Saturday, June 28, 2014


I proffer myself before you, vulnerable. In writing, i lay bare my defenses. But i hold something back, in the hope that my concealment would, through the interstices of its camouflage, reveal a greater reality. And by a greater reality i imply perhaps that which is constitutive of yet is beyond me, that which, in self shaping itself shapes and molds me. I ingest this reality but i don't regurgitate it. It dwells immanently in me, undergoing imperceptible transmogrifications. Then amorphously, at times behaviorally or through my writing, it emerges, putatively disembodied but ultimately, with its own indwelling completeness, in a wholesome way.

This greater reality i allude to has a form that is fluid. It is not intractable. It is incommensurable with rationality simply because reason, a human construct, though limned with objectivity regarding phenomena, founders in unraveling a reality that plumbs deep into the recesses of human consciousness, that penetrates our being beyond the temporal and the spatial, which forms us as we form it in our daily lives, in an indiscernibly conspicuous way.

It is my quest as a writer to express, even if through the mode of inexpressibility, this deeper reality. I want to articulate the inarticulable. Because i think that even the non expression of the unexpressable yields an epiphany. When i endeavor to say the unsayable i reveal, though with retrospective misgivings about the failure of my enterprise, certain mnemonics.

These mnemonics, call them signifiers, as theorists invariably do, are iridescent stipples. They contain the atemporal yet can be understood only through traversing the temporal. And the temporal is itself as nascent atemporal because consciousness contravenes linearity. Cognition, too, is retrospective because the cognate is retroactive. The metonyms impregnated with nebulosities are not generally fathomable. It is their unbidden randomness that renders them overlooked. They are visitations, blessings, revelations that,in their collective demonstration of the unity behind inchoateness, indicate a higher order of things.

When the vision is experienced it is searing, incandescent. It dazzles the perspectivation of the beholder. The heart beats fast, breath quickens, pulse races. Yet when the vision is broken, as the blood quietens, the pulse slows down, the breath resumes a normal pitch, it is gone. And it is that which i, in my endless introspective excoriations, attempt to capture, concretize and hold. 

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