The Litany of the Mimetic
Christian Ray Licen
I commence. Amen!
…That this silence is perturbed by the anonymous conceit of a soul trapped between the realm of the surreal, perhaps just “an overdose of reality”
I speak. Truth.
… And what lies linger on the buoyant torrent? I’m submerged in the ocean of choices. Half-filled? Whole? Ah, the meniscus perhaps. I can always surface beyond a cylindrical measure out of the fluid perplexity of my random volition.
Gravity is mere pull; and so, I push my self down and down the water, the universal solution. I just wish--- to see through its filaments--- the light of this depleted existence.
The bubbles in the air- the bubbles in the air- are everywhere…
I stand. Erect. Still--
The firm stature from which I’m mired will soon dissolve at my fold. Because I’m frail! You must know- of heights, depths and dimensions of the abyss, the leverage between right and wrong. And where do I weigh betwixt the two?
Again, I’m whirled by the centripetal. Have mercy on me. I’m in solitary confinement But they kept staring at me.
I hear. The moment I lay down by the jutting belly of the foam, the vibrations echoed through the current. A cacophony! No, not the interplay of words nor the language of the sea but some noises strange and far! Neither waltz nor the symphony of the orchestra but just a stir in my eardrum (I thought so).
It’s nearing slowly- limpid then gone. It vanished in this immense ocean.
Is this my new universe? How such conspiracy wallowed me.
Apparently, I’m getting used to it. Asphyxiated? Almost-- In an instance, I shriek (still unheard) because of the suffuse voices. Those bolder ones get me jittery. But those whispers- worst- are like bobbing eels electrocuting. How slimy their thunderbolts are!
And yes, I hear them (not just it). What’s the word that rhymes to hear? That I don’t know.
I touch. The intangible-
Because I’m human, I’m full-bodied and capable of feeling. My every dimension is human. Look at me. See?!—these nostrils I breathe in. My skin, though scaly tangerine, is still as bright as yours. I glow in the dark. Do you not realize? Haughty little rascal! How could you not talk to me? Just pass by me? Oh well, you are a float. Sigh.
Oh well. You’re just in time for dinner. But why am I not starving? I almost forget. I’m here down under.
But how on this ocean planet I was brought here in the first place? Oh, not a second thought. I’m here because this is where I belong. Now welcome to my abode and make yourself comfy on these foam corrals. Sit on them and take a respite.
I hear someone calling my name, “-----“ what? Slow memory retention? I cannot decipher. A-a-a-a B-b-b-ah-ah—blah-blah- bob-bob—bob----blok---blok--
Dyslexia! No, I’m an orator. I bested the best. My caliber is beyond paramount It is celestial!
Undisputed.
Unequalled.
Unprecedented.
Good heavens! You have forsaken me. (I’m submerged underwater, could it be that I will dwell down here, forever?)
Sob. Sob. Sob. Tears meshed with the water.
I touch. The intangible- with barely to touch with… I am handicapped.
Oh, pray for me!
I can see. Yes, but only green, green and green. Planktons, algae, protozoans! Why these creatures? They’re a microcosm out of my inanity. Stop it! Stop it!
Antiquated thoughts! It seems like. I opine. I only see streaks of luminescence- oblique silhouettes and conspicuous shadows. They creep before my sight. Maybe it’s a signal or two--- I don’t know--- uncertainty has impaired me.
I’m starving but I’m full. I keep my weight bolstered because I’m beyond this force, this magnetic attraction is keeping my belly a-float. I don’t even know what time of the day it is. All I know is that it’s partially dark and if I hail above, light glitters diffusely.
I miss the way the sun bakes my brain some cookies inside the jar.
I miss the way the rain whets my lips some cherry smooches.
I miss everything I desire.
Desire. Desire. Desire. Gone in the festering undulation---
Just when I realized it’s the moon spilling its corn-blue light, I savored that momentary subliminal bliss.
Luna. Luna. Luna. Lunatic
Metaphorical! Allusions! Personifications! These literary devices are made to malign. The simulacrum is all I need to understand.
I just can’t explain.
