Thursday, May 15, 2014


Recondite subject matter buttresses me. It is almost as if, the pressures of the concrete being too onerous to contemplate, random caprice buoys me. In my rather abstruse cogitations i find sitting before the mirror and deliberating upon things rather agreeable. The reflection, or its reflexiveness, precipitates areas of amorphousness the unraveling of which constitutes one of life's chief delights.

On that eventful day the wave of reminiscence was submerging me in a cavalcade of both sanguine and unpleasant recollections that alternately pleased and discomfited me. I couldn't countenance the kaleidoscope of contrary feelings because equanimity was my attribute. And this concatenation of memories, shimmering, diminishing, impoverished me from any sense of wholesomeness i might have envisaged.

To protect myself i started thinking of the mechanism of memory itself as though, through some ratiocination a remnant of order could underlie this inchoateness. By transfiguring experience to phenomena, by substituting the lived with the architectonic i sought to circumvent and offset the penumbral in my otherwise luminous consciousness.

Yet each though folded in on itself. My own  memory, piquant, was held up before me , with its causality, with  lucid clarity before it retracted and subsequently reemerged with greater importunity . Sometimes, albeit tautologously, my mind embarked on an experience whose unceasing replication revealed its importance in my life as much as my obsessiveness over it, which i thought had become acceptance over time.

My impassive gaze held on to my reflection in the mirror but the tumult in my mind overwhelmed me. It seemed i as beset by a force larger than myself and its unbidden visitations shocked me into knowing that even in the aegis of my own experience, with the mirror hanging gilt opposite me, there was only that much that i could control. The imperatives of reason, tremulous, precarious, raised their ineffectual constituents before submerging into tenebrous nullity, a nothingness.

I had set out to unravel memory and my own experience proved too powerful a presence to reckon with. My complicity with the mirror, in so far as it conspired with me in abrogating reality and relinquishing its commemorative hold, dissolved and evaporated. Though outwardly, the lineaments of my self demonstrated a sameness of reflection i was a mere facsimile of myself, having been scoured and attenuated by memory to recollect even a putative completeness my integument may have illusorily inhabited.

Though i realized it in retrospect i had, unbeknownst to me,in the suffusion and submergence of the phenomenon of my own recollection, unearthed the teleology of memory in itself.

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