Daily Journal

It was raining cats and dogs today. Did a lot of traveling on my scooter in the rain. Was able to soak into the cool breeze that serenaded my cheeks like a waltz. Getting wet in the rain was a feeling of being poetic as Jazz. Had to run around a lot to get my daughter’s certificates done. Visited a government office today to get my daughter’s community certificate. Government officials, oh my—have laid-back casual approach. There are computers on their tables but their approach is slow and lethargic. I laid the application form on the table. The official was simply gossiping for hours to someone. Their approach to providing efficient service somehow shows symptoms of laziness, indolence and sheer disregard. At last after waiting for hours I got the form done. This kind of attitude is typical in government offices in India.

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Narratives

Today was a fast grind. Ran about like a hare getting documentations ready for my daughter to join Medical School. Thought a lot about literature while I was traveling. I am fond of Asemic writing but I don’t have a calligraphic pen. In fact my signature is one of Asemic writing. It’s a pictorial hieroglyphic. The weather today was sunny and bright and smiling. Till yesterday it was raining mad. I am so fond of Kerala’s monsoon. To see birds drenched in the rain is a poetic lullaby. I am feeling much happier with myself. I stopped reading astrology columns. They make the wind go wayward and anxious. I live for the day contented with myself. I miss my son who is admitted in an autistic boarding school. God, I miss him so much. I am always thinking of bringing him back. Yes, I m so fond of him. Started reading the Bible—the version called the message. When I think of it as literature I think the fall of man is an allegory. But then spirituality leaves the core of meaning in the heart. I am so happy that I am living in the grace period of Christianity. Grace is all I need and Grace is all I care. Am I created or did I just evolve. Sometimes in dreams I have experienced the sensation of leaving my body. I try to move but I am totally numb. Life has a meaning and it is not Sartre’s nothingness. There is no Camus Sisyphus in life. Christ makes life a precious gift. Words according to Bakthin have to attain a dialogic democracy. Today I watched dragonflies in flight. They were a vulnerable mystic poem. Beauty, delicacy and art mingled together.

Letters to Nonette

Darling Nonette, It’s been years since we have met. Loneliness without you engulfs me like a dark night. Kissing you has been a poem of flowers. The nights we made erotic and passionate love remains like a sonata in my heart. Darling, I am missing you so much. I keep the dream of meeting you in person in my heart. I admire your zeal for your profession, your dedicated commitment to youth up-liftment. You are so svelte when you hold the mike. How I remember the day when I embraced you in public and kissed you in the airport. Making love to you was an erotic poem. I cherish fondly how you thrusted your thighs when I penetrated you. A caress, a whisper, a hug that’s all I need from you. I love you so much, yours dear Anand.

Dream Journal

I did not have sleeping pills yesterday as they were over. When I do not have them, I go into a dream state without sleeping. Last night I had two strange dreams, a series of recurring symbols which no dream dictionary can interpret. Let me recall those dreams. In one dream, I am with my director and his wife of my former school. I attend a prayer. Then the director bugs my phone and my wife’s phone and also my daughter’s. He gets a strange sort of pleasure in hearing the conversations. Then I get a vision of him appointing me in a prominent position in the school. I interpret the dream as follows. Job interviews have been having rough weather. So the dream carries a prophetic hope that I might succeed after a bout of defeats. My daughter preparing for her medical exams is highly stressed and she throws tantrums at my wife. My wife in turn blames me for being Godless and immoral. I call this dream in a new term—amalgamated synthesis. The dream defies Freudian concepts of displacement and condensation. The second dream that I had was a room with wire-mesh. On one side of the room was UK and on other side India. The door was open and people were walking in and out. I saw Valerie an exchange teacher from UK who had a crush on me. To my surprise, a young woman holding a child came from UK and held my hand. Then I saw the doors being closed and bolted. The young woman with the child is a mystery to me. UK is a country which has denied me Visa for being an Indian and for being brown. Does the dream symbolize an opportunity that I will travel abroad? Will the woman with the child enter my life? I don’t know. Such types of dreams with recurring motifs are examples of amalgamated synthesis.

Dialogues with the Self

Isolated, marooned, despondent, me a piece of shit. The world and its wishes smile bitterly at me. I sink in my wretched abyss disappointed. Am I schmuck of disaster, noble of countless mishaps? Forge my soul in the shit of hell. I feel like committing suicide. I see Camus waving at me and saying things will be alright. Is it my delusion or is it real? Sex is a dead prison.  When can I have the poetry of lyrical intimacy? When will sex become a poem of lyrical beauty? When will a woman become warm hearted and tender to me? When will she make me open to her orifices? Angst plagues my soul like a psychopath.My ego is so deflated. I am locked up in the asylum of defeatism.Why did you die for my sins? I need to taste the relish of Epicureanism. Why do you close all doors for me? I am carrying the cross of a wretched life. Sometimes I wish to be shed of life and be a still-life statue. Devil, you are a mocking penis. Why can’t covetousness be a virtue? The world of values is a carnival. When will the rites of ecstasy shed her lady luck on me? Me a being? Amazing! Metaphysics is a pile of muddy water. Transcendence is a hyperbolic cunt. Dissolve the consciousness that is in my body. Sodomize it with a poem of beauty. Bitch wife, I have so much love to give and yet you don’t want an iota of it. Bitch wife, you have made me sick in the mind. My soul is a whimsical butterfly. Eros is tranquilized death. Bitch wife, all I want is a caress, a kiss, a hug and you fucking bitch you deny it. I have stopped reading astrology. Karma is warped in the neurons of an angstual plague. You fucker be kind to yourself. Give your heart the freedom to love. Don’t blow your soul to smithereens of existential shit. Nirvana, I have found you perched on wings. When the present is bleak, how can I anticipate a bright future? What a joy can sex bring? I long for you darling. Yet you are so far away. When can we make love like the old times? Passion is the ocean of ecstasy. When can I resurrect my body with sex?  If I was in your place, I would have been tempted by the devil. My wife is a slut of boredom. Every day the bitch kneels and cries before you. God you have denied me so much in life.

Horror-Horoscope

The demented astrologer says this is a period of trials and tribulations. Why cast your shit on me, you poltroon. Venus shits in Mars and Neptune urinates in Leo. Fortune smiles with a fart. Tarot you are anal agonies. Why the fuck can’t you draw luck to me? Why blaspheme my soul with shroud of obscenities that make me withdrawn from the world. Astrologers are fucking shit holes. Psychics are assholes. Tarot readers are motherfuckers. Yes the moon is on the ascendant with a big bum. Sun is a shitting ball of white in the commode of Jupiter. Woe to you, I hate you all motherfuckers.