Sunday, March 31, 2013

The Conviction of A Right Handed

i had this dream again, this man i met, an extraordinarily ordinary man like a God or a means of measure. He stretched his hand, ..., i felt a moist and strange sensation, i looked down, the thing holding my hand or wrapped around it rather like a strange growth, was a fresh fillet of flesh as if in the abyss of subconscious, life had infested in the space between my stretched fingers afflicting the void with an expansive  wound of existence.

Like in the wake, dreams embody this sur-reality of transpositions of one thing to another or to nothingness altogether and the time-lessness of it, time’s absence that is in the course of events that makes it impossible to recollect a linear measure, as i don’t know how long i was in this man’s presence or held his hand before he disappeared or rather faded, a fading which itself faded as in a disappearance of a dis.appearing.  Absence and presence juxtaposed, overlaid, enmeshed, inseparable, indistinguishable.

What has remained with me is  a strange ghostly sensation of the moist and limb meat-like gum as if my right hand, specifically the palm and  the fingers continuously move through a more dense and a pasty atmosphere. My left  hand on the other operates in a much more unconscious and freer level, unconcerned.

Behaviour is an irrational symptom of the psyche; the discord and dispute between the sensual and cerebral registers has insofar as i am concerned, always been irreconcilable, and the relief or the torment of each leads to  the subsequent paralysis or activity of the other. As regards to this particular case, the psyche has discerned several associations that have since caused stressful behavioural patterns, in particular the association to meat has ever since animated an odor, one which gets progressively stronger, alternately  there is evoked a distinct sense of rotting and with it a fear that at any time, this empty handshake, this void entrusted to me  will be hollowed by the delirious fidgeting of thousands of nibbling maggots; and there has since developed the anxiety, whenever possible to refrigerate my right hand.

NY, for so many years now

to Walter Pichler

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