Performation is derived from the verb perform and in writing it means putting one’s thoughts to the pen. Performation is a philosophic process freeing the mind, and exercising writing through the play of the signifiers to new signifieds. Language is a Sign made of the signifier and the signified. The signifier is a physical tangible reality and belongs to the sensate realm. The Signified is an abstract idea and belongs to intelligible realm. For in the sentence: Rose is passion, Rose is a signifier and passion is the signified. Performation is opposed to domination and subordination all processes involved in interpersonal relationships. Performative writing frees the barriers of the self and dialogues the writer to expressive creativity.
John Paul Sartre though being a writer confessed finally that writing is a bourgeoisie institution. I call the writers of the establishment bourgeoisie because all they want to have is that their writings should be mass marketed as profitable commodities. Such writers don’t bother to keep a blog or write anything because they have a love for writing. I became totally depressed when I wrote to a famous writer to have his signature and I did not get a reply of response. The trend of writing from Bourgeoisie Writers is changing to writers who write for the love of writing and thanks to the efforts of the blogs like http://www.wordpress.com and http://www.blogspot.com. their efforts have fructified.
Ankh is a famous Egyptian Hieroglyph signifying fertility. I have had an esoteric experience of encountering the Ankh through the collective unconscious of Jung. In my writing f the small letter, I happened to be writing the symbol of Ankh unconsciously. Recently I happened to be writing a wish on paper and then I to my curiosity happened by accident to draw the line of the Ankh on to the wish. So now I have come to realize that the Jungian theory of the collective unconscious does work.
She was my batch mate while I was doing my Bachelor’s in Education. I am revealing her real name as Latha. We became inseparable friends. We used to talk of everything under the Sun. When the classes were over we used to walk close to each other, talking, laughing and giggling.
She was brown in color…Boy she had remarkable eyes….They were so large, black and her look, her gaze set me into an erotic garden of bliss. I loved the way she used to look… soulful look full of feelings…. In the college it was a strict rule that women should wear saris. I have always admired her body which so buxomly delicious. Her breasts were a round flowing meadow. Her nipples used to strain out of her blouse like swollen grapes. She had a belly that was so melodiously snuggy.
I used to ask her about her married life… I was so eager at that time to know how she shared the pastures of her bed …She used to giggle at me and smile so mischievously…and then sigh ….ohhhh! I could gauge from her tone that it was not so fulfilling…
Being sexually starved, a lot of thoughts swam through my mind…Should I ask her whether I can take her to a distant city and then book a room and cajole her to make love to me….The thought of fucking sensuous Latha would give me Goosebumps on my skin… My tongue, longing for her pleasured garden would salivate to abundance… I would relish and swallow my spit thinking when a chance would arise….How much I longed to squeeze her melon breasts, suckle them like a tender lamb sucking them with the fury of appetite. How, I long to make love to her, experimenting all kinds of styles and positions…But I did not have the courage to ask her, as I was so afraid of being refused. How many times I have wasted all my wet pearls all lying in disarray on the ground.
Days have passed, weeks too, years….now it’s a long span of time. To my surprise, she comes to me in my dreams, waking me from solitude, and fondling me with the petals of Eros. I tried searching for her in Facebook but my search ended in vain….
I always dream of seeing her by luck, accident or coincidence. But I hope to someday meet her and copulate with her and add a new meaning to my existence.
asylum, Autobiography, Booze, Canonization, Catholic, Commoditization, Condensation, Displacement, Dream analysis, Dreams, Freud, Gold, Monetary, Pope Francis, Psychonalysis, Rape, saints, Symbolism, Symbols, theology, Women
A couple of dream symbols were synchronizing with each other. In one I saw beautiful trinkets made of gold in the cupboard. When I tried to touch it vanished from perspective. I have also had dreams of buying gold earlier. My tryst with Gold has been shameful. I have taken (stole) gold from the house and I have sold it to spend it on my needs. I also have wishes to buy gold for my lady friends. Analyzing the dreams about Gold that I had, I strip Gold out of its physical purity, rape its value from monetary commoditization and negate the heart of is symbolism, and degrade its sadism to an absolutism of disgust. I know that the dreams about Gold are a condensation of images. Yes Gold symbolizes authority, power, purity and royalty. For me it’s dirt that can buy me booze, have fun with women and trash that I can gift for a pure feeling of love.