I seem to lose the common touch. But I believe I’m still human..
I’m the highest ordered mammal.
God knows, I’m beautiful. I’m special. I’m unique.
I think--- therefore, I am a what?
Stop that crap! I’m way gibberish at the extremities of my folly. I sob so drearily with dry tears that I dilate my pupils because I’m lame. My condition, predicament, torture, and squalor have become my vegetable morose bed.
No--- I must not think what I’m thinking now!
Yes---
No! It’s firm. It’s final.
Oh well?
Strange. But I hear you. I just cannot see you, nor conceive the contour of your body. Could you be someone who understands my plight? Then, you must get me out of here or worse, I might just die.
This is our place, this is home!
Sweetie, I have a commodious room with books on the shelves and name-it-all-stuffs, I’ve got them all. I’m provided with everything from the basics to the excesses. I used to believe that I am loved--- Or am I really loved? Yes---Yes---- they know me very well, even If they rip my flesh, they know I am their own flesh- an incarnation of the Divine.
They will stew you on fire ‘til your flesh becomes meat, darling! You would make a very delectable dinner. A perfect catch.
You’re insane. I am not like you. I am very different. As I told you, I’m unique.
We have pincers. We might just sting you son-of-a-****
See- you can’t even say it, bastards.
That’s what we are. Crazy fools in this earthly sea. We still have business to attend to, you know, an eye for an eye, pincers to pincers with our prey. See you then, Razor!
What did they call me? They hollered at something I cannot just understand.
I’m a poor unfortunate soul.
I long for the smell of the dry earth.
I long to lick the mist in dawn and
---I long to gulp at those seasons to perpetrate my steadfastness.
My poetic license has expired. I’m no way better because I am engrossed by the fictional circles of Borges and the slime of poetic ecstasy of Marquez. Is this magical realism looping in the labyrinth?
Such wild-goose chase! Don’t exacerbate me with the helter-skelter of literature. My candor has fallen apart.
I’m burgeoning with temper. Such madness is divinest sense? Nah! Sigh/
Help! Get me out of here.
Have mercy on me. Pray for me.
Then I slumber.
Just in time, when I felt so tired of having to live like tramps and vagabonds, my wanderlust have slowly decayed. I must rest.
And the ground trembled.
I hid under this sea weed whose name I commit to oblivion.
And a sudden trepidation broke the ground off. Waves and currents are virulently splattering and grappling with each other.
My colleagues or so-called inmates? friends? Whatever you name them, they are nowhere to be found.
Just then I know I am weakening. Languid. Feverish!
I shrugged at the thought of escaping. My body is drenched in this immiscible sheen.
The gravity has pulled me even to the farthest depth. It’s the whirlpool which brought me here. I am now convinced.
And here I am. Decrepit. Destitute. Wretched
I totally closed my eyes.
“You’re late again!”
“Hurry up. Because you always sleep late at night! That’s the prize.”
I just thought I was dead, that I will never see the beauty of this world again.
Now, you tell me, what good does it bring now?
Mom, can’t you stop nagging? You see, I’m in haste.
You must feed your belly!
But I ain’t starving. Okay?! And her eyes scowled.
Oh, boy! Well- bahala ka na. Mag-antos ka.
Okay- Okay- I’m eating my words. But--- Mom, why am I incarcerated here? Get me out of this ----glass menagerie.
Boy, you’re old enough. You ain’t listening to me. Now that’s your problem. Spare me from any troubles of this world. I plead—
What? Mom, look at that pet fish. It keeps staring at me. He pisses me off.
Oh, to my surprise, I see them—hey! That’s me! That’s me rushing toward the door. You wait for me.
That’s ME--- That’s ME
Mom, I’m here, your son. That boy is not your son!
Unfortunately, mom only hears my whines antediluvian. What? They do not know my language? It’s Post Modern. Now I know--- the crabs, the weed, the belly foam are but inanimate. I’m the only breathing creature underneath. And then I realized, they’re just crabs in the strands. I squirmed and saw my reflection.
I end- Amen! Blok--- Blok---- Blok
