Wednesday, January 4, 2017

XXX- A PROSE PIECE

Corresponding to the mores of a new reality , mediated by language, I acclimatize, endeavouring to grasp the hieroglyphs where the nature of affection or love is encapsulated in an x. A capital X would imply a capaciousness, a succession of x's would imply affection and love in excess of the capacity represented by a singular symbolized representation. Or is it my finger, captured in an unbidden reverie, frozen on x, pressing interminably so that while a s...uccession of x's unravel the stasis of wordlessness is compensated by an efflorescence of feeling whose ingratiating excess speaks for itself, or rather unspeaks itself through reiteration .

Do I, in pressing x on the keyboard unquestioningly simulate a gesture formulaically, where the observance of convention overrules feeling? Or is my interlocutor , invisible, filtered through language, summoning forth unbidden, unwitting and unprocessed reams of feeling, huddled in an inextricable blend of hope, longing, fear, absence whose only pithy and pat externalization is an x ? How many ex's or exes lie buried , of that which is expropriated, extraneous, extrojected , extravagant , extruded , excommunicated out of me . And do you ? on reading the culminating x , feel a similar frisson of ex's and exes unspooling somewhere beyond language, beyond cognition, beyond reason, while between you and me, through the agency of a screen with a social media app , lies the incontrovertible, irrefutable x , in itself, self contained, inviolable, meaning or not meaning whatever it is supposed to but existing independently of you and me though brought into being through you and me.

Other hieroglyphs substantiate, corroborate and undermine what this x represents. An adduced heart , its pink bright sheen representing the scarred tissue which beats steadily but precariously, or an emoticon which feels sometimes adhesively sticky, a cloying accompaniment to something unrepresented and ungraspable but felt or assumed is felt or is believed by oneself , given the way our mode of interchange is its own coordinate, to be felt. Do I then see that sparse x , in short letter, as an extent of the depth you proclaim in its minuteness or do I, having imperceptibly intuited the reserves of your undemonstrativeness read a genuine note of regard which thrills? Does an excess of emotion represented by prodigious yet gossamer signs reveal the density of your emollience or the exigency of it engendered by the words I put out? Whatever it is, underwritten, overdetermined, corporeally imprinted on screen in the void of our mutual unknowing , it is enough. And its sufficiency a testament to its own integrity .

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