It's not easy to be confident. That's why everyone knows they need to be confident but they still aren't. I want to be confident about my writing, but I just can't. I know am supposed to make you relate some place about now, or you will leave through that door like a bad relationship. Unless of cause somewhere in you you feel love or pity for me, or you know am actually good at what I do, love doesn't require much confidence now does it? But a night out at the club does.
So, they say if I had perfect confidence I would attract everything? I think that holds some water. If a jeweler had pure gold and you were the buyer like you will be later on, if the jeweler wasn't confident that that piece of gold he was selling wasn't as beautiful as you, if somehow you saw doubt in his eyes, or you sensed it in his voice, wouldn't you walk away thinking, he must be a con man, or am really getting my monies worth?
Maybe that's how it works. That dame walks up to me, she is beautiful, she fiddles with her drinking straw without confidence, her voice seems unsure, and before you know it I have started to doubt her. Why is she afraid? What is she hiding? Is she good enough for me? Can I do better? And her unsureness rubs on me, and it's bye bye pretty lady.
Is it bye bye Bobby's writing? Is it? When I am at this point I am at right now, disappointed I don't get as much talk as I want to. Who knew I would want people talking behind my back? No...not back stabbing. (house helps relax) Just talking. Probably if I exuded much more confidence, probably bras would come off and I would be too busy writing my next post to touch those goodies.
But come to think of it, with this little hobby of mine bras have come off, I have touched some of those little boobies, I remember the big ones too. Are you reading this? I remember... Oh how could I forget. She felt my words big, her friend felt my words deeper and it was a party of three, on a writers bed, beautiful.
Have you ever...and after you were satisfied an emptiness creeped up on you like a cold ghost? That's how it was after the champagne bottle popped, even though I recovered after I bragged to my pals, I still quite didn't recover from the emptiness of that very dreamy night. Never again, chapter closed. But how many times do we say chapter closed and we are back to the wrong arms?
Those arms. Do I really need a strangers arms to tell me way to go Bobby? Love is a beautiful thing. Only unfortunate thing is that love is as blind as fuck. Babe? Do you think it is that you love me that you read every sentence of this in sheer pleasure? Or is it that you really love this? Compliments are good, but let's talk about their authenticity, their effect. If you tell me you like the shirt I wear ten thousand times, it's not the same as ten thousand different people telling me they like the shirt I am wearing. I love you, and it's awesome you remind me that I am brilliant. But I feel I need different eyes on this...
And those different eyes have been around, oh so many, actors to musicians, bloggers to strangers, at the bar, at restaurants, in super markets, yeah that day I flew off the planet, some random guy told me he loves my blog. I flew my all, and humans don't fly. What can I say? I was a bird, I was on another level. Ever heard of bird watching?
That's how the world works. If you were to get interested in a bird, then that bird has to have something so fascinating to interest you. Think of everyone everyone knows. Yes, she is beautiful or not, then she is really ugly, or not, then she is really smart, or not then she has really nice shoes, or not then she is brought to school in a chopper, or not, then she kissed you once, or not, then she refused to kiss you publicly, or not, then she is a rat, or has a face that looks like a rat or sharp like a bird, or not, or then she dates someone who is someone. Noticeable.
I don't want to do that... Be a bird so extraordinary that people crave me therefore find my writing chocolate. I want them to find my writing chocolate then crave me. Love the person, then love the many, love the money then love the person, then bye bye. Find the writing chocolate, then notice me not find me then find my writing. But as beggars aren't choosers, and the end justifies the means, am not complaining.
It makes perfect sense in your mind. He is happy, he loves you. Then one day he just wants to leave, and you know how to keep him, but he still leaves leaves you with tears and a ruined face with make up all smeared like kindergarten-color-in-the-lines. And for the next days you live life like that freak with the smeared make up all over. And you stop believing in your logic. If you thought she wasn't cheating, you are sure, then you find that she was, it messes up that logic you had in your mind. Feed him, eat him, blow him, hug him, wear nice for him, so that he keeps you in his mind, and when he forgets his pals will always remind him their is nothing hotter than you, envy, and he is happy, you are happy and you can see everything is perfect. And he takes you out of your comfort zone when he cheats, and you question everything, and you are right to question everything, cause we are human, and we can be wrong. And when we are sure we are right then find out we have been wrong, it feels like lights off, with no one to fight in the darkness, therefore let it all out, cry, that's all you can do, let it all out, cry, that's all you can do, let it all out, bang that stranger senselessly, cause that is all you can do. Nice? No am asking, is my writing nice? I know... I know...
My logic could be wrong, someone is slamming their faces on the screen thinking what the hell? What the fuck is wrong with Bobby? He is delivering all this so nicely, look at the sleekness of the words, they slide, they feel like running, I wish he knew he was this good. But since he shut the comments field on his blog, and his fan page is too many links away, I will just leave this page and wait for the next post.
Well... Look at this page, look at how this words sound like they were drunk off truth serum then got run over by a lorry, wait...run over by a train (that's more thorough isn't it) run over by a bus but unfortunately they survived and now they are here. I am not taking any of this for granted, I have a very strong fan base, oh I do. Some even pretend not to read and drop the name Bobby somewhere in the conversation, but you know awkward moments, they embarrass both parties, no discrimination. So pretend she didn't call you Bobby.
In this relationship, I would love to be the selector, like dames normally are, turning guys to try prove themselves deserving to her. In my mind I have a logic I am working with, be loud enough, colorful enough to catch your attention, then get interesting enough to keep your attention, you are very high maintenance dames and sirs btw, then make my writing available to you, not so much push it to you cause as I said, I don't want to be the one doing the chasing, I want you to think about it when you are doing anything but reading it, and slowly it will grow on you, and you will ask me for my next post, and I will have the confidence to write, cause with beauty comes confidence, with confidence comes beauty, but it's always easier to become beautiful and have confidence erupt from your beauty, than to find elusive confidence first.
Bottom line is that it is never that serious or is it that I got free drinks and touched boobies cause of this?
