Tom Ramcigam (magicmarmot) wrote,
Tom Ramcigam

And then I think could I fall in love with her? I mean, I like the idea of her. She's cool and funny, smart and geeky, and has an unusual sense of fashion that's part goth, part something else made up that I find truly endearing. But I don't know her as a person. She could have great periods of complete hallucinatory insanity for all I know, with brief islands of lucidity that happen to coincide with the times that I do get to interact, however minimal those interactions may be. And what if she smokes, or plays the tuba, or has other disgusting habits like squeezing the toothpaste from the center of the tube or eating the center out of the roast beef or (shudder) being vegetarian?

Nah, I'm toggled on an 80 percenter. That's a woman who fits around 80 percent of what I want, with that last 20 percent being something heinous but liveable. A B-girl, I suppose. Imperfect, like a box of crayons with all various shades of FLESH or SALMON or ECRU, but no blue or purple.

It's easier this way. I don't have to ever hear the "I really don't think of you that way" speech again if I don't want to. I don't generate that weak-kneed heart-fluttering fight-or-flight reaction in women the way that Sean Connery did when he was a young pearly buck. I tend to ignite the creative thinkers, the ones swayed by words and images brought into being by the reflex-quick language of cat skills, stalkinmg imaginary prey in the middle of the night and shying into the shadows during the day while the laundry-clean soccer moms play mental pinochle with their days and provide the illusion of fulfillment.

I seem to speak to the unsettled, the underappreciated, the hidden, but not in a strong clear voice; I speak in riddles and convoluted stabs of wildness and weirding that speak at once of mysteries unbound and of closets perhaps better off left closed. I am not the James Dean bad boy, but more the Boris Karloff version: not so much the rebel that will be tamed by the passion of a good woman, but the congenial dark and distinguished man that may have things in his basement laboratory that you'd be better off not knowing.

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