Thursday, April 2, 2015

THE QUEER MAN ACROSS THE STREET

Awakening from a tumultuous slumber i looked out of the window and saw a queer  man across the street. He was dressed in garish rainbow colours and was waving a banner with indecipherable words. I was dishevelled in the aftermath of having woken, my thoughts, like my hair, rumpled and indeterminate. At any rate , in the interstice of awakened sleepiness and wakeful lassitude i focused on this man . 

A deluge of sensations are crisscrossing my consciousness. I reflect that a queer celebration  might be happening somewhere near. Queer celebrations  are such delightful and meaningful events to consecrate  a communal sense of togetherness. Yes, i am queer. Though queer in a more amorphous sense that as something appertaining to my sexual identity. Queer encompasses the totality of who i am, my unclassifiability, my indefinable nature. And what might definitions betoken except a foreclosed sense of siphoning off the extraneous. What is extraneous is what is wilfully omitted as disagreeable. And that which is wilfully obliterated is most significant. A process of excision is fruitless because the excised excrescences inveigle incisively, cutting through the bone of language and discourse to demonstrate a substratum of reality that dwells immanent in the phosphorescence of a tenebrous sense of being. Like undersea life, these anomalous, though indubitably pertinacious intimations attest to the nature of reality which is provisional and tenuous. 

Sunlight penetrates the aperture of the window to warm my face. The cavalcade of these ponderous ruminations induces a prepossessing philosophic sense of calm and equilibrium. But at this distance, as the man across the street recedes from my view i look at a polychromatic  scaffolding with the word queer scrawled in it. Was this man i saw, then, an optical illusion or did i imbue him with queerness to actualize the latent dream thoughts i had only barely allowed to surface in my consciousness.

I dreamt, as i now recall, myself attending a queer event amid many other familiars and friends. Polemics, extemporaneously intoned, send forth carillons of purposefulness throughout the audience. Despite the histories that sever us, we are cleaved by a commonality that transcends our singularity. At some point i went to the podium and delivered a passionate speech, peppered with invectives against those who oppressed us unduly. Some alchemical process of transmogrification made the dream, on remembering, a kaleidoscopic patchwork of blurred and superimposed faces of those who were with me. This intermingling of gesture, tone, voice, intent, garb, mode of address became a jangled conglomeration of diffused countenances i feel too jaded to unpick. But i remember my speech clearly. 

Why, when we dream, do we recall certain things vividly while others remain indistinct. I think it points to the insubstantiality of the dreamscape. One inhabits a spectral, and sometimes penumbral landscape. Everything that in real life is disparate and indivisible is jumbled higgledy piggledy. There is an underlying concatenation but usually, to a more langorous mind, indiscernible. In dreams things permutate randomly. Life, memory, experience, desire, motive, intention coalesce and aggregate in putatively inchoate arabesques.And isn't queer itself one such arabesque among the multitudes of others. 

The sun has thoroughly warmed me now. Time for a cup of coffee. But what was i thinking of. It began with a man, all right whom i designated queer and then went on to dreams, sexualities, identities, the nature of reality and many other meandering strands. I can't quite cohere my train of thought and all i can grasp at are a few signifiers here and there. Certain spiral loops congeal, other, more transitory thoughts disperse. No doubt when i remember this moment at the queer book club meeting  in a fortnight all i will have are nebulous intangibles. Even now all i can focus on is the man i elucidated ,in this account as queer. Everything is a dense, inchoate phalanx and myself, the perceiving consciousness is suddenly being waved to by someone down the street. 

The ostensible queer man waving jauntily at me  is a clown dressed in garish clothes and the scaffolding  queer adduced with ink ( queer ink) for a book promotion. 

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