Date: 23 June 2013
Location: Pat & Carol
Nice day. I saw new faces and places, met friends and strained old ears that no longer function. I nodded when spoken to, as if I understood and, for awhile, I was a butterfly.
Not just any butterfly. A butterfly that flies, and flies, and flies. (My friends call me “Herman.” I don’t particularly like the name, but I’m stuck with it and live with it. Most important, though the name is heavy, I can fly with it.) It’s fun to fly.
Some see me bob and weave, dodge and duck, up and around, topside side then down.The retarded ones think I’m drunk. The arrogant ones think I can’t fly. The naysayers proclaim, “Herman will never make it.” Yet, I do.
Too bad the world does not fly as I. Too bad the world does not see top, bottom, and all parts of the rose. Too bad the world does not know the taste of milk of the weed. Too bad the world thinks the straight-line flight best, the fastest superior, the first-class better than the coach. Too bad the world does not know how to bob and weave and enjoy the appearance of uncertainty.
Yesterday, Herman did not hear too much of what was said, his old ears can no longer fly. Yet, it was a nice day. Herman can yet see all parts of the rose, smell it, too.
So it was, yesterday, with the butterfly and the Bookers.
— Joe B.