and i want to say to him “hey! think ham on rye is great? read love is a dog from hell or the most beautiful woman in town and i sit here, grinning like an idiot, and i find i can’t say something or anything to him. that my mouther is watering from wanting to say something -anything- and i can’t. i sit here rigid and i find i now can’t even look at him!! shit. i lick my lips because they’ve suddenly gone dry. and i realize that i don’t give two figs about something – i can be as brave as a warrior. but when i do care about something — i ultimately become shy and meek.
“i sat there, heart pounding and feeling like an idiot savant because i couldn’t get the nerve to speak to him. i heard “Montgomery St.” called off and knew this was my stop. i packed my bags and got up — and noticed he got up to. THIS WOULD BE THE TIME TO SAY SOMETHING!
“But i didn’t. I stood behind him and cocked my hips a bit and concentrated on the back of his neck. on the way out of the train, i accidentally stepped on the back of his foot as he turned left and i turned right. once i got above ground, i started scanning the crowds to see if i could see him.
“On the way back to work, i started noticing people left and right. i kept my head straight, my stomach tucked in and my boobs thrust forward. i demanded that everyone look at me and see me for myself. right there. right then.
“I didn’t light a cigarette until I was at the corner of 2nd and Folsom and almost at work. i kept thinking of the poetry in motion of me moving along him — and knowing of course that the whole walk up 2nd street i had completely dissected this relationship with this stranger. i saw every movement between us — every shrill screeching moment from ecstasy to agony. within that 10 minute range from BART station to 2nd/Folsom, i had already put myself through an intense relationship, that lasted 2 years and ended up in tragedy.”
i love days like these.