I had a very strange dream today. I was attending a marriage function and then there was a quarrel …after that I don’t know what happened and then I was sitting in a vintage car and driving off. On the whole, it was a gloomy day. The sky was grey and pale and it was raining throughout the day. I took a few classes and I felt bored. I have more than 15 years of teaching and I am fed up and I want to retire. What is the meaning of life I ponder? Money and fame are they worthless? How can I quantamize life? Momentary experiences are meaningful epiphanies. Life is quantamaniacical. Yes I am authenticating life’s existence. I read about Noah today. He was drunk on wine and rested in his tent. He was stark naked and one of his sons entered the tent he cursed him. I think that is cruel. What wrong has he done to deserve it? Meaning when read is a lot different to meanings experienced. Life is a precious dream that lives. I marvel at the existence of life. Oh boy I am dying to have a drink. Yes, I can, my wife is flying out of the state. I always ponder on the meaning of life. Life is a precious mystery. How to engage in the meaningful dialogue of meaning? How to enjoy the beauty of words? Poetry is an elegant metaphor and the novel in the post modern sense is wounded irony. I remember the days when I used to read pulp fiction. Now I can’t read even a page of it. The art and form of the novel has to change. The ordinariness of life can be put into epiphanies. Whom am I talking to? Are we heading to an apocalypse? A world war is frightening. I am awakened with the song of life. Breath of poetry pours into me. I say like the psalmist: ‘my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow all the days of my life’. My novel is one of disoriented narrative. Every fragment in my novel is an epic.
Morn remained gloomy; pale/
Sky gazed as a corpse desolate/
Earth trembled and wept/