Tuesday, July 8, 2014


Now i see you straighten up self consciously as though my gaze has penetrated your being. All at once it seems that you have ,in your consciousness of yourself changed the architecture of at least your outward being. You don't directly look at me though i notice you straining with the effort of nonchalant indifference. But the fact that your eye has a self conscious gleam and your physiognomy an alertness, a piquancy suggests that my presence  have been noted.

Your aquiline nose is highly agreeable. From a distance the tan you have attained through months of gardening is highly prepossessing. You are unavoidably yourself but the demonstration of your being, inveigled as it is through the mode of my gaze, sparks of  associations that i can't trace but experience. My tumescence, i hope, doesn't misguide you into assuming lechery on my part. It is simply that certain nerve ends have been activated. From whence they sprung up, from which memory they emerged transmuting into this tumescence remains indeterminate.

But i notice the flush in your face, the mortification in your eyes and i hastily tug my pants down hoping to camouflage the bulge. Are you flattered or embarrassed ? I somehow can't discern one way or another. But there are certain things which are palpable. The gentle flirtatious posing i've seen you do when photographed is being revealed to me. Your assiduous ministrations to the rose bed betoken a sincerity which was never in doubt but it is endearing to watch you put in this effort, for my sake perhaps. You are rendered performative through my eye. With incredible self consciousness you seem to be doing things to create an effect than doing things for their own sake. And where, amid all this becoming you proffer, is your being? How do i tap into the inner core of your being. At best i can glean, through the interstices of your performance, certain nuggets to incandesce your being. Or i have to assume, though it goes against my philosophic nature, to assume that what you represent is what you are. The search remains nebulous and my conclusions mere projections.

But then if you are metamorphosing under the aegis of my gaze so am i transforming through your indirect but conspicuous counter gaze. Your consciousness reaches out to me, with the laser vision of a powerful beam and makes me self conscious. I notice that i am foreshortening the intensity of my look, that i am endeavoring to evince the same nonchalance that you did. I am concealing my inner tumult, the rippling of my integument yet i am trying not to appear entirely inattentive and indifferent. Caught in this interplay of gaze and counter gaze dissimulation is being extracted from us, by ourselves. But at the end of the day i would choose rather to appear before you in the form i choose and i am certain the same holds true for you. You turn around, smile and return to your gardening. I walk briskly, after rapt contemplation, towards my car.

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