Whatever happened to White Trash and Beardo

listening to New and Improved Nummy Mixtape - Various Artists

Turn it on shuffle, it needs mixing.
They say that most geniuses produce their greatest works before 30, most of them earlier. That doesn't leave me much time.
I was taking a walk this evening in Aldergrove, wearing shorts, a big old jacket, no socks with shoes, and a toque covering my nearly bald head. I was wondering where I was headed when I realized what I looked like. For all the time that I lived in Summerland I had inhabited the hobo look, but now, as I walked the streets of Aldergrove, I was quintessential white trash. And I thought, "Whatever happened to White Trash and Beardo?". It was a good question so I pulled it up on my computer when I got home. It's seven stanzas in and it's beautiful as it sits, but it's only the very beginning of the story. I think the reason it's so short right now, the reason I have been so slow with writing it, is that I love it. I'm in love with the concept, I'm in love with the story, it's like my favorite child, I look at it as my best piece to date and I honestly don't know that I could write something better. Therein lies my dilemma, I know that I'm not a great writer, I know that my skills are not developed, and I know what would happen if I tried to write it now. It simply wouldn't live up to all that it could be. So do I wait on it, do I let it get stale? I am, in this moment, the embodiment of white trash; I feel like I need to capture that feeling, bottle it like dandelion wine*, put it on paper so I don't ever forget it. This moment is crucial.

fool sitting here typing