Daily Journal

I am a poem that is unfinished. I am a journal that is half baked. I am a haiku that is erotic. I am an art that is symbolic as a cluster of stars. I woke up at 9 in the morning. I can’t get sleep without sleeping pills. My bipolar disorder creates mood swings in me. The rooster Greenie came near me and I petted it fondly. I remember Anu, my adulterous lover. I went to her house early in the morning. Her husband was out and her daughter was sleeping. I enjoyed doing the poetic cunnilingus. I failed to get an erection. I don’t know why? I was tense and nervous. Another time she called me to come at 10 0’ clock in the night. When my journey reached half way I turned back. Guilt and conscience about cheating my wife overwhelmed me. Saw black cat with green eyes slinking across the meadow. Writing is a form of therapeutic art. Existentialism created the consciousness of the self. Postmodernism disintegrated the self into binary concoctions of meaning. Tropes move across the sky as yachts. I try to live a poetic life. I am happy that I am able to write my experiences of life. I read the Bible in the morning. I was reading Isaac’s story. Isaac had two sons Jacob and Esau. Rebecca his wife connived and used Jacob by sticking goat’s hair on his hands and giving good meat to the blind Isaac and snatched the blessing that was meant for Esau. I ponder on God’s preferential attitude. The Bible is an interesting book to read. The characters in the Bible are not perfect. Perfection is left to God. I wonder why Cain murdered his brother Abel. I hope I can win a windfall today. I need to bring my son Joshua back from the autistic boarding school. I remember my dead father a lot. He was a history teacher. He exposed me to Western Philosophy, music and literature. Without him I would have been a village donkey. What I am I? I am the many women that I’ve loved…the many places that I have been. I am a writing self. I remember my office mate Anita. I met her recently. She said that she is staying alone. I was sexually attracted to her. Thinking that it was opportune, I asked her whether I can come to her home. She gave me a blunt reply: come with the family. I regret the opportunity that I missed. The novel lives in the life of existential meaning. Art is a live witch that serenades words to meaning. I love to be possessed with the meaning of life. What is consciousness? One can only ponder its meaning mystically. Time grows out the weed of meaning. Each day of my life is a poetic metaphor. Being is a metaphor of music. Love flows through my soul. King David was a poet of praise and worship. Lord, you are so magnificent, so holy so pure; I worship you in adoration. From existential nihilistic atheism, I have become born again into an existential believer. The irony of engaging with meaning is metaphor to overcome the shortcomings of life. Kafka I have found in you a poet of art of the novel. My soul—mystical, beatific, profound, philosophical, forms a transcendental picture. Every day is a celebration of life. I am in the novel of writing. Consciousness is time floating on the wings of being. My significant other was in Kuala Lumpur for attending a conference. She invited me. But alas fate bound in chains did not allow me to visit her and make love to her as I did not have the money to buy the tickets. She is a passionate lover. I am fond of the meaning of labyrinth. Borges was a connoisseur of writing labyrinthine stories. The Garden of Forking Paths is a memorable story. The time of being to the time of becoming is an eclectic syncretism of self realization. I ponder on the meaning of Rodin’s Thinker. Why is the thinker so stiff necked? One can’t be intellectual all the time. One needs to be passionate and mystical. The seed of hope is planted in the soil of expectation and one day it will churn out the fruits of victory. It’s always a mystery as to why some symbols attain an occult meaning. Symbols are empty signs. Meaning of language is always symbolic. The Waste Land by T S Eliot is a symbolic machine laden with irony of colossal destruction of the self. Narcissism is infused into the consciousness of the self. Are we heading for an era of decadent literature? Sexual libertinism is opening new doors of thinking. But I think that it is Biblically incorrect. Liberation theologians attribute a Marxian picture of Christianity. For them the Kingdom of God is social justice and equality. Is this a correct version of Christianity? Marxism secularized Christianity. But the Bible clearly tells that the Kingdom of God is open to the persons whose names are written in the book of life. One should not politicize Christianity. The self has to attain a Godly transcendence. God is my name written in the Book of Life? Transcendence is a consciousness of divine revelation. Time is a beatific conceptuality of Christ. The soul is a given gift of God. Being is actualized in the soul. Sin has been cleansed by the crucifixion of Christ. What a sacrifice it was? Eternity lives ahead of us. The lamb that was slain was without blemish. Fame and money are not the ultimate possessions. Life has a more profound meaning of existence.