Sunday, March 30, 2014


In the beginning was the mirror. That is what i remembered most vividly. When mum used to leave on an errand or a general busyness assailed her she left me in the bedroom. And hanging, gilded silver, the rims glowing seductively, lay an oval mirror.

As far back as i can remember i loved looking at the mirror. I had, in that unformulated state of childhood, no idea of who i was. I was rather diffuse, all over the place. Only recently  had i let go of the nipple. And i missed it immensely. I shat in my nappies, copiously, indefatigably, often willfully to demonstrate my anger and frustration. My mother's unremonstrated ministrations annoyed me. Furrows of rage would striate my puckered face as i screamed unconstrainedly. In the grip of primal impulses my emotionality was ingenuous, untainted by adult canniness. It is with the benefit of retrospection that i enforce a willed regression which is really a progression from darkness to light.

So caught as i was in the interstice of my growing awareness of my separateness and my increasing need for a soldering time wrested from me, there seemed a void as though in the absence of a foregone impulse, to which time was an adjunct there was adduced the tabula rasa ness of unknowingness as though giving up infantilized blandishments and unaware of the knowledge to navigate the world i lapsed into stasis, suspending even will. Shitting too became a valedictory longing for a cleaving, a cleaving which temporality inexorably wrenched from me. The mirror filled the gap.

I see something that replicates me yet the nebulosity of my self conception erases the possibility of understanding what the thing  on the other side is. It seems to smile back at me as my toothless gummy smile is duplicated. I gurgle with pleasure at the possibility of this newness, this novel event in my life. As of now i see that there is someone there who mimes me. Who that is, why it does what it does and what such a thing betokens remains indeterminate.

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