September 30th 2019

I was able to coin some new metonymies today. Here they are:

He caught a sea of fish. The All Seeing Eye and the Unfinished Pyramid is money. The walls of my brain are trembling with excitement. She wore a garden of veils around her face. I long to pierce the chains of bad luck. I love to have money floating in my purse like Mermaids. Let the seed that you birth, prosper into fruit. Make a rudder to steer the storm of adversity. May the Shepherd’s Crook strike a huge windfall. His limbs were stiff as a cadaver. The air was cold as ice. I am going to marry a Mermaid. What is the harm of counting the chicken before they are hatched? Jesus said: I AM THE WAY THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE; they are edible fruits for a good life. The winds of fortune are blowing favorably for me. The plot of the Novel is hackneyed and no longer relevant. Socrates you were murdered for Democracy. He was looking like an antique clown. Works of art hung on the wall. I will emerge out victorious from ashes and dust to the fair winds of recognition. The effort made by the tortoise was more valuable than the sloth of the hare. The Bridegroom Dresses the Church his bride. A dancer was crawling on the wall. His mind was polluted with lechery. Thought rises as a plateau and the sinks as a valley. My feelings have crossed the isles of imagination. I live with a creative heart. The leaves of dusk brighten with the coming of the sun. Mind is Reason and the Body is Passion.
Should a Writer use Sex in the Novel
For many writers, this is an ambivalent question. With the mammoth spread of pornography on the web, writing about sex is rather old fashioned. Yes, the writer has to draw a fine line between sex and smut. It is necessary to use flowery language while penning sex. Give a reign to the pen; let it become a flower on whose the intercourse is carried by the pouring of ink. Some examples are: My Dearest Beloved, your body is chiseled like wheat; your breasts are a bounty of grain; let me lip your mouth is ecstatic mirth; let me sprinkle your fountain with joy of passionate love; let’s bliss into the river of passionate love.

September 29th 2019

Morning sky bore a cosmic look. I woke up fresh after a sedated sleep. In my little village, Kurianoor, birds flock in hordes and their twittering and cheeping sounds are a heavenly music to the ear.

I thought a lot about literature that I love with my heart and soul. Words are precious gems of moods and emotions.

Irony
I was wondering about the birth of Irony. Irony is being born from our deepest desires, moods, feelings and passions. Irony seeks a release in the human world where everything is topsy turvy. As our feelings go older with age, we realize that our desires can’t be satisfied to the fullness and irony awakens and writers adorn their pen with it.

I am not sure about what to write. I am allowing my pen to flow all the way. For a writer the meaning of life is a jocund pen. A pen flowers from the writer’s heart. Writer’s text is the flesh and blood of writing. The writer pushes forth a baby from the vagina. Sometimes writers put on a mask while writing. Sometimes the writer puts words which cannot be expressed. For a writer there’s real self and a fictional self. Many a time there’s an erotic intercourse with words. The meaning of life for a writer is found in the pen of words.

Metonymy
My loins burn with fire. Evening’s carpet is pulchritude. I erupted in her as molten lava. The wave brought out a child. I had an outing with the stars. God is there to smooth the storm. Death was falling gently on to the ground. I am the prodigal son returning to the father. I blissed her with love. Born in the manger is one of rejoicing. The ark walked on land before building the ark. She became an ecstasy of vaginal music. I live with the ocean of feeling. Karate gave a flying kick. I hope my mind won’t be imprisoned within the four walls of my brain


Meta-Fiction

I pondered the meaning of Meta-Fiction in postmodern writing. What does meta-fiction mean? Meta-fiction is Fiction within Fiction. Some attributes of Meta-fiction are: unreliable narrator, extreme irony, allusion, pun, pastiche and lampoon.


Unreliable Narrator

What does an unreliable narrator mean? The author becomes a narrator and super vents the meaning of the text. The author plays with the text and engages the reader to discriminate between fiction and reality. Unreliable narrator relates very much to the theater of Brecht.

Irony
Another feature of Postmodern Fiction is extreme irony. The writing of the author is a brain infested with a swarm of lice. Extreme irony proceeds on the grounds that the world is topsy turvy and that there is nothing perfect in the world.

Inter-textuality
Post Modern Fiction also indulges in inter-textuality. The author constructs a dialogue with existing texts. Let’s take some examples from the Bible. Let’s look at the life of the grand patriarch Abraham. Abraham stands as an idiom for loyalty, trust and faithfulness. James Joyce cane be related to an author who was confused with his Irish Catholicism and Greek Hellenism. Joyce was aspiring to be Nietzsche’s Ubermensch.

Allusion
The next characteristic of postmodern fiction is referral to allusion. Some examples are: we have to clean the Augean stables of Democracy. The statue of Liberty stands for freedom and liberty. We must imbibe the peace and non violence of Mahatma Gandhi.

Puns
The use of Puns is also reminiscent of Postmodern Fiction. For example: Lend your arms and arms for the nation. The Mazeonic emblem is an enigma. Eyeinglish is my favorite language.

Pastiche
The next feature of Postmodern Fiction is writing in the style of the pastiche. It is writing in the style of an older text to show its flaws with humor. Some examples are: His voice was a Cathedral of Honor. Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children creates the illusion of characters born on Indian independence and having psychic powers. Modern India has become corporate power, dismantling Gandhi’s concept of a Village.

