Woke up at six. Had Mom’s freshly brewed tea. Went to the workshop in the morning; my scooter was leaking oil. Well, they plugged the loop. I bought three lottery tickets with the same number but to sad to ignominy, they ended up in the dustbin in the evening. I didn’t have a scrap of luck. Finally I think luck has come to me. I got a job offer (interview) as a History teacher for Seychelles. If I am lucky, I will be in a new country with plenty of opportunities. Found some interesting facets about the culture of Seychelles. It’s a matriarchic culture with a number of unwed mothers. Interesting, I am smiling to myself (sons and daughters added). I miss my son Joshua who’s sent to a heal autism boarding school. I don’t have the money to go and see him. Found a black cat on the wall. It’s a quite a metaphor for good luck. I am longing to have a drink (rum) but don’t have the money for it. In the evening I gazed at the clouds. I found so many poems in it. The sky was lettered in Asemic writing. Found gigantic butterflies. Found a trunk of an elephant. Found moving paws. Evening was spent in many epiphanies. I am wondering about myself. What is it? Is it a soul of poems? Writing is very therapeutic for me. It helps me bring out myself, my streams of consciousness. Met an old aunt of mine. Had happy reminiscences with her.
There was a black cat atop a water tank and it was licking its body …I pondered about its agility, its flexibility …green eyes pooped shit into my brains…Saw an elephant passing through the road…its smell was like rusted wood. Was pretty awful caused no single number matched my ticket. An interview as an English teacher to Kazakhstan got over. I think it went off well. I am yet to know the outcome. If it pulls through, I will have a well paying job. It will be amazing to explore the culture of Kzakis. Saw a couple of dreams last night all garbled up. I am not able to recall a single one of them. Saw big lumps of elephant poop on the road. They had the smell of crushed berries.
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.
Woke up early morn …read the Bible. Actually I am reading a version of the Bible called the Message; it’s an idiomatic one. I read about Sodom and Gomorrah. God did punish those people cruelly for sexual vices, raining fire and brim stone. God did advise Lot and his family to run and not to turn back. Lot’s wife turned back and was changed into a pillar of salt. I read about Abraham getting a son from Sarah. Ishmael begotten from Hagar the maid was also Abraham’s son. Sarah had Abraham turned them out of the house. The Lord was kind and merciful with Hagar and said that he will beget a great nation from Ishmael. Are the problems ravaging the Middle East born out of Sarah’s desire for Abraham to sleep with Hagar? The Middle East became separated into two races. Both races claim Abraham as their legitimate ancestor. I recall the command issued by Jehovah to Abraham to sacrifice his son at mount Horeb. Abraham was faithful and obedient to God’s Word. God honored Abraham and at the last moment told him to sacrifice a ram caught amongst the bramble of a tree. It’s good to remember that we belong to the chosen people and God’s covenant with us bequeaths a promise to be in the chosen land. I took two classes today. One was a substitution. I entertained the kids with new words. The other was Geography. The kids were enthused with analysis of population pyramids. I was able to coin some Haikus. I am happy that more and more bloggers are liking my writing. I thought that I will get a windfall today but luck became a morose dog yielding not a penny. I became thoughtful wondering of God’s promises. It is said in the psalms that ‘God will gift you with finest of wheat.’ I started wondering of the 1 dollar bill in my pocket. I started analyzing the strange occult symbolism of the all Seeing Eye and the Unfinished Pyramid. And then I pondered on the words written above: ‘We trust in God’. I wondered which God. The 1 $ Bill is littered with Masonic Symbolism. I am not living in the USA and I have no need of it. God told me tear the 1$ Bill into shreds. God speaks to me intuitively. I have obeyed God’s command. I hope that God will bless me. Last Sunday I had 1200 Rupees in my pocket all from a windfall. Since my wife was away I was contemplating on buying a bottle of rum and getting sloshed. At 10 0’ clock I went to the Bar and they said that it will open only at 11. What to do? I went to the church and attended the service. I also gave a testimony about my Uncle who in his book: ‘Competing Fundamentalisms’ and in it he wants to equate Christianity with Jihad and Hindu extremism. I wrote a review of the book saying that I would like to disagree with the author as there’s has not been a single instance of terror related Christianity in the 21st century. He replied back saying: ‘Anand, your desire to save Christianity is misguided, a-historical and incorrect. I ironically ruminate as to why he teaches theology? Is the Bible worth only as piece of Literature? God humbles to wise and pours wisdom out of the mouth of Babes. Is proselytization of the world into Christianity a crime? Jesus said: ‘yea shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.’ He also said that: ‘I am the way: the truth: and the life’. The aim of Christianity is to win souls and not battles. Christianity is very inclusive in American social, cultural and political life and that’s not a crime. Yoga day was celebrated throughout the world. I have serious misgivings about the occult and spiritual leanings of Yoga. Yoga more than physical exercise worships the serpent and the son God. Yoga is a form of paganish idolatry. God, Christ has started speaking to me in subtle subliminal voice. Yes, God I have obeyed your commands and I have torn the 1$ Bill into shreds. God, fill my purse to the brim. Let it never be empty. My wife has been cruel to admit my only one and dear Son Joshua in an autistic boarding school. When we went to visit him, we took him out for lunch. He gobbled the chicken pieces spread out for him. He has become famished and thin. The school is run by Catholics. When I went there I noticed a curious contradiction. There is a sculpture of Krishna in the office and outside there’s a grotto of Mary. What an irony of paganism? I remember God’s command: do not yoke yourself with unbelievers. While we were visiting him as soon as we were about to leave, he hugged us crying. From that day onwards my mind became unsettled. I looked into the Bible asking God whether I should bring him back. The verse I got was: ‘look what they teach: they teach utter things’. He would be happier at home and I can teach him. I don’t understand my wife’s concept of discipline. Yes, I want to bring him back. I don’t have the money and I’ve asked the Lord to provide it. My son is only mildly autistic. With some support, he can become self-reliant and independent. I dread every passing day of his life in that dreaded pagan school. Sometimes my wife thinks that I am a pagan. But I wonder who is really a pagan. I have given up tippling. I smoke a lot. I am wanting to get rid of that too. Lord, Jesus help me get rid of smoking. Tomorrow might be a good day. I don’t want to do anything that is disagreeable to God. Sometimes I feel that I should have been born in America. I feel sorry for being an Indian. Yes, I want to merge with Black Gospel Churches and Black theology. They are the heart and soul of life. Saw raven swoop down swiftly and pick a piece of fish from the fish rack and fly off. Is that not ravenish poetry!
The day is pleasant with sunny picturesque skies. Early morning I had a dream but I can’t remember what it is. I can call it as dream Amnesia. Birds floated in the sky like poems. Metaphors sculpt the sky like poetic bards. Feelings pour out into verses of streams of consciousness. I wish to win tidy sum in a windfall today. I ponder on the meaning of Literature. Literature is a subjective, aesthetic anarchy of the mind. Poems flow from the mind of feeling. I am longing to smoke weed. But it is hardly available. It’s lollapalooza to live with a poetic heart. I read the Bible in the morning and I was reading the story of Abraham. Abraham’s wife Sarah conceived when she was 100. Isn’t that amazing? I long to visit the holy land. To live the life of poetry and music is to cherish life at its highest point. Character is the penetration of the soul. Today I won 1000 Rupees; I took 10 tickets with the same number, each winning 100 Rupees. God, when will I win a grand windfall? Jesus: ‘the birds of the air neither sow nor reap, yet the heavenly father takes care of them’. One theology Professor whose book I wrote a commentary said that my argument to save Christianity is a-historical and incorrect. I ironically wonder why he’s teaching Christianity. Though I am not perfect, yet my belief lies rooted in Christ. Yes, I profess myself to be a Christian apologist. Beauty, you lie in the passions of the heart. Verses are small poems with wings now floating gently as music in the air. Poems make me nostalgic of Heaven. God, Christ has been good to me. I wonder about Plato’s allegory of the cave. There is a cave in which is dark and people can see the other side as light. Plato was talking about the theory of forms. I have started writing calligraphy and I feel so contented about it. When I was hooked on astrology, I use to devour all the writings of astrologers. Astrology only created anguish in the mind. Now after stopping I am much happier. I have applied for teaching jobs to many international schools abroad but I am sad that I am getting no response. One school in Qatar rang me up and said they will have the interview in July. I have read letters written by Van Gogh to Theo his brother. Van Gogh is passionate about art. The art of the novel is my passion