Tom Ramcigam (magicmarmot) wrote,
Tom Ramcigam

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Random crap

I've spent the last couple of hours websurfing, reading semi-random journals, and decorating. Since I moved the computer away from the TV, I have to listen to internet radio with headphones, which is a pain in the ass (yeah, I wear my headphones weird). Even as used to headphones as I am, I can get fatigued after a while-- and the ear piercing can get annoying.

Surfing from LJ, I sometimes find things of great beauty or great ugliness, or some things that are a hybrid of the two. Sometimes I fall in love, just for a second, then it goes away, stillborn. And I fragment. I lose a little piece of myself, and gain something in return.

I know you don't love me. Your heart cries out to be held, Your loneliness and pain turned to desperation, yet you see me as an intruder, a shape, a nameless form that you discount with the wave of a hand, the push

of a button

and I am gone, into the great wash of indignity that strokes your ego and fuels the fires of your passion.

You sell drama like a cheap whore sells sunglasses, smiling on your way to the beach to tease and enchant and discover and dismiss and hide your true feelings like a runaway bomb, so smooth and silky to the touch but cold as glass.

You would fuck me in time. You would fuck anybody, but that isn't real, it's the meat talking, the meat of survival. And yet you fade in and out of consciousness, a dreamtime place in your head, images that you remember

where I touched you

the sparks of energy riding up your spine like a horse of thunder, now gathering in the stillness where you lie awake in bed


wondering where you left your heart and why your soul feels thin.

You sleep. You dream. You see my face, but it is the face of a thousand angels, unbearable in its beauty and fire. You turn away, afraid.

But it is what you want. It is what you long for. It is what you need with every fiber of your being vibrating like a violin string wound tighter and tighter. And I feel you pull me in, just as you push me away, cheap whore glasses sucking my mind away until all that is left is animal lust and fear and hunger.

And I feed, harboring danger and malevolence and keeping them just out of reach of your caresses, lazy and longing, floating like the edge of a knife.

In the morning, you will forget me as you have done for a thousand nights, and will do for a thousand more. You will have your mundane life and bear the thoughts of endless scenarios in your daytime head, but at night you still call to me in your sleep.

You call my name. You remember my face.

And you cry.

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