August 1st 2019

August 1st 2019
Today was a slow paced day without nothing much happening in my life. I am a happy go lucky person not worrying much about what will happen tomorrow. I live my life trusting God Jehovah Jesus. He knows all my needs and he will bless me and give me his favor.

I took a few classes and really speaking I am fed up of teaching. I want to spend my future days writing and traveling to places. I am very fond of South East Asia and the Scandinavian Countries. I hope I can a significant sum of money by playing the lottery. I want to indulge all my senses into a muse of feeling. The passions of my soul are deep and they form an artistic tapestry. Poems live in my heart and are melodious to the soul. I always question myself as to why I should write. Writing is a Sun and Moon of beauty. Writing is a culture of art. Writing is the music of poetry. Birds fly on the page and their pen are wings in flight. I am a Christian liberal a one possessed by the Joy of finding Christ and trying so hard to abide in his will. God Jehovah Jesus will weather me through all the storms of life. Writing is the unveiling of the unconscious. Writing is a trope, a painting of words. I have decided to find the meaning of life as a creative writer. I am always asking the question: what of writing? What is writing? Writing is an art of the fugue in expression. Writing is the melody of birds in flight. Writing is a peaceful poem. The meaning of life is unraveled through writing. As a meaning: writing purposive. An artist is a purposist. Writing has a value and that is called Valuableization. My writing is a new writing of existential philosophy. Ontology shifts to a purposeality. We are valuablizaed individuals with God’s karma to live on this planet earth. Writing is also anecdotal or ironic presentation of life in irony. Through writing the meaning of the self in uncovered. Writing is poetic prose. Beauty is uncovered as a poem that moves gently across the sky. Through writing, the meaning of life is understood. Writing is a release of libidinal joys. Writing is the experience of the angst and using the faith of God to transcend it. Writing is a poem of art. Writing serenades as angels in flight. Writing blossoms a garden. Writing is Mozart’s Hallelujah. Writing is a musical garden where poets play their harps. Writing is pure passion of bequeathing sentiments of feeling. Writing is the emotion of the heart. Writing is a memoir of being captive. Writing is the joy of art in expression. Writing finds the self of meaning. Writing is a caring self. Writing is a loving self. Writing transcends the self into an art of meaning.

Advertisements

July 15th 2019

July 15, 2019
Morning was a late bard. Woke up and drenched cups of coffee. I feel so happy and contented as God is on my side. Muses danced in art—a ballet—objet d’ art. Clouds hung across the sky as beards.

I am comforted by the Bible Verse: Blessed are the Meek for they shall inherit the earth. I am reading the gospel of ST. Mathew. Again it says in the Gospel: Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. It also says: Blessed are the poor in spirit: for they shall see God. The Sermon on the Mount is my all-time favorite.

I got some letters from scammers—men impersonating as women, wanting me to transfer funds. I have grown tired of scammers.

Sometimes I get offers employment abroad. When I look at their mail address it is Gmail. Then I realize that they are serpents wanting to cheat the innocent with their poisonous fangs.

Sometimes I wonder what is a writerly consciousness. It’s a process which starts with the beginning of writing. Thoughts are the dictionary of the mind. And from there they have to be channeled into the writer’s pen. I still enjoy writing in a book. But mostly I do it on the desk top. It’s fun to imagine mythological figures as being real entities. Yes fairies, leprechauns, gargoyles, mermaids all populated as tales of a mental hallucination. Many a writer still experiments with these forms. The most intense desire of a writer is he or she would love to be read. A writer has to be an eccentric person. He has to portray customs and conventions in a bizarre manner. Sometimes writing is gun waiting to explode. Sometimes writing is a suicide of the pen. Sometimes writing has to resurrect with new forms. Writing is the passion of the pen. Writing is art divine. Writing is a magical formula. Writing is poetry that changes a landscape. Writing is muse that writes in the rhythm of Jazz. Writing is a monument as beautiful as the Tajmahal. Writing sometimes can be a diabolic symbol. Writing is Atlas carrying the earth in agony. Writing is a fruit that has grown from the seed. Writing is a new way expressing love for our creator. Writing is the excavation of the past. Writing is a sculpture resembling Rodin’s Thinker. Writing is an art of the danseuse. Writing is a lit cigarette blowing rings of smoke. Writing is the passion of the heart. Writing is an eclipse of the sun and the moon. Writing is the tides of the ocean. Writing is pleasant music for the ear. Writing is a symphony of music. Writing is a sweet that is good to taste. Writing should transform and motivate the mind. I write by invoking Hallelujah. Yes, Hallelujah is my password for writing. While writing I feel closer to God. I can feel his presence, his grace, his mercy and favor. Sometimes I write with a repentant heart. Sometimes I write out of angst and anxiety. Sometimes an experience is transformed into a fable. Writing is a quixotic pen. Cervantes in all his madness has portrayed man to be a torrent of struggling nature and who surprisingly balances reality with fantasy. Cervantes broke away from religion and fictionalized man’s being into an oasis of fiction. Borges is another all time favorites. From him I have discovered the writing of the whimsical script. He is a bard of pregnant prose. I have discovered a lot from the existential philosophers like Camus and Sartre. Being is epitomized has the heart of existence. Character is the resonance of the soul. Angst is carried in the well of the mind. Man’s character is hypnotized into tragic and stoic and paradoxically linked with triumph. My writing carries the colonial gift of the language and the pen. I am now writing post-coloniality as my own invention. My enemy is always lurking behind me. He is Dyer of the Jalllianwala Massacre. Yes, I have to free myself from the grips of colonial fangs. Freedom of being free, how much I relish it. My writing forms the canon of postcolonial literature. Why did the colonizers teach English? It is because they wanted a bunch of administrators. Indian writing in English is slowly freeing itself from that of a colonial consciousness. On the other hand the irony of it is, if I hadn’t learnt English, It would have been a big loss. I wonder as a writer what it is to be situated in a culture that is oriental and what it is to be a part of occidental culture. I consider myself a hybrid of both these cultures. The orient is my wife and the occident is my husband. I blend them with eclectic fusion. I am an Indian who loves the Gospel, Jazz, Rock and Blues. I am a writer who is fond of western thinkers like Camus, Sartre, Derrida and Foucault. I am a Christian with liberal theology. I am a writer who loves to travel and explore cultures. Sometimes I wonder what it is to be a writer. Writing won’t end till I die. I love to wander to places and I also love to be in touch with sights, smells and experiences. Writing is a poetry of prose a magic that supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Writing is a beauty that will never fade. Writing is the will of staying firm when there are temptations and troubles in life. Writing is the ethereal, cosmic gift of God.

April 28th 2019

Morning mushroomed with a canopy of colors—little hymns made divine music—all is beautiful with me. I thank God Jehovah Jesus for his abundant blessings.

It is wonderful to think of how words acquire new cultural meanings with spread of the internet and globalization. A good example of that will be viral, selfie and web.

I am pondering on the art of writing. What could it be? Writing is primarily a narrative. In olden days dissemination was oral. Then there started the writing of texts. There are two types of writing. They are readable writing and interpretative writing.

Readable writing can also be called primary writing. It can be factual or literary. Readable writing is found in discourses like Philosophy, Math and Sciences are examples. Readable writing being literary can be a good story either in speech or in writing. Novels, Poetry, Drama, Films all belong to this genre.

Interpretative writing can be cultural, literary and philosophical. Let me use an example. Let me take the thoughts of structural and post-structural Philosophers.
Let me use an example to understand interpretative reading. Saussure is a famous structural Philosopher who introduced the Sign in Language. All language is made up of Signs. A sign is made up of the signifier and the Signified. A signifier is a visual tangible thing. A signified is an idea. For example if I say dove is peace, dove is the signifier and peace the signified. Then Roland Barthes who used the structuralist Sign to analyze fashions and culture. Philosophically speaking the sign was put into deconstruction by the philosopher Derrida. Deconstruction examines how signs privilege and marginalize people in texts. From Derrida I have developed a new idea of Philosophy called Binary Fusion. Binary Fusion is a text that does not marginalize or privilege anyone.

 

March 22 2019

I woke at 7:30 AM. I gave praises and adoration to God Jesus. Morn’s sweet breeze kissed my cheeks. Jewels flew across the sky. I have started reading the Gospel of Mathew.

I am engrossed in the Novel of Writing. I am thankful to God for many blessings given.

I have come to love my wife. She is a precious pearl of love and guitar of eroticism.

I was able to get a small prize at yesterday’s windfall.

A tarring machine on the road is cackling.

In the Gospel of Mathew it says: ‘yes on earth will be a yes in heaven’. I became wonderstruck with these words and I have applied them to my life.

Through writing I develop the content of the Novel. Experience is the biggest teacher. The novel which I write belongs to the genre of Kunstlerroman, a novel which describes the aesthetic development of the writer. I melody tropes and tropes are Picasso’s paint brush—tropes are a music of words in impressionism. Trivial incidents of life are made into epiphanies. Epiphanies are the soul of words. Let me use an epiphany here to highlight my point. Brook of beauty running through, gurgling moksha all the way through—swaying pebbles glistening karmic odes— samsara meanders pilgrimage blues. The movement of the brook is made into a rendition of metaphysics. Moksha is the Sanskrit word for salvation. The moving pebbles in the brook are identified with Karma. Samsara refers to the cycle of birth and rebirth. For me Samsara is the life living on earth.

I would also like to comments on time in the Novel. There are two different types of time—Inner time or dialogic time and narrative time or symbolic time. Inner time is a reflection of the consciousness of the writer. This can be done by the use of streams of consciousness. The symbolic time or narrative time is the time where a character lives, a time capitulated as the presence of life.

What is character in the Novel? A character is resonance of the human soul. Character is the intimate revelation of autobiography— events which the writer refuses to admit or speak out in day to day life. Character also implies the feelings, emotions and expressions of the self and other people.

As I am writing the novel—I am exploring the self as an existential being to a becoming. I have started to grow with life’s experience.

Today I stumbled on a New Idiom: Nazareth, the place which Jesus lived. As an idiomatic expression Nazareth means a holy place. I will be going to Nazareth for worship.

I am amazed at the fact that Jesus spent a long time in Prayer. I am asking God Jehovah Jesus to cure me from all afflictions.

My wife is shy and does not show her nude body in light. But today she got bolder and showed me her nude erotic body. We made sweet love as musical poems.

Today I am again going to write about Lexical Polygamy a figurative device, a hermeneutic tool. Lexical Polygamy is appropriation of words in a text without searching for contextual meanings. It is said in the Gospel of Mathew: Your Yes on Earth will be a Yes in Heaven.

Journal March 19th 2019

I woke up with a strange dream; I dreamed of my grandparents and my school life. I had no luck with windfalls. I was able to publish a book of fiction called the Coven of Tales. I am feeling sad that I am getting few likes in Word Press. Writing is my passion and I will continue doing it. My writing is novel in form and an art in structure. What do I incorporate in my writing? I do add autobiographical nuances; I epiphanize trivial incidents; I play with the philosophy of language. Occasionally I write new Idioms and I pay with tropes. Today was a slow day and I did not have to take classes as the children were having their exams. How do I battle the ill of storm; I sway over it with a calm wind. I have started reading the book—A Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I am reading the life of the Buendia family. I wonder why these novels attain so much acclaim. It won the Nobel Prize for Literature. The Nobel Prize for Literature is very writer’s dream. By writing I travel to exotic places, make love to many women in my imagination, and also taste many cuisines. I am in joy with writing. The time is evening now. The robes in sky are shining a pale orange ecstasy. I have to kick the habit of smoking. I need God’s help to do it. I have made a prayer request of all what I want to accomplish this year 2019. It says in the Bible: ‘Ask and you shall receive: Seek and you shall find: Knock and the door will be opened’.

Analysis of the Space of Literature by Maurice Blanchot

blanchot

Maurice Blanchot though being a heavy weight of Literature is largely ignored by the mainstream public due to the dense obscurity of his work. Blanchot’s literature remains largely ornamental like a piece of Baroque opera with strands of philosophy running through it. I would like to discuss the thoughts that I came through while reading his magnum opus: The Space of Literature.

Maurice Blanchot begins his work be characterizing Writing as Solitude. What is solitude in everyday life? It means an inner calm of tranquility. It is questionable to ask whether a writer writes out of solitude or excitement. He quotes Rilke: ‘I haven’t produced a single work: my solitude has engulfed me’. Why can’t the writer be agitated when he is writing his work? I am sure that Nietzsche wrote: Thus spoke Zarathustra while undergoing bouts of insanity. A Freudian ID gets provoked into the necessity of writing. Even mystics when they meditate are never in solitude. There are in a state of deep contemplation. One can also write out of the passion to write but one can never be in solitude when one is in a state of writing. When one is in the process of writing, one gravitates to the center of meaning. So I would like to reformulate Blanchot’s solitude as excitement, agitation, passion and contemplation. The mind can never be in solitude.

Again Blanchot goes on to say that a writer never knows whether his work is finished or not. In one sense it is true and in another sense it is not. Any work of Literature is only partial does not display art to sense of completion. But then again in a literary work, there’s a beginning and an ending. Let’s take an example of Ulysses by James Joyce. The novel running into eight hundred pages and depicts twelve hours of person’s life mainly Bloom, Stephen and Molly. There is a beginning and an ending to the work. Blanchot is partially right when he says that no work of art is complete. A work of art has got only degrees of perfection. Similarly Blanchot also mentions that a reader enters into solitude while encountering a work. Readers of pulp fiction are causal readers. The work of a serious reader is marked by the phenomenology of reading. The mind of a serious reader works as an inter-textual machine. Reading interferes with what has been read in the past. The ontology of existentialism, the autobiographical possession of the reader comes into play while reading. There is perfect reading but there are only imperfect interpretations.

It’s through an absence that word being of writer comes into existence. I would like to refute this statement by saying that writing is affirmation of presence, a saturation of it. Being is pronounced into the becoming of meaning. In writing there’s indulgence of the meaning of being. Writing is excess of being. Presence of being is an affirmation for a writer.

Again he goes on to say that a writer never reads his or her work. That can be true to some extent. Would a writer really enjoying editing his or work?  A writer does not function as a reader. The writer merely proof reads his or her work.

For a writer, a word is something that cannot be mastered. How could that be the case? A writer is a lingual-maniac. He finds new usages for pre-existing ones. He or she also creates new words: for example neologisms. A writer invents tropes of language. How can this be possible without mastery? Writing is not sterile but active and dynamic.

To write is to break the bond between the word and the self. I would like to say that writing is a catharsis. The bond between writing, the word, and the self is one of unison. Writing is akin to having sexual intercourse. The self and the word are bonded to a writer.

The writer belongs to a language that no one speaks. Yes, writing is inventive and seeks new paradigms of a discovery of meaning. Tropes belong to the language of nascence and newness. Writing is a process of self discovery.

When we admire the tone of the work, we are not referring to style or virtues of the language but to a silence. Blanchot is not sure about what this silence is. We are in fascination and catharsis when we unveil the imagery used by a writer. There is intellectual and emotional gratification. We do not encounter the work in silence.

What is the journal? It is not romantic, not essentially confessional. It is the writer when he or she is not writing. I feel that Blanchot is being vague there. Again he goes on to say that a journal is written out of fear and anguish. The writing of the journal is no longer historical. Romanticism has acquired new shades of meaning in blog writing. Taste, art and culture are all romanticized by bloggers undergoing a new experience. As Wordsworth has said ‘poetry is the spontaneous overflow of feeling’. To be romantic is to be in state of mind that’s in passion. Writing a journal can also be confessional. To be confessional is to be passionate and expressive. My writing on adultery is confessional. It is wrong to say that a journal is not historical. For example let’s take Ann Frank. Ann Frank is a passionate outburst of the oppressions that she encountered during a Nazi regime. Thus a journal can be confessional, romantic and historical.

To write is to surrender to time’s absence. I would like to disagree with the statement. Time in writing flows as streams of consciousness.   Time is reflective and contemplative when the writer engages in writing. Writing cannot be marked by the absence of time.

Fascination is solitude’s gaze. To write is to let fascination rule the language. The gaze of the writer could be a sexual, one; it could also be subjective, philosophical, materialistic and transcendental. The gaze is intentional and is borne out the repressed in the ID.

Again he quotes Mallarme: ‘When I write into verse, I encounter nothingness, an absence of God and my own death. It is questionable to ask Blanchot, how negation can enter the realm of writing. Negation is nihilism, a negative affirmation when something positive does not happen. Writing is self proclaiming and affirmative. Yes after Nietzsche’s proclamation that ‘God is dead’, writing has become anthropocentric. How can a writer enter the realm of death? Is the writer killing his self when he enters into the train of writing? According to Camus, while writing we enter into a philosophical suicide. Yes there’s death of the actual self and birth of the creative self.

Again Blanchot goes to distinguish between the crude word and the ornamental word. When we say that the flower is in the garden we are using crude language or the language of communication. If I use: I am flowering her lips, I am ornamentally decorating the language. Writing is ornamental, decorative and hyperbolic. Again he goes on to say: poetry is the universe of words where relations and configurations are attained through sound, figure and rhythmic language. Poetry is akin to the musicality of words, and it flows with the Dionysian rhythm and makes presence with the Orpheus of figures.

Kafka began his writing out of true despair. We should know that Kafka had a stormy relationship with his father. He was also an exiled Jew. Kafka despised authority figures. Writing for Kafka grew out of protest against authoritarianism. This is especially true when we analysis his work—the Metamorphosis.  The work is allegorical and shows the negation of individuality by authority figures. The individual in Metamorphosis is reduced into fragments. Writing for Kafka was spiritual and psychological salvation. Kafka made the affirmation that nothing else besides literature satisfies me. The more Kafka writes: the less sure is he of himself.

Art is primarily the consciousness of unhappiness not its consolation. How can art be the consciousness of unhappiness alone? One can experience art through the consciousness of joy and affirmation. Let’s diagnose Picasso’s painting of the Guernica. Was Picasso filled with angst of the bombing of Basque? Or was he affirming creativity while painting the Guernica. When I meditate on Dali’s painting: The persistence of Memory, I am filled with cathartic interpretation. I appreciate its meaning to portray time as streams of consciousness. I also marvel at the melting clock placed on the frozen embryo and interpret it as Dali’s own oedipal trauma.