for writing. Words have to be put into new contexts of newer meanings. My novel is philosophical and aesthetic. My daily blog writings will be put into a novel—The Waltz of Life. I have removed all negative thoughts from my mind. I have put my whole faith and trust in God, Christ. Christ was a down to earth existentialist. The kingdom of God has been illustrated by Christ as a parable. My flesh is carnal and sinful and I always ask Christ to rid me off my carnality. I have committed adultery and I am deeply sorry for it. Yes, Christ loves the sinner and not the sin. Christ has said: ‘he has come for the lost sheep’. I loved the way in which Kzantzakis in his book ‘Last Temptation of Christ, portrayed the divine and the earthly nature of Christ. In my anger I have thrown and stamped the Bible and now I feel sorry for it. I am amazed at the faces of people when they die. Some have a sweet smile; some people have their faces wrinkled into a frown. Is there a meaning to life beyond death? Reading philosophy makes the mind go analytical; reading the Bible makes you peaceful. The Bible is a story about weak people and trouble makers, people who aren’t perfect. Yet by divine sanction they became God’s chosen vehicles. The will if bequeaths pride is human. The question is how to reign on to God’s will. Even Christ’s words: ‘let your will be done on earth and heaven’, shows the least resistance of will. Even though King David did adultery with Bathsheba, he repented and found favor with God. Nietzsche went mad by proclaiming the ‘death of God’. Which philosophy is better—Nietzsche’s will to power or the Sermon on the Mount affirmation: ‘blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth’. Nietzsche’s philosophy is one of pride. We need humility to live on the earth. I am happy about life, no longer disgusted with myself. Time has healed all my wounds of the past of being rejected in love. Still I have the fondness for her in my heart. Her hands were soft and silky to touch. How I cherish the first kiss I made. The kiss is a passionate poem. I regret the fact that I could not make love to her. Poor soul, she is no longer on this earth. She left her earthly body in an accident. I don’t even have a photo of her. I refute Camus notion that life is absurd. Life is poetry to be lived. I am frequently prone to mood swings as I have bipolar disorder. I have missed many job opportunities in my life. I pray and hope that things will turn out better. Marquis De Sade was once upon my time a hero. I became fascinated with murder, bestiality and sadism but not anymore. Love is my passionate hero. Kindness is my friendly neighbor. God, Christ is my faithful and trusted friend. Hope is my favorite niece. I am not stingy with money. Tomorrow is going to be a day with me. I can have a quite drink and relax as my wife is going away for a couple of days. Yes, I long to have a good drink. Why even Noah was drunk. I don’t have a good church to go to. Black gospel music and Black churches are my passion. They are so spontaneous in their praise and worship.
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.
I had a very strange dream today. I was attending a marriage function and then there was a quarrel …after that I don’t know what happened and then I was sitting in a vintage car and driving off. On the whole, it was a gloomy day. The sky was grey and pale and it was raining throughout the day. I took a few classes and I felt bored. I have more than 15 years of teaching and I am fed up and I want to retire. What is the meaning of life I ponder? Money and fame are they worthless? How can I quantamize life? Momentary experiences are meaningful epiphanies. Life is quantamaniacical. Yes I am authenticating life’s existence. I read about Noah today. He was drunk on wine and rested in his tent. He was stark naked and one of his sons entered the tent he cursed him. I think that is cruel. What wrong has he done to deserve it? Meaning when read is a lot different to meanings experienced. Life is a precious dream that lives. I marvel at the existence of life. Oh boy I am dying to have a drink. Yes, I can, my wife is flying out of the state. I always ponder on the meaning of life. Life is a precious mystery. How to engage in the meaningful dialogue of meaning? How to enjoy the beauty of words? Poetry is an elegant metaphor and the novel in the post modern sense is wounded irony. I remember the days when I used to read pulp fiction. Now I can’t read even a page of it. The art and form of the novel has to change. The ordinariness of life can be put into epiphanies. Whom am I talking to? Are we heading to an apocalypse? A world war is frightening. I am awakened with the song of life. Breath of poetry pours into me. I say like the psalmist: ‘my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow all the days of my life’. My novel is one of disoriented narrative. Every fragment in my novel is an epic.