Monday, January 7, 2013

HOW TO BE A HOMOSEXUAL LOVER


Penumbra is inevitable.Your intersection can't avow itself by day. Yet as the gloaming intensifies you catch your breath, your pulse quickens and the sliver of erotic possibilities, unmet during the afternoon, works towards a fruition.

Either you inhabit the hinterland of forbidden spaces to cleave or you go to a gay bar and measure your chances. You stand by the bartender nursing a small diet coke, casting nervous, flickering glances, witnessing the jostling and the syncopated couplings of physiognomies . You see a man rubbing his thumb against the striating stubble of another while two other men kiss under the coruscating light of the neon. You are suffused with longing and desirous of commingling. Yet a reticence, an inexplicable shyness holds you back and makes of you a lone observer with a soft drink, caught between yearning and fulfilment, desire and its satiation, in the interstices of unrealization and actualization.

A man detaches himself from the dancing crowd and moves towards the bar. He orders a martini. His appraising eyes look you up and down. You blush, feeling embarrassed and self conscious yet that tremor of pleasure courses through you and intensifies your flush and the sheath of your integument engorges as a quick rush of blood passes across you. As your eyes meet his, he traverses the arid patches of your virginity and asks  you to dance. And he kisses you. The serrated edges of his teeth leave tiny indentations on your bruised lips.

You, accustomed to metaphysics, the incorporeal want this to be a meeting of souls. And the urge to narrate your story is directly proportionate to your desire as an interlocutor to absorb his. You discern an exchange of life stories to be a sacrament that would confer an imprimatur of sanctity to this precarious togetherness. Yet you curb your loquacity, you eschew effusions and your discomfiture is manifested in your feeble attempts to expostulate with him on his  frenetic expression of sexuality.

The incandescent halo of soldered flesh entices you irresistibly and you agree to go back to his place. He undresses himself unfussily while you, bred on romance expect a gradual, sensuous unraveling. But the prosaic nature of his pragmatism, his no nonsense paraphernalia of sex lull you into non being. You cleave, you conjoin and yet a layer of your being has been left unfilled. You have dreamed of this encounter and despite your romanticism, divested it of its saccharine accoutrements and fantasized about unflecked, uninhibited sex. All those porn videos you saw stood you in good stead.

Yet something is wanting. What you subterraneously seek is what you palpably disavow. He asks for your number and promises to call again. He falls on his side of the bed asleep. And you are caught in a quandry. Either you own up to the intensity of this encounter or you take it as an experience and a hope for better opportunities. It is a foregone conclusion yet there is a certain ambiguity which the indeterminacy of his open endedness has left. As he gently snores you pick up your clothes, put them on and stand with your hand over his back, trying to wrest from this tenuous propinquity a degree of corporeal transcendence. Then hand hovering midair youdepart, take a taxi and go home.

BARRIERS TO OBLIVION- MEMORY.


Buttressed by a putative inviolability i sat smug in the sheath of my self containment, hoping against hope that the mnemonics whose unbidden promptings discomfited me would cease to be, perhaps even obliterated. Because when i thought, which in a sense is remembering i cleaved eldritch dimensions whose gothic fusillades swamped me in a penumbral interstice wherein, entrapped between recollecting and forgetting, enclosed in ambiguity i surrendered to the overwhelming expressionist emblems of that hinterland where imagination met unremitting reality and emerged shaken, bewildered as though waking from a nightmare.

Had i willed things differently would an imperceptible change have occured? Memory is a undifferentiated wholeness which refracts shafts of disquiet, nostalgia, valediction and requiem. Shards of variegations dapple the mind, at times irradiating it at others casting a tenebrous gloaming which obfuscates but never conceals, illumines through silhouettes, shadows but never pellucid. Chaos supervenes when the contravening daubs of memory jostle for ascendancy. Possessed of a turbid though melancholic imagination i extricated from this kaleidoscopic cornucopia remnants of pain, misgiving, self beratement and psychic damage. And the mind, recalcitrant to begin with indelibly embalms these daguerrotypes and intransigently entombes them in the sacrophagus of self annihilation. With this conjunction of imagination and reality, my sense of things blurs and dissolves into primeval nothingness.

I could, conversely asseverate that the intimations of apotheosis these memories proffer is what makes them irresistibly attractive. They proffer stippled transcendence, streaking the chiaroscuro of monolithic linearity with multi faceted temporalities, multifarious intersections and impalpable yet parthenogenetic reality. It is the effort of will to crystallize a telos, a fulcrum that, with its proffered inexhaustible indeterminacies, saps me of being.  But over time i have learned to cherish this uncertainty becase it has become, ironically, the basis of my life. And it further ennobles me because when a viscid, crepuscular gloom blurs lucidity the form my memories take and their content becomes determinate through an act of faith, the will to believe. I stud the crenellations of amorphousness with irrefutable self made logic and thus by symbiotically soldering the inner with the outer create a new homonymy.

SONG OF A YOUNG HOMOSEXUAL

You may define me
With homilies and platitudes
Yet not make a dent
On my free flowing spirit

You may encompass me
Within the awning of your world
Yet the canopy you proffer
Casts a viscid gloom over your aegis

Because to contain within
Causes spillage of excess
And the proliferating mass
Redoubles its velocity

A mirror is held up before me
To reflect the image you created
Yet my being distorts your representation
With the palimpsest of my authentication.

Therefore your encapsulations become ellipses
Exposing the chinks in your tenuous self sufficiency
And through the interstices of your self created appropriation
My iridescent actuality emerges.

LEDA'S RIPOSTE- A SONNET

Spatulate, he descended, with primeval urge
To deflower the unravished me
While i spent a life intoning dirge
That could not let me be.

In the interstices of waking and sleep
He haunts my pubescent dreams
His aerodynamic flights of obtuseness creep
And unravel my pristine seams.

Yet the singular act of violence he inflicted
Made me, in history's portals embalmed
Though variants contingently constricted
My victimhood was irrevocably becalmed.

Feminists, from my story, emblems purloin
While the pantheon of legends i rejoin.