Wednesday, June 11, 2014


When he  looked back over the months of lustful fantasizing that he had, perhaps against conscious will, been precipitated into he always began and ended with that photograph. It was a handsome photograph, the pepper and salt beard and moustache of the profile erotic, suggestive. The sharp tilt of the nose was indicative of a handsomeness. Though rationally the man in the photograph was no movie star, nor imbued with the conventional good looks of a average celebrity. But there was a roiling within, a primordial churning.

Because lust was the principal response elicited the looks became irrelevant. The photograph showed a man in his late 40's or early 50's whereas he was only 25. Nights were imagined thinking of the striations of the beard rasping his skin, the lips pressed seductively against his. To the act of sex he never got into because it was at foreplay that his imagination stalled. However vague, unformulated primal sex scenes did flit through his mind, disconnected, random but indeterminate. It was enough for him to dream of initiatory lovemaking rituals.

Strangely he did not accouter the face in the profile with any emotions. He lacked imagination though he did evince a certain repressed sexual undercurrent. For him the face, mediated by a screen represented only the reflection of his own desire, his own sexual urges. In a sense the profile was not another or an other but an intensification and extension of his own desires. Into that blank, blank because uninflected by projection, he extrojected his own cravings. It was more as though a blueprint in his consciousness were given form in the profile and associated through with externalization. This man in the profile lived in europe which obliterated any tenuous meeting ground unless an expensive flight ticket and a modicum of familiarity brought it into being.

But such blandishments were unnecessary. It was because the profile existed in the mode of fantasy that its erotic potentiality was augmented. Too close an intimacy or a certain initiation of getting to know would have brought hard reality come crashing down , wherein imagination would have to reconceptualize possibilities which, informed with communication, would become unavoidable. And he didn't have that imagination.

He goes to that profile, visits and revisits, jacking off to expend his pent up frustrations. In this closed colloquy between self and image a circle of solipsism is created.And he, enclosed, replicates, tautologously, like a marionette, with inexorable inevitability, the ritual of desire and negation. 

No comments:

Post a Comment