Another perplexing dream that I had was a photo holder. In it there were many photos. One was that of Pope Francis himself. I don’t personally have anything against him and I am pleased with his humanistic approach, his concern for the subaltern and his ecumenical reaching out to a healing of communities. But I am in no way religious, and I am an existential -nihilist -agnostic. Along with the Pope, I saw pictures of two canonized Saints from Kerala. I honestly don’t know their names. I have seen the canonized Saints from the asylum (run by Catholics) where I spend a brief period of time. I was abused physically and mentally, forced to attend stupid idolatrous Rosary prayers. What puzzles me is the reminder of them in my dream. Is the dream a displacement of substitution of my hatred for Catholicism as a perverted unbiblical theology which canonizes saints and worships Mary who is no virgin? I have hatred for the Catholicism that is prevalent in Kerala. Why should I stand up and draw the sign of the cross when the Lord’s Prayer is being read? Well I rubbish canonization and my spat against Catholic canards continue Philosophically and Culturally.
I had wanted to write this article for a long time. It’s only now that ideas are surging into my consciousness. There was a time, in my teens, which I celebrated Christmas as a faithful Christian and also as a commercial Christian. I was very much influenced by the gospel stories of the immaculate conception of Jesus by a Virgin and his mission in the world to redeem mankind and womankind from their sins. In my teens I was not very much conscious of what it meant by being born in sin especially the Adamic one. I went through a series of evangelization in school and Sunday school, and I was happy and willing to give my heart to Jesus without knowing the meaning of what I had done. I was happy to sing in Sunday school choir and also attend Christmas carol service in the Church. Here the only sin I used to do was masturbation. I did not know that it was a sin and I was a helpless addict to it. I used to masturbate with imagination of many women that I have seen in real life. Yes there was an elderly aunty living in my opposite house. She was a buxom, voluptuous lady and putting her as imagination gave me the greatest pleasure. Yes there were guilt feelings and I used to request God to forgive me for it. I used to love listening to the good old Christmas Carols and they melted in my heart as sugar would when it is placed in water. I used to feel agitated as volcanic lava when Choir groups were not allowed to sing in the house. As a commercialized Christian I used to go on a buying spree, spending money lavishly on buying gewgaws like an artificial Christmas tree, color bulbs, and stars. I used to be in the forefront decorating the house. I have also done eleemosynary activities like visiting the houses of my poor comates and giving them presents. As I have grown older, I think of all the things I have done. There is a broth of sadness and a silver lining of nostalgia. It’s difficult to accept the fact that a virgin would have conceived an immaculate birth. If miracles were done by the savior then why are they not happening today? Yes I like the Christian concept of redemption of mankind but not in the heavenly sense but in the earthly sense as an establishment of the Kingdom of God as being social justice on earth. I have also given into sin being fully aware that our bodies are housed by carnality that is consensual promiscuity. Have I been affected by the spiritual, mental and physical ostracism of my wife? Yes I feel gored in my loins by a sexual appetite which thanks to living in India I have not been able to fulfill. Yes I have enjoyed the fruit of being in adultery but that too only for a short period of time. I am not very much impressed by the Christian eschatological doctrine of finding a place in Heaven after the separation of sinners and righteous. I can only accept the fact that at death our physical bodies will disintegrate and it baffles me when Christian pundits preach of the righteous possessing glorified bodies. For this Christmas I have wholly remained like vegetable not taking part in any ceremonies or even decorating the house with objet d’ arts. The cold reason of facts confronts my existence and squeeze it to death as grinder would do to vegetables. Yes then the only solace I have is to put emotion into the realm of passionate understanding and hope that things would turn out for the better.
When I started to see and listen to you tube videos of people who had a near to death experience and who have visited hell, I started to feel curious, baffled and funny. According to them hell is made up of monstrous demons who are grotesque, horrendous and who spew venom and hatred. There are also a multitude of people who are plagued and tormented by these demons. I find it difficult to believe these fables propounded by the people. These people are not clear about whether demons are spirits or are spirits and physical beings. According to these people, demons identify the specific sin that is committed and punishes the people for the very same sin that was committed. Thus for a person who has committed sodomy, a demon will insert its fangs into the anus of the person and keep poking at the person as though the person is a gadget. This kind of anal insertion will be done by the demon in such a way that the person experiencing it will suffer maximum pain. If the person has committed fellatio and cunnilingus, then the demon would connect the person’s mouth and the genitals like a hose connected at both ends and inflict pain on the mouth as well as the genitals. For a person who has done adultery and fornication, the same process would be repeated with the experiencing of pain in spurts, reminding the person of the great sloth of sin that that person has committed. For gluttony, the person would penalized with the excrement of the demons, and made to smell and taste the shit of all hell. For covetousness the punishment would be mental that is the person’s brain would be catapulted into a swirling eddy of the most foulest language used in hell and also the person’s hands and legs would be suspended in air and a demon would read the scriptures of all forms of covetousness related to desire. For a person possessed with the art of lying, the demon would confound the person by strangling him or her without killing the person. For a person who has committed murder, the demon who has the spirit of murder will insert fangs into the heart and intestines of the person but the person will not die. For a person who has committed idolatry, the person’s buttocks will be beaten regularly with a cat o’ nine tails and its blisters would be bitten and tasted with relish by the demon. For a person addicted with the spirit of envy, the demon would castrate the person without pain killers.
