LUCKYPEN

I LIKE MY PENS FILLED WITH INK COLORED BLACK.



Another lucky pen lost…yet again
It’s the second time in six months
Foooook me.

I remember purchasing the first one as if it was yesterday. T’was bright and sunny outside, I just wanted to get away and get lost. Happened by a Japanese boutique store right by my place of learning. Sat there for hours taking in everything, the magazines, the books, the CD covers with its words and music I could not understand. I put meaning to each and every one of them, not knowing how on-point my own translation would be to each and every one of its messages. I remember the ever-smiling faces of the store workers
Its as if being Japanese was synonymous to a smiley face and a “peace” sign. And their endearing expressions cannot possibly continue if they get a hint that you are wasting their time.

“please buy our shit, so we can keep smiling for you”

…so I caved. They were killing me with kindness and I felt obligated to buy. Something. Anything. I happened by a gigantic plastic stand full of pens and pencils, all different shapes, colors and sizes. It was the Wal-Mart of pens, and its beauty took me aback. It was a diary connoisseurs dream aisle, but I am no avid diary fan, nor a journal man. I want to be a writer – but hey to each his own, and I know I needed a pen. A pen I can be anal about losing A pen I can whip out at a moments notice whenever I sign the words “Donald Duck” on purchase receipts, A pen I can call my very own.

So I started my search, I meticulously felt each pen’s grip on my fingers. Wrote meaningless scribbles on pieces of paper to my hearts content. The girth had to be just right, the tip smooth, and the ink’s consistency perfect. After my long arid search, I found the best one that would fulfill all that I needed it to do. It was a Mitsubishi, (who knew that car companies delved into pen making?) a push pen, with ink as dark as stark midnight; and it cost me $2.50 and $0.55 extra for each and every ink refill. I bought 3 for good measure. The bill was almost $5 bucks, but hey now I have my lucky pen, and money is not an issue I would sulk over if it meant inspiration.



Having my lucky pen with me is like that gun in hand effect. The world is mine and “no you cant fuck with this” was my attitude. Though at times, I find it sad that I resort to having a “lucky pen”, for what is it but a glorified, phallic shaped, ink pusher satisfying my desires of possessing something in my hands.

So I carry you in my pocket everyday from then on out. I cherished every moment I could draw you out of that holster and unleash your prowess with every letter I wrote. But then I lost you.

As I signed “Mickey Mouse” on the $21 bar tab I had in a club in Santa Barbara, the bartender took you from me. Being inebriated at the time, I had forgotten you. The thought of you lingered as I made my way back home. Visualizing my trip back to that Japanese store, full of retail goods and smiling faces, it dawned on me that maybe it was karma for signing as Mickey, instead of the beloved Donald.

My second purchase was nothing special, it was full of self-promises that I will never ever lose you, even if life and limb depended on it. Again we forged our relationship anew, stronger than ever. AA meetings, coffee shops, libraries, I was confident knowing I had you up my sleeves. It almost felt like I grew a new set of balls. But along the way, we lost contact. Carrying you in my pockets became a chore, and I fell in love with your symbolism instead of your uniqueness, your personality, and the true beauty that you bring out of me. Eventually I lost you because i grew too careless. With my emotions and responsibilities. I took you for granted.

That being said – I have lost you twice now
The first time I told you how I felt – and your answer was not direct enough for me to see that it was futile
The second was straight to the point, none of that bullshit or flirtatious language.
It broke my heart but it had to be done.
I was making stuff up all along.
And now that I don’t have you by my hand, to write and manifest all that i dream of,
I know now what is utterly real.
This dose of reality hurts, pride swallowed yet caught in the middle I start to choke.


yeah.......... to me you are like my lucky pen.
You inspire me
You make me believe
You entertain me endlessly
You give me hope – both the one that can kill, and inversely will me to live.
You are like no other.
One day I will find you, amidst all that has gone past, and together
We shall make beautiful words once again.

maybe i just needed to lose you again, because i was forgetting how much you truly meant to me...