Tom Ramcigam (magicmarmot) wrote,
Tom Ramcigam

it is midnight, and the moon is full...

Oy. Had a terrible dream with crazy naked people and a stage, and now I'm horribly jumpy. When do the pants begin? Cave, cave, glorification industrial slut-siding. Ride the posterboy for longevity, or else we have no bananas. Screw the fratboy, Juggernaut.

Brain is jumbled. Thoughts/feelings unarticulatable. Obsession with gr-something... gravy? grime? great? grapple?

Nonsense, uttered by a fool in a cage. Feral-minded and grotesque.

When the words leave, do we have any sausages?

I can't put things in their proper perspective. It keeps changing, turning me into a dinosaur, left behind in the dust of ages, not even the bones left to make a lasting impression, just fade away into eternity with the rest of the dust-creatures.

Cheese is good for dust. The split mind leavens, carried to foresail on the winds of time, the wings of change, loose change on a bus with some drunk homeless guy who wants to kiss me on the lavender couch. I am not who I am, but somebody else, disgusted and uneven on 98th street, worried about things that don't matter.

It's all fading like an old gymnast. Coherence is settling back in like an old shoe, comfortable and worn to just the right shape. I am still here, still worn thin, still small, fevered dreams of an apocalypse echo staining my underconscious mind. Beautiful mind, so thin and fragle like a spiderweb in a maelstrom, love and death the last forestalls.

Somewhere in the distance, an angel weeps.
Tags: writing

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