The Deconstructor

the-deconstructor

I smiled in unconscious fascination at the vacuous quality of the sound permeating through my bruised fingers, leaking outwards through cracks in the marble knobs that were my fists, to an ear viciously awaiting the first spell of a cry lost to the vagarious strain of sandpaper sprawls, gnawed as it was, at the lobe, by frolicsome lammergeyers bent on meddling with the receptors of my audition.

I had in my esthetic stronghold the Deconstructor of the world, and was determined to foment an abstemious uproar among tellurians for having finally shackled the sneaky monstrosity that had been let to wander unchecked in the labyrinthine halls of the intellect of erudites for too long.

An abstruse absconder, he belied the brummagem bromides of his own subjections and, by nefarious extension, surged forth to disparage the import of nascent ideologies and deride its tether to the real world in the name of disabusing false concretes and abnegating mendacious proposals.

He was the noxious governing body of the beastliest jurisprudence, surging forward in zoomorphic forms with a surfeit of ludicrous doctrines swarming about his stultified soul of conceptual chicaneries, commendable solely for its doltish influence upon susceptible intrauterine consciousness. Corruptor of adamantine lexicality, and the devilish dialectician of elastic etymology, he thronged the streets of sanity, lashing, with his smelted chain of polished forlorn, one that dripped smears of molten metal in its shimmering wake, at the advocates of reason, the smiths of thought, the merchants of objectivity, the traders of achievement, and the dauntless citizens of amour proper, who demurred collectively, with outright ascendance, the apologia of the monster that had denigrated all vestigial essences of conceptual fixities from their capitalist haven, by the ruthless disparagement of which was the mind of man defaced.

A demagogue for the veterans of logophobia, he employs the dismantling of functional apparatuses from faculties of the human brain as a disport to flagitiously slay, under the unassuming aegis of a deconstructed realm, the heroes who reject douceurs offered for a credulous existence of sanctioned debauchery, and those entrepreneurs of ethical preponderance who fulminate for the integration of ideals into the dying embers of nonpartisan civility.

As I stood quiescent beside this quisling, I realized that an engagement with him would prod me into institutionalized insanity, temporarily drawing in jejune schemes and farcical rigmaroles, but it was imperative that this war be brought to a justified end, now more than ever. I looked down to see the Deconstructor trying to stand at the mercy of his shackled feet.

“You see, one simply cannot do away with order in this material empire of ours. You cannot blather the centre away.”

He clutched his graying hair and quaked with abhorrent denial.

“I despise you, you who cower with much affectation before a remiss linguistic kingdom blessed with the free play of signs. You, who are afraid, and who tremble at the thought of a world devoid of centers, without a structure, and sans any salience for sensory sturdiness, cannot fathom the ambit of this madness that has been unleashed upon the venal roots of every thriving mind.”

He coughed, looked up at the lammergeyers looming high above him, and spoke again.

“My remonstration against sureties, replete with its negations of binaries, comfort their fragile psyche, offer undemanded moral appeasement, and capacitate a projection onto that hidden actuality of a reptilian abomination within every man. This way, in their eyes, irrespective of how risible and stupefying their dalliance with the devil is, the facetious personas triumph at
sympathizing with themselves and assembling a cornucopia of contrivances to help establish sacrosanct decrees for emotional security and the eternal recuperation of their damaged spirits.”

“I am here to obviate the consequences of, and exterminate with pride, the deleterious obfuscating proclivity of your nugatory theories and, in the process, obliterating, if I must, the sanctimonious conceit you operate with.”

“The meting out of meliorism always figures an onerous exercise, and your exertions undoubtedly will rupture every neuron in your brain before the certainty of your misstep unravels around your idiocy.”

“It is with absolutes you will deal with now, and mankind will be shown the highest potential it can strive towards, allowing them to descry the disposition of the most virtuous human being to ever walk on this land, made possible by infallible codes of morality, achievable by all rational individuals. It is not comfort, but the yearn for the best in them that I stand to offer every man.”

“Pure play will transcend humanism and unveil the formlessness that lies beyond our ability to revel in it. Forego your need for truth and stability, let a system of signs replace your system of concepts, let there merely be a play of language and not the fixation of a set of ideas as centers. Let pure play in.”

“There is nothing beyond that which exists. I am putting an end to your apocryphal disquisitions.”

I twisted him by the elbow and nudged him outwards into the inner ring of a waterhole, assisting gravity in letting his torso dive into the frigid recess of the swarming blue.

