Friday, February 21, 2014


In the pond, time stands still and i am in a limbo. While the possibility of release never deserts me the stasis of interminable waiting renders optimism nugatory. Moments when i do hope, in an indivisible unity of being, a being i bring into being, i am discomfited by the awareness that i'd have to wait very long, maybe forever.

I leap from the pond and dive back in, croaking. When i peer into the pond's depths my countenance swims before me, at times blurring and wavering, at others motionless. These glimpses reconcile me to the anomaly of my being. Though i am entombed in an unalterable form without any volition i am, in my consciousness, diametrically opposite to that. I am that which i am not. I am not what i seem to be. I am cleft, yet soldered. These oppositionalities constitute me.

I retrieve the ball for the princess and extract a promise from her, a promise of companionship. Her willing, even enthusiastic acceptance seems apocryphal to me . So i march up to the castle, reminding her of her commitment. She was grudging, resentful but acquiesced. I ate of her plate and went with her to her bedroom. I asked her for a goodnight kiss. She flung me against the wall. And what happened in the interstices between collapsing and regenerating is a blank to me.

I saw the princess's agreeable warble of surprise and sensuousness. Carillons of erotic energy emanated from her. She was as taken aback with incredulity as i was.She, like me, had assumed that my form and being were immutable, being unaware of the churning within me. Now, a transformation had been wrought. I was myself, yet not wholly so. When i was cursed i had been a fledgling with a burgeoning moustache and regal clothes. Now i came through as lipsticked, rouged and sheathed in a spangled dress studded with refracting sequins. Where i had inhabited the enervating nothingness of non being, i came to be. This change was fortuitous, necessary and inevitable.

We lie on the sheets, the princess and i, reflected conjoined in the gilt mirror opposite. I press myself against her, kissing her rosebud mouth, i stroke her center with a moistened forefinger. The mirror  looks on, impassively but, we both know, approvingly. 

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