February 5, 2002

Ego- latin for "I am"

This started one bad ego day, when I was obsessing over why a good friend showed no interest in reading any of my fic. I'm egotistical enough to think that while I'm not good enough to get published, I know I'm not that bad. I'm certainly above the average level when it comes to writing on the Internet.

But I couldn't figure out why it bothered me so much that this person wouldn't read any of my work. It's not like I'd expect anyone who shows signs of friendship to instantly become a fan, or read ALL of the stuff I've posted- that's just plain stupid, and egotistical beyond measure. I just wanted to share a story or a poem, or two. Something like that. But even thinking that strikes me as being too self centered for normal, rational thought. So I tried to work it out mentally.

I'm not sure just when or how it clicked in my mind. Just one moment, I was angsting over this, and then... there it was. I don't just write or dream up these stories. In a way, they are all me. Reflections, facets of who I am, what I've done, how I feel, react, dream and think. A line or two hit me, and then I had to write the poem. It was one of those rare, special works of inspiration, where it does not so much feel as if I am writing the poem, but as if the poem were writing itself through me.

~ ~ ~


I am Norcumi.
It is not a name.
It is not a person.
It is a state of mind.
Of creation and freedom,
Chained to a keyboard and random daemons.
She is a collection,
Fragments of characters
Which create a collage of me.
My heart.
My soul.
Everything that is within.
She is darkness and light,
Laughter and tears.
She is an exploration of my pain,
An extrapolation of my joys.
She has no particular face or persona-
Not even mine.
She is gargoyle
Anything in dreams and nightmares.
Young and old and in between,
Evil, neutral, and good.
Sword and shield.
Beauty and horror.
She is Shanna, and Jay, and Tate.
She is Toby, and Corbin, and Deirdre.
She is Melody, and Ka'cha, and Corin.
Faces and names, listings that go on for pages.

In the end, Norcumi is me.

I am Norcumi.

And Norcumi is a creation

Of images and words,
Dreams twined though electronic letters
That dance free from my mind.

A gift. Something to share,
Something for me to take.

Or in the end, perhaps Norcumi simply is.
I don't know; I'm simply living her.

and she lives me....

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