Wednesday, March 12, 2014


Where did i begin was a question i frequently asked myself. It was a pertinent query but one whose answer was unknown. Perhaps it is human folly that inquiries of this nature are accompanied by a wistfulness, a holding of breath, as though the answer lay within but could be only experienced, not articulated.

Memories flood me, significations congeal, associations quicken, perceptions deepen. Certain mnemonics repose in my unconscious mind, mnemonics that take me back to pre history. There, in the penumbra of the gloaming the salinity of the womb suffuses my nostrils. I see a wide, bottomless expanse of sea, receding and stretching infinitely, indefinitely. A vast, capacious ocean of being entombs me where i, a floating arabesque, try to hold on to my singularity.

They are, therefore i am. Because they are, i become. Quantum physics theory of the big bang fails to satiate my quest for knowledge. It is too pat an explanation, too neat a theory. Besides it is what we say the world began as and our evidence, though amplified by science still remains, unproven and unprovable. The apparatus of technology is a coloration, a sheath but is mediated through our own consciousness . I say so, therefore it is so as though objective evidence of life beyond us were chimeras, designed to obfuscate our anthropomorphic grandiosities.

So i stand before a mirror. It reflects me, i reflect myself through being reflected by my reflection which the mirror reflects by impassively reflecting on the reflection i proffer to it to reflect on. At present, as the rims of the mirror glow opalescently, maybe it is all i have. Best to begin with a beginning i can determine. On the other side, there is only madness. 

Tuesday, March 11, 2014


I am fascinated by spindles. Father ensured every material comfort to me yet spindles were disallowed, indeed disbarred. The prospect of encountering a spindle suffused me with great trepidation and excitement. So one day, when father and mother left i chanced upon one, pricked my finger and instantly lapsed into a profound slumber.

I am a blessed girl. The congenial propitiatory boons conferred by the fairies held me in good stead till i pricked my finger. The spindle was the playmate in the mirror i identified as ideal. It represented a form of becoming i consistently and unambivalently aspired to. Little was i to know that anticipation contained foreboding and a foregone conclusion lay shrouded under the patina of irresistible attraction. It seemed in blending myself with my (pre) conception of myself in the mirror, a facsimile at best, a negation at worst i would be self obliterating and becoming not insubstantial but non existent.

This impenetrable slumber is unexciting. Rumination substitutes freneticism. I am quiet, contemplative, my consciousness immanent with intimations of apotheosis that roil within the quadrangles of my mental attic. They swirl and shimmer and billow out in unawakened repose, undisturbed restfulness and an unmediated self sufficiency.

The spindle has become my reality. In my nocturnal colloquies with it i colluded in this spiritual enervation and entropic non being where somnambulism became both de rigueur and the raison d etre of my being. I don't know in what path my transcendence lies or whether there is any. All the fairy stories i heard as a girl buttressed me, became a canopy under which my sense of belief or leap of faith was sheathed in the precarious integument of a tenuously durable self consciousness.

I am incarcerated in the catacomb of my femininity, my desire for femininity, my soldering to corporeal femininity, my intense love, passion and hunger for my own like.This proclivity always seemed unconsummatable to me and i repressed it, presenting an outward simulacrum of conformity.

I awaken, a handsome butch prince kisses me. Exhalations of disillusionment ricochet of me because while awakening was greatly anticipation happiness was to have been its accompaniment. I was kissed again but as my fingers clamped to push his body away from me i encountered firm breasts with hardened nipples. As my fingers meandered down and felt for the prick beneath the tunic i encountered a blank space, an aperture that was to be my inroad into the bliss i envisaged. I kissed her back.