Instead about being negative about a glass not being full be positive that the same glass has half the water.
In the world there’s a confirming majority and a creative minority.
Solitude is never silent; it’s a labyrinth of creative thoughts.
Convenientialism is a post post modern philosophy. Anything and everything goes with it.
There’s no truth to knowing: There’s only an experience to existence.
I have to fictionalize my novel into the art of an aesthetic experience, akin to abstract painting and fugal music.
To make love to a woman is like painting and composing music.
Eros is the urge to tune to the ID and to compose music.
A woman is an edifying flower of meanings.
Temptation, I have made you permissive with freedom.
In the beginning was the word: in the now it’s a human reading and deconstructing it.
The cops of Bangalore have been beasts to me. They are the meanest bastards I have come across.
I don’t give a life to God; in the end I die. Yes, there’s writing remaining immortal.
Forbidden as meaning, is legalistic, medicinal and political. I subvert it in post modernism.
Knowing or experiencing meaning is transcendence
If Wisdom is Godly then enjoying its meaning is being earthly.
I cannot forgive or forget; I am like the Devil to repay my debts.
The Ego lives as memories even after the death of the person.
Materialism is not an ideal or idol; it’s a sumptuous necessity for the belly.
When I look at saints, I smile an unholy pleasure.
I am not guilty of sin; I live in it and frolic in it as a beautiful swine.
I was only holy when I did not know the language. Now I am in trespasses.
I am not mean when I cannot forgive you.
If all I think could become a reality, then I will not disturb God.
If God spoke: “Let there be light”, then there must be a greater God that’s darkness.
Even though time moves linear and clockwise our mental clock is multi-functional.
As I am aging, I am growing stoically wise with Philosophy.
I am transgressing my conditioned culture-self when I indulge in writing.
Ecstasy, rhythm, melody and harmony are metaphors for life.
Life—I value much to make it an art to live.
After tasting the fruit of knowledge and sinning, sin became a mask a metaphor for writing.