Xxxx the Poet

I have a virtual friend called as follows:

...just, with another spelling.

He used to be the best friend of my boyfriend - then we split up, but they did not. Why am I telling you about that? Well, first because he is a poet. Argh! A Poet! How can you dare to say that?

I suppose that, if you insist in calling yourself a poet, you actually have much better chance to become one (i.e. to be publicly recognized as one, then to believe you actually are one yourself because of that), thank if you don't.

This guy happily writes and does anything with paper, colors and fiber, and pots, including keeping a cultivated garden (I mean -plotted - not a garden of poets of course!) and cooking whatever they grow in America. This guy has probably a soft heart and some sensibility, a very high opinion of himself nor he is immune from the playful, naive attitude which is the greatest asset of Americans vis-à-vis average Europeans, and their major pitfall if they compare with the best among us. Here a practical example in form of a quote:

...Today my name is Reginald. Why Reginald? I've always wanted to be a Reginald. Goodbye.

I find myself elaborating upon this guy much further than I would be normally expected to. Warum? Because I would like to be a writer, but I have - among other factors, always been dragged back by the idea that, if you are not very very good, you shan't dare to call yourself an artist. I have been very far from the idea "Uh? An artist? Here I am!". Doing that, I have just lived in fear, and withdrawn myself from what I am born for. I mean, having a job which is not too bad and brings bread on the table, is one thing; restraining from your most acute - and innocent pleasure - is another, and has a name: it is a crime

I find in this guy an example of what I could have done - and could be now, well-connected with other soi-disants poets, teaching creative writing in a University! Well, who is going to declare me a laureate if I am not overtly ready for the step?

Second, I find shocking that this guy has not settled-down yet, despite he is in his thirties. Good news - he can stand it, and this is possible. I am very open to the influence of what I think he is, as I reckon in him many feature that I think I know very well, some patterns that I already isolated in a boyfriend. It is surprising by the way, how many US people share such patterns, so that they might be an anthropological character: a sense of adventure, a sense of empowerment (even if not very well justified), a stubbord denial of cultural desolation of some environments, loneliness-proof, and so on.

Third, I dreamt of him last night, in a very playful mood. We were in the US attending parties and speaking and beeing good friends, as in Dead Poets Society, being amidst the snow, and looking for my boyfriend, without hurry. I felt respected.