Morning was a slow crawl. I smoked a lot of fags. I saw a metaphor with yellow wings, a poetic soul. It came and perched on my hands. I was so happy as a poem. Read the Bible; read Joseph’s story of dream interpretation. The pharaoh had a dream; in it he saw three stout bovine come and later he saw three famished bovine come up and eat the fat bovine. Then he saw very healthy stalks of grain and then he saw shriveled pieces of grain come up and eat the healthy grain. Joseph was pulled up from prison and he interpreted the dream: the dream meant that Egypt will have seven years of plenty followed by years of famine. Joseph was made the governor of Egypt. ‘What happened to Joseph’ can be described idiomatically as a happening of a pleasant surprise. I love a verse in the psalm which says: God will give you the nations as a prize and the continents as a present. I have come back to Christianity after backsliding and going into existential nihilism. My soul is filled with a rainbow of music. Poems ring in my heart. What is time in the novel of writing? Time is an art. First of all there’s an inner time that takes place in the consciousness of the mind of characters. Then there is outer time, a time of external events. Time shifts forwards and backwards in the novel. What is character in the novel? Character is an exhibition of emotion. Kafka metamorphized Gregor Samsa into an angst ridden insect. For Joyce characters were laden with streams of consciousness. My favorite character in Joyce’s Ulysses is Bloom and Stephen. Plot is fiction in pulp. A postmodern novel is nonlinear in narrative. Telling stories is the exhaustion of literature. A novel should have the postmodern sense of a phenomenological consciousness. Plot is dead in Fiction. Poems opened the sky into myriad letters. Life is a fiction of art. The joy of living is found in the soul of existence. Passion is a bed of joy. Let me affirm the joy of everyday-living. When will I go to the Promised Land? I love God’s covenant with Abraham: ‘I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you’. God made a nation out of Abraham: Israel. The weather is pleasant and happy. I am listening to music as I write this. My inner consciousness tells me that I am made to be a writer. Derrida said: ‘to write is to have the passion of origin’. Barthes said in writing that style is form and the ego content. I am filled with consciousness of postmodernism. I am exploring the art of the novel in the consciousness of philosophy. There is a dead clock in my room. Passion is the consciousness of making love. Her nectar was so sweet to taste, like honey. Thoughts spring alive from my mind like a wild animal. Its ages since I’ve made love to my significant other. The novel examines the existence of life in the meaning of essence. Jazz, you float like a poem. What is the meaning of being? Being is a cryptic poetic metaphor. Love is the most beautiful passion. Everyday things in life I see are transformed into metaphors and epiphanies. I love surrealist art, a combination of dream and reality. I also love impressionism, especially its poetic landscapes. I want to devote my whole life to writing. I am fed up of 20 years of teaching. Tropes speak to me. Make your utterances sweet and poetic. I hope that the prophetic dreams that I have had comes into fruition. What is the fruit of existence? Sheer JOY! Magic realism is an art of the novel. It’s a fictive style where the supernatural is laced with natural elements. Prominent exponents of Magic Realism are Borges and Marquez. When I think of magic realism claws grow out of my hands. My tooth becomes a fang and my writing a gargoyle pouring water out of a spout. Memories are faded yesterdays. Presence lies in celebration and the future in hope. I have worked all these years and sad to say that I haven’t made a single penny as savings. I dream of winning big windfalls. I want to settle down in life and dedicate my whole self to writing. Oh God make it a thing to happen. Oh God when will my dreams come true?