Wednesday, January 8, 2014

THE QUEER CORPOREAL MIRROR

I traversed the neon lit gloaming, readying myself for a night of intense lovemaking. My flesh quivered in anticipation at the thought of the soldering that awaited me. Yet if it was only lust that had been propulsive i would have been circumspect. As it is love was intermingled to my passionate integument. Love brought our intersection into being, lovemaking reaffirmed it.

A tremulous table lamp irradiated his bedroom with liquid light which refracted the chandelier with prisms of flickering luminosity. The bedspread lay folded, awaiting our unraveling. A glass of champagne stood in expectant readiness. As my eyes took in the room i saw that he'd procured a mirror directly opposite his bed. The rims of the mirror glowed silver in the tenuous light and our images converged and blended in the tenebrous shadows. I lay down waiting for him to undress himself.

Yet tonight the presence of the mirror invested his erotic ministrations with self consciousness. I saw, through my vantage point, our commingling replicating itself in the ensorcelled surface of the mirror. It seemed a simulacrum of what we were doing yet somehow more real than our actual presence. Reduplication rendered our performance performative. I felt like i was watching a B grade porn movie, with ourselves as both spectators and performers.

The mirror had discomfited me by imbuing my acts with self consciousness. My being split and i saw myself dispassionately as an observer. And the sight filled me with premonitory doom. The mirror had divested me of my illusions. I saw the unambivalent truth which was that his assiduous lovemaking and indefatigable fucking was a marked reflection of an absence of love. While i was dismayed by the mirror's reflexiveness he delighted in it. His performance pleased him and my desultory reciprocation precipitated him into further excesses of forcefulness. For the first time i felt violated. My collusion in my rape disgusted me. The mirror, which usually validated and made my sartorial appurtenances agreeable was, in this undressed impersonality of unambiguous reality test, a conduit for my unconscious which, by osmosis suppurated me with self loathing. The mirror made me truculent and i pushed him off the bed and smashed it with a flower vase. To his stupefaction i dressed and left peremptorily without promises of return that had constituted our early departures. The mirror had synthesized my consciousness by posing as counterpoint the antithesis to my illusory thesis. While i had rejoiced in our being i came to become myself.

And i discovered that dissimulation is inescapable but being oneself is to merge with the significations of our reflection with what we see.

No comments:

Post a Comment