Sunday, December 28, 2014


I saw him on a reality tv show. It was in german. I couldn't understand a word but i could see his animated expressions, thoughtful interjections and handsome profile. The beard was extremely agreeable and the smile infectious. In some infinitesimal second in the interstices of watching him and realizing i was in love i fell in love. I knew that i was acceding to appearances, to the reality of his projected self image which, given this was television, was ineluctable. I knew next to nothing about him, may probably never even meet him ever but i still fell in love and it was irresistible and overwhelming.
I often used to think i was in love but realized retrospectively ,that i wasn't. All the men i loved were loved for an amalgam of their appearance and superficiality. The moment i realized that the image didn't correspond to actuality i stopped being in love. I realize now that my very idea of love was unrealistic and disconnected from external reality. In a way ironically, i loved myself or attenuated my self love through the mediation of those i chose to fall in love with. Hence the constant disjunction between my imagination and unmitigated reality.
In all the loves and relationships in my life eroticism has been redundant or only a desideratum or substratum of larger, capacious feelings. When i used to fall in love i would contort my imagination to conceive of a sexual commingling. It isn't that i am a realist or even unambiguously so. I have a rich imagination but even its fecundating dimensions failed to dapple my consciousness with sexual possibilities. I might wrench out an intercourse in my mind by a forceful exercise of my numerous faculties but the fact that the nebulousness of corporeality undermined me was incontrovertible. I could supplant nothing this void left with anything. All remained vertiginously indeterminate.
But i do have love on offer and care. I proffer my probity and unambivalent regard as restitution. And it is this love that renders suspect, to my mind, imputations of narcissism. Because i choose to love as i would like to be loved i invariably inveigle a third party in the colloquy between myself and my projection. And the way i would like to be loved partakes of all the empathy, considerateness and largesse which are, i find, collective in nature. So while i seek to incandesce my being with what i seek which determines how i give i represent, albeit unintentionally, the aspirations that pertain to many of us.
The question of him who i saw on television If i engineer circumstances sufficiently i might articulate my love. I must be sagacious in spelling out conspicuously all the subterranean realms of goodness i allude to. At no point must a misattribution of concupiscence be misconceived. All this is the future but i forge ahead in my mind and life, to externalize the immanent, to find the love i seek.

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