I laugh these two experiences off …..to make nature look crazy; I come from a country where the phallus is treated as something divine….. What a zombie joke! The myth of the phallus can be deconstructed as the one shattering its enigma, obliterating its magic, vivisecting its scared halo, and what can that be….Every man has to ponder what the secret of nature has left in him, a reality called quick Erection and Delaying ejaculation……….
My memory keeps me flooding about two missed sexual encounters. One was an English Lady in her early sixties and the other was an Indian lady in her late fifties.
First of all I would like to narrate about my encounter with an English Lady. She came to the institution where I worked, as a teacher, tourist, doing voluntary work. Here name was Mrs. V. She was a divorcee. She was good -natured, polite and well mannered. She was a gifted artist, doing skilled portraits of nature and also, she was a talented poet. One day, she said to me, “Hey Mr. A, let’s go down to the school and paint the kindergarten class”. I replied affirmatively. And together we walked to the class room and started the work. She started brushing the walls with alphabetic letters and pictures of things to represent the alphabets. Our bodies used to brush each other by accident. I became excited, aroused but still I was in a quandary about whether to approach her and touch her for gratification. I was also confused about what her intentions were. She had a buxom, voluptuous figure and was not unattractive. But at that time my moral and puritan tradition, and my nature of being married kept me away from the desire of wanting to copulate with her. But I was also in a state of worry and doubt as to what will happen if I make the wrong move. That day passed off without nothing happening. Later on, we happened to be moving to Bombay for attending a marriage. We were traveling in a train, myself, my wife, kids and her. We reached the destination and booked her into a hotel and we stayed in a relative’s house. Later on in the evening, when the sun setting like a pink meadow, I visited her in her hotel room. I knocked at the door and she welcomed me warmly. She rummaged in her bag and brought out a bottle of Teacher’s Whiskey and invited me to have it. Slowly I started pouring the whiskey into the glass, mixing it with water and having it. She was lying down on the bed and I was sitting on a chair beside a table. After three pegs and me continuing to drink, the whiskey started to hit me. She brought out two pieces of hand- made paper and gave me a calligraphic pen and told me to write two poems for her. She was in love with my writing especially my poetry. I wrote the poetry for her with devotion. After completing it, she gave me ten pounds and told me that she would frame it and position it on the wall of her apartment. By this time I was drunk. My speech started becoming slurry. By chance, our conversation drifted on to sex. She remarked to me: ” she would love to do the fellatio”. I became a complete idiot, an ass, and I took no cue from her conversation. Even though I was aroused, I didn’t have the courage to approach her. My Indian nature of moral prudery kept me aback, though I was sexually tempted. By the time the phone came from the house and my wife was calling me. I said to her Mrs V. , I am going back. I stumbled to the door, zigg-zagging and walked unsteadily to the house. The memory of this experience leaves me with a tragedy and vulnerability of missing such a precious experience. I feel sad and curse myself and that I missed out something so profound and mystic, a lyrical intimacy of the body.
The second experience that happened to me was with a colleague. She wanted to sell me her computer and for that she put soap one me by inviting me to her apartment for dinner. I went in at the called time about 7 PM in the night. I knocked and her husband opened the door. After introducing me to her husband, he said: ” I am going out.” The she took hold of my hand and led me to the bedroom. She was skinny as a stick and had breasts that were as large as big grapes. She wore tights. When she took hold of my hand, I felt aroused because it was a long time since I have had sex. Our conversation drifted on to ghosts. She recounted to me, the death of her sister in the Kanishka aircraft crash, which happened as result of terrorism. She recalled that many a time her sister appears to her as ectoplasm. I was sitting in the bed beside her and she was holding my hand. On the one hand I was sexually aroused, and on other hand, I started suppressing it. I was naive enough not to realize that she was making her first sexual overture. I became a medley, a pot-puree of confusion, terror, puzzlement and excitation. When she realized that I was not making any response, she said:”let’s have dinner”. I gulped the dinner and left the flat hurriedly without even saying good bye. This incident also fills with me shame, regret and unpleasantness.