Asemic Writing

Asemic Writing

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Night

Night is a black cat/
White orchids glitter a luster/
Radiant art echoes/

Daily Journal

Today was progressive as far as teaching was concerned. Was able to make the students comprehend the meaning of topographical maps. I had to read a really boring story by Saki—A Shot in the Dark. The story’s plot is rather whimsical…it just says how a woman has changed her hair to blonde. Even the eighth graders felt it to be monotonous. Saki is a good writer making abrupt twist in his stories towards the end. But this one was his worst. Today the Sun lit up after a long time. The rains have stopped. The monsoons sedate the landscape of Kerala making its hamlets green in imagery. I wrote a calligraphic poem for my lover. Today I took ten lottery tickets with the same number. But luck remained Protean. I want to travel, booze and make love and write. I am like a Sisyphus now caught in the dull monotony of routine. Was able to sleep without sleeping pills. I am thankful to God for that. Writing is therapeutic for me. It frees me from convention, tradition and inhibitions. I changed my real photo to paintings in my blog site. It’s better to remain anonymous. What is going to bring out the writer in me? I don’t know. Roland Barthes said: ‘form is the style of writing and content is the ego and the body’. I admire Roland Barthes for his erudition. I have read all the books in my library. I badly need money to buy new ones. I have taken 10 Lottery tickets with the same number. I hope one of them wins a first prize and the others consolation prizes. I am a beatnik in the East with strong protestant roots of a liberal theology and a passionate inclination for postmodernism. I admire all postmodern thinkers. Derrida, Lacan, Foucault and Barthes are my favorites. Theorize a novel and novelize a theory. Money is a Mammon when one falls in love with it. Yes, money is needed and Christ asked his disciples to fish out a coin from the fish mouth and said the dictum: ‘give unto Caesar what is his and unto me what is mine’. I carry an old one dollar bill in my pocket. I am fascinated by its symbolism—the all Seeing Eye and the unfinished pyramid. Tariffs are snowballing into a trade-war. Tariffs are economic terrorism. I am wondering whether the US should be lenient on illegal immigrants. Yes, it’s a good thing that children on illegal immigrants are united with their families. Christian evangelists are facing persecution in the Northern part of India. It’s a moot question to be asked why people are proselytizing. Caste system though prohibited in India is still rampant. Then there are honor killings in India. Suppose a youth of a lower caste falls in love with girl belonging to an upper caste, he is brutally murdered by his relatives. This has happened in even in Kerala boasting to be a 100% literate State. The tranquil backwaters of Kerala are serene and mystical. Storks fly like hearts in the sky. Tender coconuts are sumptuous to drink and munch. I am overwhelmed by feelings when I write. Am I being an escapist when I write? Do I want to escape from the realities of life? No, writing is a passionate endeavor. After dusk the sky is smeared with grey ashen and looks like a spectacle of Jazz. It’s a passion to watch the sky, a passionate still life painting. The coconut leaves hide the clouds like stained glass.