Tuesday, February 26, 2013


She wakes up in the middle of the night, inspired. Impassive silence surrounds her and in this cavernous nothingness she sheds the fusty armoury of what she was thought to be and becomes, instead what she would like to be. A trip to the refridgerator and a can of condensed milk, leftover chicken wings, brown rice are ingested, scooped out with fingers . The smear of mustard remains as an incipient moustache. Her skin puckers up with a frown of focus as though, having satiated her ravenous appetite she now waits to tranpose that zest for life into a written medium. She sighs and picks up her quill, dips it in ink and suspends her femininity.

She roams around the house, she traverses its nooks, penetrates its unexplored orifices, slams into unforeseen quarters and ransacks her unconscious innards like a necrophiliac dismembering the catafalque. The thought she would like to transcribe, the spirit she would like to make flesh is too inchoate and formless. She is gravid with unmet longings, distended with the indigestible effluvia of unsorted memories, suppurated with mnemonics of oppressive customs. Her womb bulges and heaves with premonitory foreboding as though readying itself to birth. Her synapses syncopate, her silences thicken, her intensity deepens yet the form she needs to sheathe this seething cauldron is balked when its constituents are sought for. She peregrinates the forms that have been universalized, consecrated yet she finds their formalism and classical loftiness an insufficient mode to express her kaleidoscopic consciousness in.

She sees things. The life she lives behind the skin she inhabits merge seamlessly. She renders paplable immanent asymmetry. She merely makes visible subterranean hieroglyphs, unforeseen, unperceived though not unexperienced snippets of being that defy logic. Her thoughts are imperceptiibly awry because she contains within the accumulated, collective depredations of her lot. Historically contingent, culturally provisional she had been made a mythic abstraction with no voice. Yet into the impassable abyss of non being she precipitates her vertiginous intimations of selfhood. Into the universal void of emptiness she endeavors irradiation of her luminous sensibility. She abandons all efforts to conform, she dips into fusillades of subjectivity that inhere in her and picks up the quill with renewed determination.

She pauses for a second, the pen and the consciousness cleave. She writes.


The specular image circumambulates its own axis, refracting attenuated shafts of consciousnesses. The projections of the consciousness then disperse into infinitesimal replicas of variations of singularity wherein the constituents are differentiated yet underscored by a commonality that collusively commingles concatenated variegations into a mosaic. The sea recalls the amniotic tang of the womb and its incessant ebb and flow, accompanied by the doctor's and langoustine's indefatigable reconfigurations of phenomena reduplicate and recur in an endless proliferation of meditations on ephemera, interspersed by kitsch, quotidian references so that the corporeal and the impalpable intersect. Yet this intersection is irresolvable because it does not cohere into a reconstituted configuration but disperses in acerbic, witty arabesques whose ineluctable singularity accentuates meaning of meaninglessness.

The doctor and langoustine, connoisseurs of the tall tale seamlessly peregrinate realms of alterity and materiality as they streak the daguerrotype of monochromatic involutions with polyvalent multifacetedness. Albeit tautologous their anti climactic inconclusive postulations create a capacious space for innumerable repertoire of contingently dispossessed ruminations that by virtue of their deracination reaffirm the ontological incertitude of the amniotic womb, the sea whose eldritch architectonics they navigate and re navigate to arrive at the indissoluble kernel which would contravene the laws of unknowability and supervene parthenogenetic irrefutability.

The meaning the doctor and langoustine seek emerges from a void. Their assertions arise out of nothingness. I am,therefore i exist constitutes much of their repartees and colloquies because only by acknowledging the indeterminacy of a beginning can they mold themselves into numerous forms. They create these forms out of phantoms, sheathing nebulous uncertainty in the integument of self reflexively, circumlocutory whorls of escapist traversings of mutability, seeking the impalpable yet undercutting the transcendence it betokens by re submergence into the quotidian. Their sybaritic cogitations recall flesh and its representation re- presentation within the concave specularity of the mirror. Langoustine embodies the id whose inchoate , primeval rejoinders counterpoint the superego doctor whose irreproachable deportment belies a crusty humor, scatological inter textuality and psychosis. Yet the superego and the id are not undifferentiated as they blend and become a subjectivity that in narcissistic self communion delights in its luminous perspicacity yet unwilling to accept that the image is its own is enmeshed in intrasubjectivity. Aside from the fact that doctor and langoustine are two sides of the same coin it is difficult to figure who is the self and who is the image. Embodying idealism and grotesquerie, thesis and antithesis the doctor and langoustine never coalesce the self to the image in the mirror. As such they dissonantly protrude or obtrude, weaving in and out of each others self consciousness, desirous of commingling yet due to a failure of self perception, being unable to. Both possess moments of clarity yet these moments are frittered away in bantering and interchanging trivialities. So while conscious of matter their souls are suspended in the bell jar of unanswerable metaphysical truisms whose indecipherability might have rendered indubitability tremulous yet whose indisputable unknowingness defines the core of existence. However buttressed by their dyadic intermingling the intermittencies proffered by the dialogue between them makes the journey enjoyable.

Sunday, February 24, 2013


Tremulous stars waver,
Speckled with pinpricked light
The luminous moon stands agape
Marveling  at human folly
While deception continues on.

If the tranquil light could illumine
The darkness of the soul
 patch together incongruities
 constitute a whole
Then its attenuated glow
Diffuses dissembling around
While the sea rushes below
The tides making mobile sound

The susurrating foliage belies
Frenetic acts of human neglect
As mirrors refract illusions
Duplicating of shadows, only effect
Thus the mirror conceals
The true contours of being
While  deepening shades of gray
Man would rather not be seeing.

Can we make a beggar a princess
Or sheathe the prince in rags
Plump out a desiccated cadaver
And render a waif, a bone bag
Subversions proliferate
As identities dissolve
Yet simulacra  undifferentiate
Doesn't  its  contradictions resolve.

The moon smiles placid
At indeterminate human folly
While the deluded revelers frolic
In their complacence ; jolly.