As his bronchioles were being starved of oxygen, a risible moment of revelry I held with sangfroid, I ruminated over the inclusion of such trenchant a sequence, in an aesthetic product I shall later conceive, that would have one very retrogressive stance of the Deconstructor explained symbolically to sagacious receivers. The visuals thus produced with this concern as rubric will work towards showing the vertiginous man in study walking on a suspension bridge, making sway with minacious asperity its boarded platform to dangerous degrees, warding the members of his retinue off balance, truncating any approximation of recursive intent, and looking on, with impassioned vapidity, as men lost their grip and flew tangentially from the bridge to a gorging abyss of sublime nonexistence. The group would always be in a quandary with respect to the action of their leader, quavering uncontrollably as they looked on into the horizon, their pupils oscillating, direly scanning the heavens, and praying softly for meaning, but none would question the visceral veracity of the man in implicit control of the disarray at hand, who neither moved forward to the unconquered anchor at the other end, nor retreated with apologetic abashment to a beloved anchor once furtively renounced, but who stood on, holding onto his apoplectic guise, restively disorienting that which had died multiple deaths getting dismantled.

As the viewers would naturally have come to comprehend, the suspended bridge symbolizes the system of language in a decentralized dimension, ever at the mercy of whimsical zephyrs that threaten to jeopardize the absoluteness of designation such a system holds the potential to serve. The boards on the bridge signify words that, despite being cursed to manoeuvre through a hellacious roulette of ambivalence, are preserved to grant grounding for the exploitation and misemployment of itself, and the purpose it serves. The boards are not hammered away, solely to prevent that eventuality when there will truly be no scope for an assault on metaphysics, for then, such a meta-reality would not exist for the one who relinquishes it. Without a board to set his footing on, the Deconstructor has nothing to hold onto for dear life, or to devalue, dismantle and debilitate.

The limpid thrashes of his pallid arms alerted me of his remaining few breaths. I worked against gravity, dragging him out to cloying clay that sloshed about beneath our feet, and let air satiate his undeserving lungs with decided unpleasantness.

“You pugnacious philistine, do you never see the potential for reconstruction in this chaotic disarray of the modules of the mind?”

“Deconstruct everything – eschew reconstructed or freshly formed delineations -for the plausible replacement of an old centre – by deeming it arbitrary – blame reconstructors for their fear of the center-less unknown – belittle their need for stability – sanction and propose a philosophy that is wholly abstract and divorced from the material realm.”

“You truculent troglodyte, do you not realize your undoing? Do you not understand that once you destroy a signified, you dismember that sign completely from the play of language?”

“I know – the metaphysical collusion – between the sign and what it signifies – once destructed – would destroy also this hypercritical disposition – of mine – on this metaphysical collusion. You see – the system of signs has to be preserved – and kept intact – solely to let myself offer my invaluable critique on it.
Complete destruction puts an end to pure play.”

“You keep the system alive only to leech it off its kernel, but by letting it convalesce from the inconsistencies of the philosophical premise it is affiliated to, by you, you sustain the minimalist survival of the system, subjecting it to the travail of partial existence, and by extension, stagnating epistemological functionalities.”

His body caved inwards in response to this claim, and let his gnashing teeth munch on the soft soil that was now being caked around his face.

The Deconstructor always practiced verbal onanism that gave birth to futile nostrums that held onto itself with suicidal stubbornness in the hope of attaining a level of conceptual superiority as to, some day, convict existence for existing.

“That day will never arrive, for existence exists, and there is absolutely no deity in the world that dare fantasize otherwise.”

The ground below us shook, surrendering to geothermal rage, and cracks spurt out in frenetic fractal patterning on its layer, directing my vision to a tower erected far above the durbar of clouds, which, upon closer inspection, revealed itself to be the House of Centers.

“The variegations of thought that that House has endured witness to run the gamut from the Forms of Plato, the Nature of the Aristotleans, the noumenal spirit of Kant, to the Universal Linguistic Structures of the Structuralists.”

“The center is not the center,” spewed the raspy voice of the Deconstructor, along with a substantial volume of odoriferous blood that hissed as it splashed heavily on the clay below.

“Contextual fluctuations hold fancies no more. You hold power no longer to obscure the line between metaphorical centers and physical ones. Even if a supernatural entity, say the Ioba, was to exist ubiquitously both inside and outside the world it created, both as a central existent within the system of its making, and as an unfazed whole governing the system from the outside, it does not imply that the Ioba is not the Ioba; however such an Ioba cannot exist until demarcated into its respective contextual framework depending on the nature it projects, and until it gets addressed in isolated singularity, so as to insure it against annihilation by the presence of contradictions.”

