Feel like a worm of the Universe, feel, like dust…feel worthless, feel negated…suffer from existential nausea…feel deflated. Got a good paying, teaching job in Cambodia worth 1000$. But I am in the poverty of meeting travel and visa funds. I listened to a lot of self motivational thoughts about attracting positive vibrations of the Universe. But they yielded to nothing. I was not even able to win a single lottery prize. Folks at my home are also not willing to help me. I hopes are sunk and my ego is devastated. I do not know how life will go on. I even turned to the Devil and wrote poetry of praise for him. But all my efforts became futile. The Devil does not dance to the whims and fancies of man. I consider myself as a failed writer. But the ambition to write is a passion. Why does not the universe vibrate positively for me? I look for signs from the sky. I have seen many V’s. I read them as a sign of victory. Am I meant to be disastrous failure? Why is the myth of Sisyphus recurring in my life? My consciousness is a cigarette but trashed in the ashtray. I am feeling so lonesome in my life. My lovers seem to have deserted me. Should I turn to Christ? Or should I soak my own sorrows in existential dread. I contemplate suicide. Get drunk and take some poison. May be there are sunnier days to come. May be there’s poetry to the meaning of life. Yes, life is Camus’ the absurd. I am handed a job in a platter and yet I can’t take it. Why does this happen to me? Instead of being a worm of the universe why can’t I be a glow worm. I am fed up of quacks, astrologers and psychics. I can’t bear to face the torment of my own angst. Yes, Sartre says that we should existentially be responsible for the actions we take. But I can’t? Why God Christ have you forsaken me. ELOI ELOI LAMA SABACHITNAI? Why oh God have you forsaken me? For being a writer, I need to travel and see the world. Motivational speakers have crippled my life. I was taken by a ride by my girl friend in Texas who said she sent documents pertaining to her house for me to sell. Then she asked me to write to the courier company and they asked me shelve out 850$. To my sad fate, I realized it was a scam. To think of the poetry I have written for her. All for the meaning of love and in the end fate put its chains and I realized that I was duped. I feel sad that my Whatsapp girl friend is online but she is not texting me. Is there a true God? Or has religion evolved and become textual after being animistic. My Christian faith is so wavering. Yes, I love Christ more than anything else. I feel so sorry to have turned to the Devil. Is there a Philosophy in the world that will explain my life’s existence? When can I evolve the true essence of writing? I can’t mediate. I spent sleepless nights having restless dreams. Has the passion for life gone out of me? Why do I have to dance to the wishes of wife and mother? I hate them both. They won’t shell out the dough to reach Cambodia. Where will I turn to help? I am praying to my dead father please help me. It’s after so many years that I am getting a job. Why is fate being a cruel storm?
The whole day was devoted to publishing a book of poetry called Whispers of Paradise. The book is an autobiographical epiphany. There are poems about the women I’ve loved, about places I have visited and nature. Most of the poems are lyrics and can be sung using a guitar. I am peeved because my Whatapp girlfriend is not communicating. My girl friend in Texas wants me to go to Malaysia and sell her house. She has sent the documents by courier. Since it’s an online relationship, I don’t know the extent of truth in it. Only time will tell. I became a happy metaphor when I completed my book of poetry.
Words on the pen drown into a sea of letters. Petals of thoughts are stoned into angst. Dear Mig, why have I compromised on your loyalty? My heart bleeds to be in Philippines to be with you. Will a job in the Philippines materialize? I have applied to scores of places. As a writer I m a wounded Kafka, a gigantic insect of his metamorphosis. How can I say sorry to your aching and bleeding heart? As a body you have bloomed a petal in me. I don’t have a stable job or a stable income? Dread empowers me like a wounded dragon. I am in nervous anxiety of being broken as a metaphor. From where do I write? Am I fearful of life? Yes, I think I can come to the Philippines if I get a job. I seek solace in garden of silence. Rilke’s words comfort me. Buddha is a tranquil metaphor of contemplation. Even though I take sleeping pills I am not able to sleep. Had a dream where Christ spoke to me. He told me to read the contemporary Bible that I have at home. He showed me a lot of unknown words. And I woke up. I watch a lizard crawl on the wall as picturesque art. Philippines, I long to settle down there. When I am dead and gone, I won’t recollect the life I have lived. A Christian school in Cambodia proclaimed my death after scrutinizing my resume saying that my experience and qualifications don’t match their teaching expectations. Are whites who have majored in English Literature better than me? I have wounded her soul and I am dreadfully sorry for it. When does writing become literary? Yes, when words are married to it in figures of speech. Sometimes I dream of winning an International Jackpot. I can travel, booze and make love to women. Dear God, will that foster the writer in me? I am tranquilized by the lack of ideas. I suffer from existential dread. It is my agony that I am brown and I have to write an English that was colonized and handed to me in bastard platter. Marxism you are a God that is dead. Even Che Guevara had the finances to travel all over Latin America on a motor cycle. Communism in Kerala preaches dead ideals. The irony of Kerala is that it is ruled by the flag of the Hammer and Sickle and it is soft on market friendly politics. Che, was your effort worth it in being a martyr. Is the world a conspiracy of secret societies? Why does America become a blabbering hammer every time North Korea goes nuke? I have a debit card that has zero balance and my bank account has been suspended. I carry the 1$ Bill the All Seeing Eye and the Unfinished Pyramid as a talisman in my purse. Why isn’t luck falling in my purse?
