Thursday, May 29, 2014


I burrowed under his skin and was stifled by his pores and tissues and sinews.I was, both complicitously and with unawareness inveigled into his psychic blueprints. He defined me, gave me being. And in any case any being that i may have possessed before his indelible etching was so formless and inchoate that it might as well have been a void, a nothingness that contained me in its amniotic folds. There i lay circuitously conjuring up fancies of escape but ending where i began which was the closed circle of the womb. He ejected me, unpeeled me, brought to life from the facsimile i had till then inhabited.

But was the nascency i demonstrated, the possibility of metamorphosis, a running away from the primeval darkness that was my ontology. Or was it my anterior, where it all began. When in the womb the possibilities stretched forth with dazzling profusion and variegation. In contradistinction to that this desiccated compromise seems defiling, sullying, incontrovertibly alienating.

Yes i do feel lonely, ironically at a time when i have company. He has introduced me to his other familiars who seem, in many ways, extensions of his own solipsism. Once he had insinuated himself into my blank slate and etched his hieroglyphs which, though initially indeterminate, gradually gained form, i became nugatory, myself the very emptiness which gave me being. He was indifferent to the possibility of my possessing any being of my own. Like a connoisseur he made a work of art out of me but it was his work of art, his conception , his image that the mirror he made of me reflected to him. I was unambiguously, totalistically subsumed.

As i pondered over my origins and looked carefully at his psychic ministrations on me i realized that he created me from the very nothingness i came from. And if i  possessed sufficient sleight off had to mold him might i not, through a similar process of configuration create him. Currently i am too submerged in the void to conceive of an identity for myself. Such processes take time and my life is before me, extending deliciously. I do want him to realize that the placid, impassive acquiescence he sees in my countenance is but a chimera. I intend him to see into the depths, find out what he thinks he is not but might actually be given a certain authenticity our projections have. As he loses himself in me i will find myself through him. 

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