“The only governing force to be reckoned with at a metaphysical level is objective reality and the objectively discernable laws of the universe. The universe simply is, with nothing outside it crusading for its smooth functioning, or working as a proponent towards its consistent maintenance. It governs itself, as how an individual, in a free market economy, ought to govern themselves, subsumed, nevertheless, within the existing existence.”

“I know that you are the sole proprietor of the world of free play, and in turn, the odious monarch of non-meaning, no matter how coyly you allude to the idea of effacing your self, but it is high time that you understand the overbearing stupidity of your musings, and treat it accordingly, with audacious maturity, as irredeemable offal.”

This vainglorious vacillator of meanings once also arbitrarily remarked that every conceivable notion of metaphysics is arbitrary in nature, followed by the claim that philosophies construed throughout history were mere mirages of reality in the face of the as yet unknown, or rather, the forever unknowable, as they had its base in mythology, which, as it appears, seems to have no apparent centre to it.

“Man develops his conceptual faculty, and then proceeds to make words to designate specific concepts. Mythology is a human construct, and the reason why you deem it center-less is simply because you couldn’t find the source for the same. Also, I acknowledge now how you have changed the meaning of the term ‘center’ to mean ‘origin’, and not ‘a governing ideology’, which every myth indisputably has.”

The musings of the Deconstructor, at best, transposes the attributes of one level of perception with another, drawing sluggishly from the diaphanous model of awareness, by inching towards fitting subjective levels of perception within objective parameters, by pouring illusionary percepts into the mould of non-immediate, scientific, and constructed planes to duplicate authentic modes of awareness.

I clinched his scalp with my fingers and drove the face of the libertine into the craggy protrusions of the mountainous terrain. No muffled cry rustled into motion miasmas of damp dust, for his features were giving in to the sketchy eidolon of the unobtrusive skull within.

A legitimation for the vices of the intellectually unsound, the psychologically defunct, and the objectively ostracized is what he has granted, in a sly move towards a decentralized arena that calls for the purblind embracement of the opinions churned out of every unstable mind on the planet, thereby approbating partiality to every perspective possibility, sympathizing with sophistry that harbours no semblance to objective reality, bowing down to subjective yammering, sacrificing competence to irrational natter, succumbing to the servitude of wanton wailings, and effacing all absolutes in the face of anfractuous artifice, culminating in celebrating the acceptance of every formidable marginalized sect in the social domain, irrespective of the code of morality they operate by and the levels of their successful engagement with reality.

This is a consequence of radical egalitarianism, and it often has, as its loyal patrons, the assemblage of men and women who are chiseled out for stagnation owing to their inability to harness the defining principles of self-respect, self-interest, and the manifestation of a rational ego in life, thereby coercing themselves into grooves that spiral downward, through terrains of strained skepticism, into a centre fervent with a yen for a metaphysical end to the torturous persecution of their own moral making, negotiating with an apocalyptic potentiality, and streaming at breakneck speeds into the paradise of the misanthrope.

One simply ought not to appease with the flaunt of evil.

“To have conviction in your epistemic potential is one of the many beautiful things in the world. Maybe it will displease you immensely to know that there exists one philosophy in the world that is absolutely devoid of contradictions, one philosophy that has its rightful place as the unassailable, ideal centre of this world, one that operates from within the system and effuses to individuals its eternal incorruptibility as a moral standard to strive for, one that will forever stall the free play of fundamental values, for good, helping mankind transgress, by informed addressal, the raw impediments of progress and reconstruct, with his epistemological building blocks, the stairwell to his utopia of growth.”

The lammergeyers glided towards us with ravening torpor, its talons positioned to its prehensile prime, ready to shred the weave of epidermal fabric out to the succulent meat within, glistening red with trepidation and boiling with rage.

I had but seconds to act before my enemy would be cast away by the impartially feral. I crouched down to his line of sight, placed my palm over his chest, and held the gaze of ruptured eyeballs and grated flesh. I then smiled and proceeded to grapple onto, squash, knead and seize his beating heart from within his chest cavity, relieving the organ of guilt for having pandered away, within the specifics of a naturally governed order, for a loon who never believed in the structurality of that which constructed his own being.

The birds swooped in, snatched the Deconstructor from his infantile crouch on the quagmire of nitid sediments, and flew him to the higher alcoves of a nether land underdone, forever marking his departure from the plight of his existence.

Aravind Deepak
The Unconditional Maverick

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About Aravind Deepak

Diligent dreamer. E-mail: aravinddeepak@hotmail.com

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