Marijuana E-Book

Anand Bose

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

This book grew out of an evolution to write a book of imagination. I have coined a new species of the metaphor. Then there are autobiographical musings. I have also indulged in the art of writing metaphors. The book seeks to explore the realms of the mind as streams of consciousness. This book is a pure work of art. It belongs to the genre of Philosophical Fiction. 

Leseprobe

Anand Bose

Marijuana

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Museaphor

Museaphor came into me like a tempest when the muses stroked their cunts. A museaphor is  a new species of a metaphor. Museaphors are derived from Pataphors. Unlike pataphors a museaphor has a primary metaphor followed by a secondary metaphor derived from it. Let me begin the novel by Museaphporic writing. Peace was slain on the cross. The cross resurrected as life. Palestine is a hot volcano. Her cunt is a hot volcano. Time is a dial. The dials of the clock are dead. The Devil is Hell and God is heaven. Barthes Killed the author. The author is a dead book. Passion is an erect phallus. An erect phallus became a dream. Kill the book and cremate the author. The author was a cliff of death. Angst is freezes ice. He shivered ice. Weed is an orgasm. An orgasm is a ritual of art. Sin is writing and wrtiting is repentance overcoming sin. Meataphors are cloudy. His mind became cloudy after weed. A dragon breathes fire into the wall of China. China is an oreint of lies. Stone becomes bread. The bread of life is the grace of God. I am passion stoned. The stoned song Cocaine is a cunning metaphor. Time became weed. Weed is a passion of life. The book became a labyrinth of writing. The labyrinth is a petalled cunt. I am a bing bang when I am stoned. Narcississm pours out stones when I am stoned. Death is a metaphor for eternity. Eternity can be God or the Devil. Derrida killed writing with a stroke. Writing resurrected to life as the word says. The first coming was a stable. The second coming is the majesty in clouds. Crome conceals the mark of the beast. The mark of the beast is occult mayhem. The painting woke to life. Life is cosmic as metaphor for transcendental consciousness. I was greeted by a wag. The became the tail of the story. Nihilism is a defeated ego. Triumph of the ego is authenticating existence. A sign when read lives to make meaning. Meaning is poverty for the third world. Angels are sex. The sex of the angel is not watertight. Death is sleep in a dream. Dream awakens corridors of inner consciousness. The Masons are esoteric elephants. He has the dick the size of an elephant. An ornament is a metaphor. A metaphor of violence is the mark of the beast. Where are you on the road of nothingness? Nothingness has the nihilism of aids. The violence of the Pen is harmless. The pen kills the sword that kills. Before writing I am death. After the book I am resurrected. I am in chains. The chains of negation have been broken. Freedom is a whore in a brothel. Many books are written as brothels. The pilgrim made a heaven of progress. Progress is a idol of saints worshipped. Fertility is imagination in worship. To be phallic in worship is to be a pagan. Nirvana is the third eye. The third eye opens consciousness as windows of an outer world. Being has a meaning as a metaphor. A metaphor can also strip being of its meaning. Art has lost to the chaos of fire. The fire of the phoenix is victory. I write the dustbin. My consciousness is also a dustbin. Passion has no doubt of being cloudy. Cloudy nights are passion's bed. Beauty is passionate music. The music of Heaven has sublime players. Christ was a lamb and the lamb in sheep's clothing is the devil. Niravana is a Haiku. The Haiku wetted my loins. A Beatnik is a duplicate of the Orient. The Orient is a mysticism of lies. The veins of my palm have no destiny. I chose destiny to be the self. The heavens opened to him like a dove. I send her the feelings of a dove. My transgressions are art. My repentance music. The Pilgrim made a progess to heaven. Even heaven has gone through hell. The dervish chanted birds. The birds imprisoned are my own self. Solomon was wise has Heaven. Heaven has a wisdom : God. Life is a dream to be passionate. The ego makes a passionate leap. Streams of consciousness is a river of thought.  Thought sits reason on a bed of nails. I become a flower after weed. Weed should be legallized to fulfill destiny's freedom. The hymn of praise to God was a shower of meaning. Meaning rained upon him. An engima is a poison of reason. Descartes flouted the fangs of reason. A child belongs to the kingdom of God. The Kingdom of God is a small mustard seed. Nietzsche killed God. God lives as God that was killed. Step ahead reason. Every reason has contradiction as a nail. We melted flowers. Flowers entertained me as Bacch's music. The valley is a woman. The Hill is a man. Freud is a Dream. A dream is surgery for a psychoanalyst. Writing is the are of making love. Making love is passionate music. The taste of honey is time on the tongue. The tongue is a metaphor of taste. The hairs of God are weeds thrown on the earth. The earth is prison of thoughts. Thoughts are stars of the night. The night is a brothel of invitation. The pen is an erect phallus. The pahllus is inserted in the letters of the cunt. Meditation is death. Death is an invitation of the devil. The Devil is Gay and God is happy. Fleshy people are lust. Lust makes the earth grow green. A sign can be made into a privelege. Playing with a sign is anarchy. Word became flesh not fleshy. The fleshy earth is feast for fools. Passion lives in a pen. The pen is a sginifer of games in language. One dollar bill is a Mason. The Masonic symbol---the square and the ruler shows sexual intercourse. Life has a meaning a poetic discourse. To make love is to be in the poetry of meaning. Time is a burning cigarette. A cigarette is a comos of delight for the smoker. God forgives and the devil disappoints. Passion thy name is sex. Sex has a meaning found in the book of love. Forgiveness is love. Love is grace and mercy. God made the Word. The devil plays with words.  

