Lonely Masquerades
Ephemeral! Ephemeral! Ephemeral!!
I won't deny it hurts, hurts to know that perhaps I'm not good enough, not good-looking enough, not charming enough, not masculine enough, not feminine enough... Not enough...
Not enough in the online world. Not enough for the men in the online world. It is vast and unbounded by love; it is a seeming endless charade of masquerades and feathered masks where shadows and pixellated forms roam, caress and call like sirens in heat. And when you are tired of turning to the endless whine of strings and pluck of harps; when you are finally exhausted from incessant chatter, facetious smiles and winks; when all around you brightens and chimes incessantly, you will still continue because you cannot stop this masquerade. You hope always, always to be satiated, but the poison flows dedicatedly to lust and passion. Cheers to the crowd of monstrous identities! Now let the liquid poison warm the blood.
One is never enough in this ephemeral world of eidolons and angels, half-fools and empty genuises. Oh.. can you smell that? The perfume of a hundred necks waft to my body, finding a hold on my furled sleeves, crisp collar and dark maroon pants. Smell, you ask? How does one smell a white space of colours and blank faces? In this colourless space of bits and bytes is where the flesh of colours come alive! In nothingsness I conjure magic, darkness and light; in nothingness the perfume of a hundred souls mask the delicate pain of loneliness; in nothingness I find company of desperate fools and hopeful naiveties.
Are there those out there who see beyond the flesh? Beyond the costumes and the masks and the livery? No.. there aren't. For until I find the livery sickening, those who do are liars and charlatans. It will take time before I retch the truth, and to do so I must first deny the ephemerality of this place of madness, I must deny masquerades and poisonous passion, I must deny lust and lasciviousness... I want to.. God knows I want to... But the loneliness seeps in again. The chill of the winter wind finds a husk to blow from within and whistle an eerie moan across a landscape of nothingness.
I want to love and be loved... so much, it hurts the body to imagine the depth that loneliness could scratch and burrow into the soul. But then again... the music... you hear it? Yes... that ominous sound of windpipes and flute twirling again a seductive melody... the smell... oh, the fragrance of fragmented bodies... wait... I'm coming back. Wait for me...
I won't deny it hurts, hurts to know that perhaps I'm not good enough, not good-looking enough, not charming enough, not masculine enough, not feminine enough... Not enough...
Not enough in the online world. Not enough for the men in the online world. It is vast and unbounded by love; it is a seeming endless charade of masquerades and feathered masks where shadows and pixellated forms roam, caress and call like sirens in heat. And when you are tired of turning to the endless whine of strings and pluck of harps; when you are finally exhausted from incessant chatter, facetious smiles and winks; when all around you brightens and chimes incessantly, you will still continue because you cannot stop this masquerade. You hope always, always to be satiated, but the poison flows dedicatedly to lust and passion. Cheers to the crowd of monstrous identities! Now let the liquid poison warm the blood.
One is never enough in this ephemeral world of eidolons and angels, half-fools and empty genuises. Oh.. can you smell that? The perfume of a hundred necks waft to my body, finding a hold on my furled sleeves, crisp collar and dark maroon pants. Smell, you ask? How does one smell a white space of colours and blank faces? In this colourless space of bits and bytes is where the flesh of colours come alive! In nothingsness I conjure magic, darkness and light; in nothingness the perfume of a hundred souls mask the delicate pain of loneliness; in nothingness I find company of desperate fools and hopeful naiveties.
Are there those out there who see beyond the flesh? Beyond the costumes and the masks and the livery? No.. there aren't. For until I find the livery sickening, those who do are liars and charlatans. It will take time before I retch the truth, and to do so I must first deny the ephemerality of this place of madness, I must deny masquerades and poisonous passion, I must deny lust and lasciviousness... I want to.. God knows I want to... But the loneliness seeps in again. The chill of the winter wind finds a husk to blow from within and whistle an eerie moan across a landscape of nothingness.
I want to love and be loved... so much, it hurts the body to imagine the depth that loneliness could scratch and burrow into the soul. But then again... the music... you hear it? Yes... that ominous sound of windpipes and flute twirling again a seductive melody... the smell... oh, the fragrance of fragmented bodies... wait... I'm coming back. Wait for me...
posted by Insouciantfemme at 6:35 pm
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