Friday, November 29, 2013

A QUEER DISCURSIVE INTERSTICE

Interstice is my ontology. I am a self evident rent, a severing brought into being by the dialectics of negation. Erasure brings me into being and stipples me with forebodings of finality. I begin in that loop of metaphysic where naming begins. I am cleft to bring discourse into being and then rendered redundant. I am defined by that against which i am placed. The process of my osmosis is entombed in the integument of repression.

On that fatefully indeterminate anteriority i was pushed away to the edges of oblivion. In contrast to my conspicuous reflexiveness i was ,in the aegis of a putatively rational consciousness, repudiated. My erasure was necessary to create a structure of totality. Because i am, discourse exists . I exist, because discourse contains me.

Would then the discursive teleology encapsulate and encompass the vastness of my being. Is the narrative of origin, wrested from the nothingness of non being and sheathed in self imposed logos be the amorphous fulcrum that actualizes identity. Would a search for an insubstantial, indistinct epistemology yield certitudes or augment chimeras of self definition. Would corporeality negate the metaphysical or is it in the bare bones of the quotidian that the transcendent reposes.

Self determination buttresses me from these inchoate nebulosities. Yet the inescapable essentiality of discourse counterpoints the apotheosis i endeavor to realize. I inhabit a hinterland where unknowingness prevails. Into the primeval void of blankness are inscribed the hieroglyphs of my self constitution. I scratch away at these mnemonics, these intimations of self hood to cohere and create a pattern of ratiocination. Yet the primordial, by virtue of its indecipherable darkness, crystallize its tenebrous darkness.

Discursive spaces, indubitably, solder and fragment through the act of naming. Such a being, with its attendant congealings and eschewals is superimposed on me. The more i seek a center the more i fragment into multifarious configurations yet amid these dispersals and diffusions the inviolable collective kernel of who i am persists.

When discourses are built on my being the pre determined blueprints of preceding discourses are promulgated imperceptibly as modes of knowledge. But attenuation and unclassifiability determine me. I divest discourse of its discursivity and carve a self contained consecration for myself. I resist embalming because i am infinitely kinetic, protean configurable. In the interstitial carapaces of reduplication and performativity i dwell subterraneously. Hence i come to be.

SONGS

BEING ME A SONG

I am the guy
With the girly voice
Don't ask me my gender
I offer no choice

Mist curls off definitions
When names are let be
Words may be words
But i'm just me

If sex is made
And gender created
Then into the script
Many are stated

I'm the guy
With the feminine ways
Neither straight nor gay
Spreading in profuse rays

I alight here, perch there
Partaking of the whole
Definitionless
With my own soul

If sex is constructed
And gender made
Things, singly
Are rendered staid

I ricochet all over
Myriadly wide
Then categories of being
Become asides

I could be what i want
Be what i choose
Then does it matter
Which choice is whose.


A QUEER JOURNEY- A SONG

I snuck downtown with a young gay mechanic
He said the roads meandered and turned
Running way from how others saw me
I spectacularly crashed and burned.

Dropping me he left a kiss on my cheek
I smelt his minty breath
And yeah he was a regular guy
But with reams of depth

I came, saw and became me
In that crossroad
In the teeming gay streets
I found my abode

All journeys go down to one
To be remade is to be undone

In a bar i ran into the mechanic
I felt his kiss graze my lips
He bought me two pints of beer
Which i drank, sip by sip

I fell for him as he did for me
Without knowing our pasts
I saw his grisly hair, rippling muscles
And saw a strong character cast

We moved in to his two room shack
And made love night and day
Having traveled afar, from the norm
I was finally having my way

The journey ended with love
While the stars twinkled eternally, far and above

Monday, November 25, 2013

SIMULTANEAL DUPLICATION.

I watch his attempts to inveigle me into his sense of being and i, complicitously acquiesce. I savor the crenellations of his argot and run the words around my tongue, feeling their density. Carillons of agreeable facsimiles emanate from me as i navigate his turf, his interiority. He seems to delight in illumining me, incandescing my sense of the world he lost. Prompted by an unassailable loneliness he seems to delight n dispersing himself onto me. Remnants of his being siphon, diffuse and reaggregate into mine. My willingness to solder predate rational consciousness, pre date categories and is founded upon the unequivocally luminiscent blueprint of love.

Yes i desire him intensely. I susurrate with primeval voraciousness. When striations of sand crumble under my footsoles i experience his chapped lips leaving piquant indentations upon my flesh. The serrated edges of his molars carve seductive incisions on my lips and i feel the warmth of his presence traverse the runnel of my back. When i run my fingers through the creases of his skin, or pucker with my fingertips the scars life deals him i hear from the depth of him profound intensifications of love felt and sated. I sample the ambrosia he expends like a sacrament and feel come over me the blessed purity of love. The waves lap at my feet, the empty expanse of nothingness around me duplicates its blankness but amid this primordial wilderness my only certitude is his love.

Sometimes slivers of self doubt insinuate themselves spectrally. With him the sensation of dissolution and oblivion alternate. He is a mirror reflecting to me a blueprint that i seek to actualize. Often i want to mold myself into the forms he shapes around our togetherness and am assailed by spasms of bitterness because my inchoate indeterminacy is being reconfigured into civilized structures of knowingness.

But i suspend disbelief, or rather surmount it. It is palpable that he wouldn't feel what he feels if he weren't similarly displaced. The exiguity of expediency brought our love into being but our intrinsic selves ratified it. Our integuments quiver with anticipation as we affirm what we behold. I ,of course, am a tabula rasa. My ontology is unknown to me but that unanswerability materializes becoming. In the absence of atomizing my parthenogenesis i merge seamlessly with what i see. Does this abrogation signify negation? In retrospect, no. Because while my constituents are reconstituted the being i become, the selfhood i existentially and experientially conceptualize and crystallize remains certain. 

He talks of going back to his homeland. He speaks of this odyssey which he expects me to share. I am aware that a part of him longs for a convergence with a life history severed him from experiencing and that part of what he feels for me is an undifferentiated impulse, transmuted into my being. And that the homecoming would familiarize him with that he had so perilously relinquished. And that leaves me in a lurch because while in this luminous seascape, with the roiling waves and the meagre life we share, i am his fulcrum i would, with his return, be cast aside or perhaps indulged as an extension of certain dimensions he inhabits. In the penumbra of the dwindling town, bustling, bourgeoisie, which i conceptualize so vividly, i would become nugatory. But while my love for him, compounded of loneliness, would stir and churn i would also, through a similar transference, better my own lot, carve my own being. These intersecting contradictions buffet me as our departure looms imminent but i celebrate, through him, the gift of my own sense of self he bestowed on me. The mirror will show me many realities that i glimpse only subterraneously but it is the prospect of my iridescent countenance beaming back at me, filled with the plentitude of human love, the love of like for like, that will sustain me. And with the opalescent sun, trudging out, i hug this arabesque and remain singularly blent with the inexhaustibly rich kaleidoscope of human variegation.