Saturday, March 8, 2014


The young man is naked, hugging his arms around himself as if to render himself invulnerable. His eyes are dilated with a nameless fear, terror and the lids are stretched tight while the red rimmed perspectivation imbues even the most quotidian of paraphernalia with a disquieting light.
The young man's ass is bleeding. Gobs of semen are intermingled with the blood. The muscles of his anus are ripped apart and torn, their taut sinews attenuated and weakened. Semen is spattered on the back of his thighs. Blood congeals around his back, its thickening ruby shards flaking off when his back rubs against them.
Trails of semen run from his mouth IN  infinitesimally cascading rivulets, drops of it trickling down. Its bitter tastelessness leaves indelible imprints on the insides of his mouth. His gaping mouth betokens both terror and reprieve. His stomach muscles are contracted, his fists, around his arms, in protective encirclement, clenched, tightly clasped. The knuckles are white, the bones protrude grotesquely in two dimensionality. In the interstice of tormented wakefulness and somnambulism, relief that the ordeal is over coexists with fear of its re emergence.
The unsavory taste of viscous semen crenellates the edges of his teeth and lips. His own mutilation is a stark reminder of the depredations of dismemberment. Parts where his hair is lopped off reveals glistening intimations of empty skull where the membranes aND  arteries concatenate to create a bluish black tinge. So he lies, in a state of unutterable horror, numb with hopelessness.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


Okay, so i'm rather introspective. I ruminate on the depths of phenomena. On that fateful evening i was thinking of the nature of phenomena, of being, and how how the attrition of time transformed even suppleness into entropy. Memory colluded with me in this scarcely discernible cogitation, conferring to the outward onlooker a deep repose, a somnolent thoughtfulness . While there dwelt underneath, thoughts of a profounder nature.
Thoughts are both willed and unbidden. A thought juts out, unexpected, linked to other thoughts yet indivisibly singular. It floods memory, imbues consciousness with both the contingent and the ineffable. The same thought, re emerging later is imperceptibly altered. Random causality is complicit with willed deliberation. Both intersect.
And i am a product of intersection, an interstice between the articulable and the negated. While i am shoved away into the gloaming my being is unobliterated. Erasure is what erases difference and difference constitutes a mosaic. As an arabesque i ripple, float and attach myself, through association into the structuration of being and once ensconced demonstrate, through my transience, the evanescence of all phenomena.
Evanescence is the fulcrum of human life and my inchoate meanderings signify how the most assiduous exegesis can yield the most chimerical of answers. A substratum of truth underlies everything but is as much a truth brought into being as it is the generality of experience.
When i gaze into the mirror i see a reflection of a reflection . I see the carapace of factitious reality and i emerge subterraneanly from that carapace. While i duplicate the duplicated i also congeal the inessentiality of the essentialist. Neither do i repudiate the phantasmagoria of becoming nor do i deny the incorporeal metaphysical. I partake of both.
And these reflections signify that though i set out to unravel their constituents at work i established, through predicate and metonym, the centrality of phenomena itself.

Monday, March 3, 2014


I foreshorten my gaze to look closer at the constituents of his body. The pectorals slough of beads of sweat running in rivulets down his chest. His biceps bulge, their muscular pliability working my fingers into accelerating raptures of felt mobility. His eyes are filmed with the tenuity of working out. He exudes excitation, repletion, expendation.
Striations of chest hair curl around his chest. I forestall my importunity by running my hand through their smooth roughness. His stubble curves incisions of raspiness on the skin of my palm. His goggles reduplicate me. His heaving chest betokens exertion, effortfulness, freneticism.
A thin trail of hair runs down across his belly to his , culminating corporeally in his sweatpants. I trace the downward runnel of it with my forefinger. His stomach muscles contract and billow as his body reclaims rightful repose after a tough day at the gym.
I run my hands around his back. His back muscles ripple, his spine traverses gracefully its downward spiral . Indented bones stand out, as sharp points and i feel the satiny smoothness of hairless skin with the hard edged outlines of spine bones, superimposed, refracting infinitesimal stipples of pleasure.
I foreshorten my gaze to look at his fulcrum. The throbbing blood in his stream duplicates his engorgement. I see, conspicuously, the sheath of his sweatpants pants studding this tumescence. With my eye i trace every curve of it, its colossal flanks heaving and roiling, its alertness.
The man behind the frame is a professional gymnast. With me, other spectators, with their own foreshortened gazes and expectations, pause to absorb this montage and move on to the tea stall.

Sunday, March 2, 2014


The mirror, oval, hangs on a gilt frame, gilded. The mirror reduplicates being and precipitates becoming. The reflection that is reflected is reflected on by the reflector as reflecting a reflection of a reflection, a facsimile of a putative metaphysical that is indiscernible. Shafts of perception refract in the retina and consciousness as phenomena reflect and (re) configure in the aegis, things that were hitherto unperceived and negated but present.

It is not just a simple projection of self into a (pro) jected space of agreeableness. Nor is being disengaged from the reflection. But the perceiving subject's being is cleft and severed through a willful negation. What is seen is really what there is but through a leap of faith the 'is' becomes 'should be'. And the shadow self, the unrepresentable real, which is experienced but inarticulate recedes indistinctly into a primeval state of non being where it reposes among the constantly revivifying black holes of existentiality, manifesting itself in epiphanies that are momentarily glimpsed.

The structuration of the symbolic repudiates the real but the real informs the symbolic. The real is represented in experience both through a lacunae of its intrinsic unrepresentability and a need to symbiotically cleave to it. In the interstices of both these possibilities exists the queer apotheosis, glimpsed vertiginously as the opalescent light of the penumbra confers a patina of simultaneal diminution and expansiveness. The queer experience belongs neither to the symbolic nor the imaginary because their constructivity disallows variegation though it constructs it as its telos through erasure. The real, though equally constructed, contains the imaginary, the symbolic and itself because it betokens areas of experience and knowledge that are unknowable, that are both non ontological yet capable of being configured from nothingness.

The real is really liberating because it is a space where pre determined compartments collapse and attenuate. The queer glimpse in the mirror's eldritch depths demonstrates both the absurdity and limits of the symbolic and the unknowability of the real. Misperception is replaced by the unperceivable but it is in the unperceivable that the queer transcendence lies. In the shadow play of reduplications, in the room of mirrors where the symbolic disaggregates lies the real whose unglimpsed nature reveals the limits of the symbolic. The fathomability of the real remains indeterminate but what is unaltered is the protean ness of experience. The real must not be consigned and cast off as unknowable and therefore unworthy of exegesis. On the contrary the real must be traversed imaginatively to both become and glimpse a more nebulous being. The nature of such a being is its unclassifiability. Meanwhile there is the self and the mirror. In their mind games and metamorphoses of perception lies the ungraspable. Either the self loses itself in rapt contemplation of this cycle or it peregrinates this closed circularity to get beyond the specular. The mirror is both mediator and facilitator. What matters is the use we put it to.