Particular Relevances.

Lately, I've been all out of sorts. But, I found something that I wanted to share after riding the bus the other day. I usually ride the bus and normally I do not pay any attention to my fellow commuters. Frankly, they freak me out and I'd rather pretend that they do not exist. The worst days are when some homeless guy talks to me and all I want to do is get off the bus right then, but I am afraid that they will get off too and then I'll be stuck talking to some crazy guy with no one to protect me. Like I said, they freak me out. Other times, though, I find myself staring longingly at some total stranger. I really cannot help but stare at them. It can be really awkward for me and for the stare-ee. The other day however, I sat in the sideways seat in the middle of the bus; a particular favorite of mine. While sitting in this seat I can stare at the side of the bus and anything that passes by of interest. Sometimes, I do get the occasional person of relevance. This person is someone; who I can stare at with little awkwardity, and who doesn't know that I am staring at them. It's the greatest! And I am fully aware that I am a huge freak; thank you. There was one time a tall, dark, and handsome was on the bus and he was striking! He was dressed so wonderfully I couldn't help but look at his matching poka-dotted socks and navy blue slacks.
Also, he was reading a Bible in Hebrew! It was amazing. So, like I said before I stare at these people; them unkowing of this go on with their business as I get super excited about what they are wearing. The other day, though, I realized another fascination with these people. Nine times out of ten, I spend my time trying to read what they are reading. I love watching people read in any public context. It's facinating. This last week the man across form me was reading a book about how to write poetry. I wouldn't have paid any attention to him, but then he removed a pencil from his pocket and scrambled to write something in the back of the book. He then proceeded to continue in his learning and what looked like genuine fascination with this book. His look was plain, but his attentiveness was astounding. I started wondering about all the poetry he was creating in theback of his book. I thought about the numerous pages of poetry scattered across the floor of his aprtment. I thought about the open-mike-nights where he stood before an almost empty room of strangers none of whom were actually listening, but who were profoundly changed by his words after only a few short moments. Then I wondered about the poets that wrote 'how to's' on poetry. What about a poem written about the syntax and styles of writing poetry? Is there such a poem and is it as witty as I imagine it to be? Then I was struck by the sad fact that this was all made up in my head and little did this stranger with a book a poetry know I created a completely alternate world for him to exist in; if only he knew, he'd write magnificent words about such a life.