Thursday, January 23, 2014


As a tabula rasa i inscribed myself into my being. It was a process of self determination that, with time, crystallized into a tremulous yet durable sense of self. My pearly while skin shimmers opalescently in the penumbral dusk and by night, under the luminous shadow of the moon gleams. The moon, repository of nocturnal being reveals to me, through its own imperfect perfection, a presaging of unequivocal beauty and its attendant precariousness.

So i've never taken it for granted that i will stay beautiful perennially. The halo of goodness i inhabit will be unaltered but my form will undergo temporal configurations. I feel less arrogant than i would have had unmitigated confidence in my being had buoyed me against mortal depredations. Because such self assurance, compounded of self deception will lead only to labyrinths of darkness.

In this respect i differ from her. The shadow the moon casts is a reflection of my reflection. Any movement and the edges fray, the outlines blur or i superimpose through my aegis subtle transformations. She, in possession of her inviolable beauty likes ratification. Constant reinforcements buttress her. I think what she fears is negation but what i am irresistibly drawn to is the self same negation.

I love her yet i know she loves herself. It would be presumptuous to excite even a remnant of passion in her solipsistic breast. She inhabits the mirror as her unconscious inhabits her psyche. What she finds validated are her own psychic blueprints. I have seen her gaze at me with omnivorous vindictiveness. Her restless eyes rove over me. Am i wrong in discerning a smoldering passion there, a burning, raging fire.

As i grow more beautiful i see her  contemplating scrolling hieroglyphs in my putative blank slate. My ingenuousness is written over as causality, through her mediation, decrees me a eventful fate. Her mirror, as i glimpse it across the rim of her perspectivation glows silvered and its  circularity  reveals to my surprised gaze, myself. How did my experiential blankness overfill with this spillage. Her breast heaves in contemplating my beauty. Accustomed to her jealous rage i try to slip away unnoticed. She catches a glimpse of my receding back and rushes out. I stand petrified, expecting a sharp slap. Instead she gives me the sweetest, most langourous and erotic kiss. Dumbfounded i ask her why. Her only asseveration is that she is free of the circle of self regard that circumscribed her. The mirror was the other yet her and their symbiosis replicated her tautologous narcissism. She needed me, needed the evidence of my love to step out of that suffocating hell hole. The circle has been broken. 

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