Monday, October 27, 2014


What do i want is unknown to me. To know wanting presupposes a knowledge about the self. When who i am is indeterminate to me how can i be conscious of, or cognizant of what i seek. And in a way it is a relief. My mind is preponderant with things that i believe i know. Lately though this belief has been undermined. I find myself, through a process of rigorous introspection, being baulked at the accoutrements of satisfaction i have. All at one the whole satisfying edifice, only putatively consolatory, seems inadequate, indeed meretricious. And in the face of this irreconcilable dichotomy between what i don't know i want and what i do have i founder, my certitudes attenuate and my equilibrium dissolves.
Often the platitude of being satisfied with what one has crops up in my mind. As though desire were stoppable, as though a conscious foreclosure of wanting would obviate the unceasing concatenation of desire and wanting that constitutes any human life. The compensations are anodyne, predicated on repression. And though an assiduous conscious circumvention of wanting may confer an ostensible self containment its cropping up as a neurotic symptom or a slip as psychoanalysts postulate would testify to its intractable persistence.
Sometimes i wonder if i should eschew wanting altogether, create a self imposed wall of my own reality as a bulwark,.Can i handle, therefore the emergence, unconsciously, of what i truly seek? I could, perhaps take it in my stride knowing that a forceful suppression of the unsavoury could get me through the motions. But is such curtailment judicious? Might i not go neurotic?
Hence, in cogitating these imponderables do i realize how precarious my own sanity, indeed sanity in itself is. That no matter how indefatigable my self censorings my unconscious will, inveterately, rear its head. The unbidden nature of its visitations redoubles my horror. I fear self exposure and if that self exposure is not just unprepossessing but downright inexcusable then might not my interlocutors, confronted with this primeval darkness obliterate my being from their consciousness. And the attendant solitariness such a fate betokens suffuses me with unutterable terror.
But these speculations, though precipitate are also fruitless. The avoidance of future discomfiture, no matter how skilfully traversed in the mind, collapses when real life, with its capricious visitations, clamps it down. Radical uncertainty and inexorability render fate ominous and unknowable. Forebodings may sometimes be sagacious but a sagaciousness underpinned by insecurity, uncertainty. And i may perhaps , discover mnemonics ,intimations of what i desire but while the emotional reality of that desire may be unalterable its permutations, dependent on its importunate manifestations in real life, infinitely mouldable, transmogrify faster than my ability to capture it. So perhaps the only course of action possible is to relinquish action. So i surrender to destiny and let it carry me whenever and wherever it chooses to.

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