Monday, February 18, 2008

Conversations With A Myself (Part II)

Mirror: But, you know, I mean. You know you're slightly gay aren't you? Like, effeminate?

Me: Oh, but my dear friend, do you not see the beauty of that? The mystery and the indecipherible justification behind such a complex and exact state? The gay are out of the picture. The completely masculine ones? They must adopt a different form of set approach, one I find utterly distasteful and crass. I have slightly more demanding sensibilities. Its if you're in my unique position in life and supposed sexual orientation, that the beautiful yellow line of balance appears, so that the worthy one may walk. A tilt either way, and fall, I find, I must. A precise stepping is required. You get it? A motion to one side, demanding an immediate dash to the other. Slightly over-compensated torque to be rapidly changed, before her conscious self is able to notice an abrupt shift. The subconscious subconsciously approves the to and fro, and watches in the grips of complete fascination. What is the game after all? That hint of a feminine antenna for understanding those veiled emotions in time. Reacting accordingly. That shy compliment, that understated matter-of-fact tone. Then the sudden, unpredictable rushes of spartan manliness, the stance changed to the unfazed, unaffected self. To completely confuse her and make her pause and have her wonder and get her thinking and keep her checking backwards, about where she and where I stand in all of this. The helpful words most other guys wouldn't be able to pronounce together so easily, they push and they prod and then they sneak in past the barrier she thinks she keeps raised so strongly. Once in, those words they cast off the sheep's clothing. And they strike. Meanwhile you are judged closely. Monitored and surveyed. Like conquerors in ages past in different spheres of life, a decision must be made: to pillage, or to retain? I choose. With full, complete autocracy over metaphorically, and sometimes actually *sic*, kneeling subject. Does it work? Every time baby. Touche?

Mirror: Surely it is touche, m'lord.

No comments: