What does it lie in store? Plenty of cock a doodle do’s cock a doodle do’s cock a doodle do’s. There it goes on hen, then on another and another and on and on. Happy Roostering!
Metaphors of yellow poems lay in a cluster on the tree. I subdued my senses and put it into it. Sight lingered as an aromatic taste. The evening sky lay like feathers, mellow orange, all of them whispering the tales of my feelings. I feel warmth, a sensual one; I lick my lips in the solidarity of profound meditation. I think of Zen and feel like one.
This tale is stranger than fiction. My neighbor started building a mansion as he was in the Middle East earning tons of money. Fate became tragic to him as he died as soon as the house was completed. I came across a Sergeant who shot himself to death and it’s a curious coincidence that his house was also nearing completion. This makes me ask a bewildering question, are houses jinxed?
My father came back to me in my real life and apologized for the tiff he had with his colleague and Economics Professor of mine. And he told me that the spat was responsible for my University grades in MA Economics being lowered to the third division from the second. And then he started discussing my fascination for taking up teaching jobs in South East Asia. One of the reasons is my deeply nourished fondness for being a literary vagabond. I adore the culture of the remote Indonesian Island, especially Bali where Islam, Hinduism and Jazz mingle together as a hybrid. The second reason is my fondness for South East Asian women. I don’t know why? But I am deeply addicted to them. Their body odors cling on to me like perfumes. The few women whom I have encountered during my sojourn in South East Asia remain in my mind like ecstatic flowers. The third reason is good booze. I laugh when I think of booze flowing in my veins like water. I also relish marijuana and love to experience altered states of consciousness. Culturally speaking I label myself as an Asian beatnik who is fond of the West and who relinquishes Asian religions, piety and mysticism. I am more fond of Nietzsche, Kafka and Derrida than Buddha. My father told me with profuse emotion, with tears welling up his cheeks, “please don’t leave your family and the kids and the school that he has founded”. But I told him my wish of being a literary vagabond, of South East Asian Women, of becoming and realizing meaning in my self. My father vanished and I woke up from my dream. My father is deeply archetypal and I truly sympathize with Jung who was more mystic and holistic in his approach to psychology than Freud.
I am teaching in a Pentecostal school. By chance I happened to visit the office. On it was engraved: “Though shall not worship any images or carved idols of beasts or things of the land, sea and the sky or the heavens”. The accountant of the school is not a Christian. To my surprise on her screen saver was an enormous phallus carved out of stone. The top, middle and bottom part were inscribed. I became amused reading the top as transcendence, the middle as tranquility and the bottom as worship. Is there anything esoteric about the phallus other than it being a fertility symbol? Jacques Lacan has modified the phallus with the ‘phallic gaze’ and IN THE NAME OF THE LAW OF THE FATHER OR THE SUPER EGO. It’s crude to think that any law can symbolize or emanate from a phallus. To encounter an experience with the phallus is a mytho-poetic pleasure of the body. How can one think of the Phallus being divine? It’s comic to think how humans have evolved an irrationality of attributing worship to fertility symbols. If at all the phallus is divine how the fuck can it bear my angst? For me the Phallus is nihilism of the get-not. All parts of the phallus are sensitive and they have no transcendence, tranquility or worship.
All the holy angels gathered in the sky and did combine masturbation. Their sperm formed thick grey angelic clouds. The fairy God Mother had a wand sprouting out from her ass. She wiggled her ass and the wand touched the clouds esoterically. The clouds started to orgy the earth. Rain poured like poetic magic with verses, when touching the ground twinkle like eyes. Zeus bummed a verse; it was loud and cacophonic. Lesbian angels made strip- tease by undoing their pink. I am lost in thought now like a psychedelic Mesmer. I enjoyed the evening as the trinity, the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost watching a movie.