Lampoon
The next feature of Postmodern Fiction is lampoon. Lampoon is making a satire. For example: The Marxian Ideal of a perfect state, blends with the idea of the Kingdom of God as proclaimed by liberation theology and both are showing their demise in a phallic driven free market economy.

The Church

My mother and wife broke away from the traditional church and moved to the Pentecostal Church which was very small in number. My mother growing old was worried about the burial place as it was very dingy in the Pentecostal church. I went to the traditional church and asked the sexton what are the dues? I also asked him whether we can join again. He was curt and brushed me off. He said that the Parish Priest is deeply offended and will give a letter to us and we have to reply. Yes the Church of today is a business with no scruples.

Assorted Drabble

The Coffin Seller
His business was not flourishing well. So he decided to appease Yama the Hindu God of Death. He went to the temple, rolled through the whole circumference of the temple to please the God. Now to his happiness, his business is booming.

The Priest
A new priest came to our parish. He was named as an unlucky druid. The moment he started visiting houses, a strange thing happened. People started dying. He had only time for burying people.


Mexican Wave

He was a seer named OSHO of the Oceanic. Legend has it that he was poisoned by the CIA with Thallium. He had an astounding collection of Books which he kept like a Mexican Wave. All the books were dumped to together randomly. The funny thing is he never finished reading a book. He reads a page there and then a page here and so on. His reading resembled a Mexican Wave.

Red Tape
I was at the Government Office to get a lease deed signed. On the first day the asshole said: ‘write an application and stick a court fee stamp.’ Unfortunately the stamp was not available and I had to travel a lot to get it. When I telephoned him that I had got it, he replied to me to come at 3. I went exactly at 3 and to my dismay he had gone home. Kerala bureaucracy is a bum.

The Greedy Money Lender
He was loan shark and he used to lend money at an exorbitant 10% per month. A poor family was no able to pay back the sum. When the father of the family died, the money lender sat on the corpse and demanded the money. Yes India is cursed nation, full of moneyed juntas running a parallel economy.

September 27th 2019

Morning serenaded as a song. I took two classes. I was able to coin some metonymies.

Metonymy
The fur wagged a lot. The ocean carried the passengers on a voyage. The mystery of the smiling lips is a Da Vincian master piece. Mt stomach was a paining gargoyle. Fornication makes me a carnal, guilty beast. The Swastika under the regime of Hitler became a demon of Jew-annihilation. Palestinians are a wounded race. He told a book of lies. I am going to get the feathers of fortune. Parrots gossiped in the cage. Then pastry was celestial to taste. Clove Cigarettes of Indonesia remind me of an aromatic metaphor. A Stethoscope examined me. Lust is cancer of the mind. History is eyes looking into the past and peeping into the future. Fairies danced in the sky. The occult reading was fake. Reading of numbers is a pack of lies. Eying the lines of the palm is a superstitious trifle. Rushdie ransacked the Quran when he wrote the Satanic Verses. Modi is the Prime Minister of a fascist democracy. The native of poetry is ornamental prose. An ornament of poetry was written on his grave. Lord, free me from the clutches of poverty. The eyes of the sky dazzled at night. Rain poured a rhythmic melody. The knife of the pen cut open the word. Shadows danced as wings on angels. I am a lover of fortune’s bank. Odyssey and the Iliad you have taken shape in me as writing. I long to attach the luck of Cinderella’s shoe. The sun gobbled the sky. Paris is the brothel of my mind and Philippines the brothel of my body. My soul dances with the joy of making words. Hope is an elastic spreading the joy of luck into the future. The Literature of Kerala is 100%. My body is a slave of Alcoholization. Poetic Petals danced in gay music. I am writing till my pen breaks. Sun Shine: penetrate my body with love. Let me resurrect in words. The book of life lives in Heaven. My fictional self has got gargantuan desires. The future is a harp waiting to give you the hand of luck. The brain is a perfect machine. To worship idols is to be dead in the spirit. Christ is the bridegroom waiting for the Bride. India does not give the freedom to read Heretic literature. Who will win the 2019 Prize for the Book? KFC is a tasty Colonel. Kashmir is a sick Union Territory of India. Media is a publishing machine, brain washing people through the press of industrialization. The spear of compromise can lead to sin. The egg laying crowed three times. The pen is a beastly creature come to life. God, replenish my purse to the brim. The Ego is an eagle in flight. The trunk is auspicious in getting things done. Beauty is the mirror of nature. Feelings are a carpet of emotion. God, help me win a financial victory. The faucet of the sky poured on to the earth. Don’t sabotage the body with addiction. I love to be a Mogul of words. Black wings crowed near me. Is it a sign that something good is going to happen in my life? Poetry of melody is the prose of rhythm. Marijuana you are the flower to experience Niravanic Ecstasy. Hitler made Germany into butcher nation. Let my words flower like the garden of autumn. Beef thigh hung on the hook as veils covered with blood. Diplomacy of a nation is a dove wanting peace. Joyssance, you are a delightful, passionate, sensual ecstasy. Providence, fund me as an enriching purse. From Utopia to Practopia, life is a garden to be lit with joy. 26 Alphabets are my bread and butter. Passion is an erotic body gifting her song of love in the heart. Chorus of birds are floating through the sky. I am delighted in writing a crowd of words. The windows of fortune are going to arrive for me. Adultery is a sinful game. Communism carried the cross of equality but Communism died, and there resurrected a capitalist juggernaut. I made her flower wet and she kissed me with gratitude. My wounds of being rejected are acute; I can’t seem to forget them. David the king was a Shepherd at heart.