The day was an ordinary cabbage. I was seriously reprimanded by my bloody wife for skipping classes. Actually I had a Skype interview with the Principal of Australian International School in Dakha in Bangladesh. The interview turned out well. I am so happy if I get the job as I can get away from my nagging and dominating mother and wife. I hate my dead father for creating a difficult situation in my life. If I drink, my wife threatens me that she will take me to a psychiatric asylum. I hate her the bloody bitch. The bitch is a bloody fucking Pentecost. Had a pleasant letter from my sweetheart from Texas. She wants me to go and sell her house in Malaysia and is willing to come down and settle with me in India. Sometimes I wonder what is consciousness. Does the Universe live to satisfy our aspirations? Time internalized lives as an epic as a streams of consciousness. Will life become a fairy tale so that I can divorce my wife and happily settle down with my sweetheart. Can I spent the rest of my life, retired and in peace and devote my whole self to writing. I am tired of teaching school kids the basics of English. My whole knowledge having read into literary and cultural theory seems to be going down in the drain. I watched the evening sunset meditatively. The sky was a picture of music. Night settled down as a witch’s robe.
Day woke up late as a lazy morning. All had gone to church and I was alone. I wonder why girl friend is not whatsapping me? I am wondering of painting of words and music of letters. Mynahs a whole bunch were twittering on trees. I wonder why only a very few of my books are sold in Bookrix. I am thinking of quitting smoking. It’s giving me an erectile dysfunction. I need to go to Malaysia to sell my girl friend’s house. I badly need some funds to go. I was not able to sleep well. The sleeping pills are not working. I think they have become adjusted to my body. I feel so disappointed in not winning the bumper lottery. I am worried about how I will finance my daughter’s medical school. I am tired of working in schools for a measly sum of money. I want to travel and write books. Sometimes, I wonder what is my self? I have tried following Nietzsche’s God is Dead philosophy and Camus nihilism. But then I waver back to Christian faith. I am stuck in the cauldron of conflicting worldviews. To live and write in art is a passion. I am forced to remain anonymous on the web as conservative parents do not like my writing. I have been removed my photos from my blog sites. I have also deactivated my Facebook. I am always exploring new ways of writing. What is avant-garde postmodernist writing? Pastiche, extreme irony, multiple selves’ magical realism and all that. I really wonder if my writer self has emerged. I have published most of my books free. I am not interested in money. All I would like is to be read. I had enough of work and I want to live a retired life of writing. Yes, in one sense, life is absurd, it is meaningless. Even though God is Dead one can’t become the Ubermensch.
The day was an ordinary day. Took English classes for 6th, 7th and 8th graders. The choice of topics are pretty boring. I’m not able to discuss my ideas of postmodernism and literary theory with kids. The stuff that I read is kept in my mind. I felt so disappointed when the lottery results came and to my consternation, I did not win even a single prize. Had to meet an anxious parent whose kid had got low grades. I boosted his morale saying that I will work hard with the kid. I thought of reading a book but felt too tired to do it. In the afternoon had lunch at a local restaurant which consisted of Barottas and beef curry. Barottas are made with flour. I had to delete a lot of unwanted mails in yahoo. Got a letter from my girl friend in Texas who is Malay. She can’t go to Malaysia for political reasons. She asked me whether I can go on her behalf and sell her house there and then she will join me in India. I don’t have the funds to go to Malaysia. I have taken a lottery ticket today and I hope to win a prize so that I can go to Malaysia. The sky bloomed in impressionism in the evening. Watching the sunset was like making love to a woman. Now it’s dark and I am sitting on my computer typing. I seriously wonder where the world is heading to. There is a philosophical and spiritual bankruptcy in the world. My Whatsapp girl friend is not responding to my messages. Got a call from Australian International school in Dakha and they told me that I was a fitting candidate for teaching English. They told me to add their contact in Skype. After that there was no follow up. I work for a menial salary in my mother’s school. I want to get away from my wife’s bossy temperament. I find it difficult to make both ends meet.
Woke up early dreaming…I can’t recollect my dream. Today was a holiday in school so I spent my time lazing in bed till 10 AM. Wanted to read a book was too lazy. Saw a dead dog on the streets all flattened like pastry. The poor thing must have been run over. Thought of writing an essay on various forms of art, like naturalism, impressionism, cubism, surrealism and postmodernism. I have been thinking what it is to be an art of writing? How does art become writing? It’s an aesthetic, philosophical and literary problem. Nietzsche has said art occurs: when the Dionysian and the Apollonian elements merge. He has used music as a metaphor for it. The Dionysian elements comprise of rhythm, beat and ecstasy and the Apollonian elements consist of melody and harmony. How am I to find new avant garde forms? How can I find a new form for Streams of Consciousness? Joyce wrote Ulysses as an epic covering 12hrs of life in 800 pages. Can an epic be made into seconds of time? The mind is a freely floating streams of consciousness machine. While reading ancient Greek Philosophy, I became fascinated by the mystic and occult of Orphic religions. I wonder how they participated in Bacchanalian revels. Greek Gods are unethical and immoral. The ancient Greeks have revealed that all Art lies in transgression. Sodomy, fornication and adulteries are musical symphonies. Adam and Eve’s eating of the fruit was figurative as art. Got a letter from my girl friend in Texas. She was explaining how her ex. boy is abusing her physically and emotionally. I told her to take police help. I have suggested to her that she could take me to Texas or she sell her house in Malaysia and come and settle down with me in Kerala. I thought of writing poetry but could come up with no good ideas. I have a fascination for synesthetic metaphors that is metaphors which identify unlike things like sound and color. I would like to write doped. Dope now is scarcely available.