Friday, March 17, 2017

ADAMANTINE MYTHMAKING

Your words , as words are wont to do, build towering linguistic edifices wherein the unexceptional nature of your being is wreathed in the grandiose mode. The rococo , serpentine whorls , the bejewelled fronds light up, lighten the boundless mausoleums of what you eschew uttering . But the unuttered , through the utter otherness of the unutterable it but unsuccessfully conceal stutters through. I inhabit the dual realm of the vocal and the intuitive. A ...part of me seeks to topple the chain of your intertwined signifiers which, while insincerely sallying forth, nonetheless build up sensuous alternations of pictorial mnemonics I impressionably swoon under hoping that these beguiling word games , for all their guile, betray the fundamental guilelessness of your self complacence. while another part, desperate to attach to the copious free floating verbal shards a modicum of authenticity while simultaneously mistrusting them floats free from the net you seek to ensconce me in.

Perhaps the enclosure is of my own making because habitually succumbing to the way elegantly misapplied stipples create illusory monochromes of non- sense has enervated me. Wearied by the artistry with which inaesthetic human dimensions are encased has induced a wariness because these flickering, glimmering barbs you overlay with feeling attest to the inharmonious undemonstrativeness of actual feeling which is a different matter entirely, or matter made flesh , a fleshly corporeality that undoes me while you flesh out these plumped up phrases , freshening their archaic forms with contemporaneous permutations.

Suspended in nothingness where nothing need be spoken, a non being dimension I am prone to inhabit imbues my tremulous insights with razor sharp specificity. Abject, impelled towards abjection by the void underlying your inane utterances I counteract with salty expletives , unspooling cornucopic execrations. The flow of my vituperation stalls your artificiality and suddenly the baroque profusion laced with charm you disgorge is dismantled by incredulity. I hold on to this infinitesimal fraction of time in which monumental depths dwell with dormant languor. I savour the inarticulacy I have brought about as , in this split second, where language and intent, form and content are frozen in stasis real meaning will emerge which is not meaning but the meaninglessness beneath the meaning you impose. Yet amid the meaninglessness that will forthwith supervene , which is its own meaning, a higher meaning presumably , I will discover the key to your being.

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