Saturday, January 11, 2014


Being occupies a crepuscular space in the effulgence of becoming. Being implies an essence, an inviolable entity. There is a finality to being, a predetermined quality of imbuing becoming with its inexorability. Yet being is, in the interstice of existentialism and post structuralism, an iridescent phenomene. While it has been rendered precarious its flame is unwavering.

Becoming insinuates with its own processes of self determination. Becoming wrests destiny of its irrevocability and invests it with the possibility of configuration. Becoming dapples an enervated being with pulsating life, or so it believes. Becoming putatively galvanizes being, irradiates it. Becoming still remains, despite its self constitution and indispensability, webbed to being. Their indubitable symbiosis makes a monochromatic differentiation arduous just as a homogeneous seamlessness is cleft under the pressure of its own fragility.

The symbiosis, nontheless, is a space where a cleaving occurs, a cleaving brought into being by the severing which then becomes a concatenation of arabesques stippling the mosaic with their singular co ordinates yet intermingled to the whole. Being brings becoming into being. Becoming actualizes being. Being propels the transmutation, becoming crystallizes it. Being wrests becoming from an undifferentiated wholeness. Becoming institutes individuation. Becoming traverses the anterior nothingness of being in moments of incertitude. Becoming endeavors an amalgamation to the metaphysical, which is made possible through the blankness of being. Being presupposes a larger consciousness and merges that to becoming. Being illumines becoming with the knowledge of hitherto unguessed dimensions of transcendence. While both are inseparable both are dialectical. Into the cauldron of being becoming gains form. In the accoutrements of becoming the bare bones of being dwell immanent.

Thursday, January 9, 2014


All journeys begin with a point of departure and a point of destination. Yet where does the beginning begin and where does the end end? Trying to locate an anterior fulcrum compounds the issue. Beginning and end become spaces of aegis than points in time. The end is determined by the nature of the beginning and the beginning culminates when the end ends itself. Yet the end is not final not the beginning inevitable. The beginning and the end are like mirrors, holding up blueprints of nascency to each other. One sees in other a self actualizing possibility while the other sees in it a cessation of mortal circumscriptions.

The beginning reflects the end retroactively by predetermining it. The end forestalls the finality of the beginning by transforming its rivulets into labyrinths and alleyways. As the beginning zigzags and meanders towards the end, the end recedes. As the end tries to catch up to the beginning, the beginning founders in its own circumlocution. The beginning and end never meet yet they are symbiotic. They inhabit the penumbra of their respective gloaming yet they underscore and underpin the possibility of each other's inescapable conclusiveness.

The journey is suspended in timelessness and formlessness. The journey floats inchoately determined by causality and affected by indeterminacy. If it's starting point is subjective its ending is equally uncertain. Or perhaps the journey is inviolable. From a temporal point of view time informs its own passage but in the tenuous landscape of memory and consciousness, which are the journey's co ordinates all temporality is rendered apocryphal.

Perhaps what is known is that the journey goes on. The milky way gleams iridescently, black holes regenerate by themselves, the quarks keep reconfiguring but for us, the journey is our only reality where we get neither answers nor knowledge though we think we do.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014


I traversed the neon lit gloaming, readying myself for a night of intense lovemaking. My flesh quivered in anticipation at the thought of the soldering that awaited me. Yet if it was only lust that had been propulsive i would have been circumspect. As it is love was intermingled to my passionate integument. Love brought our intersection into being, lovemaking reaffirmed it.

A tremulous table lamp irradiated his bedroom with liquid light which refracted the chandelier with prisms of flickering luminosity. The bedspread lay folded, awaiting our unraveling. A glass of champagne stood in expectant readiness. As my eyes took in the room i saw that he'd procured a mirror directly opposite his bed. The rims of the mirror glowed silver in the tenuous light and our images converged and blended in the tenebrous shadows. I lay down waiting for him to undress himself.

Yet tonight the presence of the mirror invested his erotic ministrations with self consciousness. I saw, through my vantage point, our commingling replicating itself in the ensorcelled surface of the mirror. It seemed a simulacrum of what we were doing yet somehow more real than our actual presence. Reduplication rendered our performance performative. I felt like i was watching a B grade porn movie, with ourselves as both spectators and performers.

The mirror had discomfited me by imbuing my acts with self consciousness. My being split and i saw myself dispassionately as an observer. And the sight filled me with premonitory doom. The mirror had divested me of my illusions. I saw the unambivalent truth which was that his assiduous lovemaking and indefatigable fucking was a marked reflection of an absence of love. While i was dismayed by the mirror's reflexiveness he delighted in it. His performance pleased him and my desultory reciprocation precipitated him into further excesses of forcefulness. For the first time i felt violated. My collusion in my rape disgusted me. The mirror, which usually validated and made my sartorial appurtenances agreeable was, in this undressed impersonality of unambiguous reality test, a conduit for my unconscious which, by osmosis suppurated me with self loathing. The mirror made me truculent and i pushed him off the bed and smashed it with a flower vase. To his stupefaction i dressed and left peremptorily without promises of return that had constituted our early departures. The mirror had synthesized my consciousness by posing as counterpoint the antithesis to my illusory thesis. While i had rejoiced in our being i came to become myself.

And i discovered that dissimulation is inescapable but being oneself is to merge with the significations of our reflection with what we see.

Monday, January 6, 2014


In the beginning was negation. A negation, erased but unobliterated. While the portals of the norm proliferated unconstrained negation dwelt latently, roiling, churning, always circumnavigating. Negation implied a nothingness, a consignment to empty redundancy. The black hole entombed that blankness, emptying out any remnant or modicum of conformity. The black hole, by virtue of its finality, its inexorable destiny remained self contained, inviolable. It lived its existence unsullied by cosmic custom and proceeded to encapsulate and encompass within itself, a world of its own making.
Unbeknownst to the black hole though, or as subterranean knowledge, configurations, febrile, gossamer yet palpable aggregated and dispersed. Their constituents were points of kinetic energy, propulsive and retractable. In the interface of that ebb and flow enlivening and rejuvenation crystallized. So imperceptible were the workings of this transmogrification, so unnoticed its coordinates that the metamorphosis happened without any knowledge on the part of the cosmos. The cosmos, which had signed a death warrant to the black hole was perhaps unaware that obliteration into nullity was impossible and that in an indeterminate cosmos concatenations of matter, mass, energy and quarks could rekindle and reassemble spaces which were thought non existent.
The black hole would become a star and its fluid identity, kept under wraps for the fear of irrevocability it embodied would be actualized. The black hole was feared because it contained vertiginous intimations of precipitous oblivion, a form of non being. Non being presupposed a being but the living stars, the milky way and the planets depended as much on the caprices of indeterminacy as did the black hole. Processes of transformation were ubiquitous and would persist regardless of putative states of non being. The being of the cosmos was predicated on an erasure of the black hole from the pulsating blood flow of existence and throbbing, breathing life. By 'becoming' a star the black hole would shine forth incandescently in the gloaming of purportedly unacknowledged being and affirm, iteratively, the constant revivification of matter and life