On ART

 What is Art.... Art is a paradox with a question and answer. The philosopher Nietzsche defined art as the merger of the Dionysian and the Apollonian, that is the merger of the rhythm and beat with melody. He has used this allegory to define art. Art is life in meanings. To be poetic about life is to live life creatively. There is no perfect art in the world. . To be in art is to be in a state of mind. We experiience of catharsis of negatioin and affirmation. Through negation and affirmnation art is lived and the being's possibility is actualized. Life is a process of art an existential catharsis. Being is always autheticated in sea of meaning. Cajole the ID, ruffle the Ego and transcend the Super Ego will be trans-human existential awarness of the art to be conceived. When I shit, the pleasure ejecting stools from my tight rectum is also an art. To make love to woman, to hear her moan, to feel her ecstasy when she quivers in passion is also an art. To be in a contemplative state of beauty while listening to Bacch or Beethovan is also an art. For the smoker the pleasure of a puff is a cosmic heaven. When I watch Dail's persistence of memory, I become so fascinated by its symbolic rendition. The melting clocks on the frozen embryo and the melting clocks hanging on trees all have a symbolic meaning. The melting clocks are reminiscent of the interiority of time, the escape from clock time to a world trqnauqulity. Time is experienced as a streams of consciousnes. Is the frozen embryo remniscent of Dali's own Oedipal conflict? The tree can be symbolic of an erect phallus. Again I am contemplating on Camus' The Myth of the Sisiphus. Camus used the myth to highlight man's existential trauma. In the myth Sisyphus is condemned by the Gods to roll a boulder uphill, only to find out to his consternation that it rolls down again. Camus' highlights the plight of man. Why can't Sisyphus be autheitc and creative each time he does the menial job. Can he not in this way defy the Gods and create the art of meaning. I would also love to quote the love of Mary Magedeline fdor Jesus. She washed the feet of Jesus with her own hair using the choicest perfume. This noble gesture I call the art of the feminine sublime. Again I would love to quote Plato's allegory. In Plato's allegory, men are standing in a dark cave and they face a wall from where they can see light. Plato used this allegory to highlight the theory of forms. We live in a world that's a copy and there's a world of reality that is orginal an aesthetic. But what I will say to Plato is that even in this illusory world people have created art. The cave paintings of lascaux show man's ingenuity. Is it not surprising that early paintings were depctions of fertility. Thus we have the Mother Goddess from Indus Valley Civilization, portrayed with gigantic hips and big breasts. Fertility symbols ritualize the ID. In Postmodernism Art became distorted.  The utilitarian function of art was deconsctructed to express a mundane object with a tumorous deviance. Let's look at Marcel Duchamp's inverrted Urinal. Art transformed an object from functionality to a symbolity. Is there a perfect art? The answer is no. There only degrees of perfection in art. 

Autobiographical Musings

 Recently I visited Kariguli, a remote village in Tamil Nadu. I stayed in the quarters of a Leprosy Clinic. My friend there, a psychologist was in her forties. She has a sad story to tell. Her husband went as a Missioanry doctor to Liberia to treat Ebola affected victims. Tragic fate smote cruel bite on him and he contaracted the disease and went to eternal sleep. Even his corpse was not returned to India as Ebola is cruelly fatal. She takes consolation in her Christian faith. She is a remarkable woman who faces her husband's death with courage and fortitude. I went to the quarters where the lepers are housed. These lepers who have been abandoned by their familes are looked after free by the hospital. They are given housing and free food. I was struck my music when saw their mirth. Some of them don't have fingers. Others are blind yet all of them are so happy and contented. There is not a hint of remorse in any of their eyes. The sang songs for me. I felt tears of gratitude flowing in my eyes. I was also astonished when the doctor told me that the quarters were donated by my grandfather in fond memory of my grandmother. The experience of Kariguli upturned all of my worldviews of Nihilism as I strongly felt that life has a purpose, meaning and value. 

I am an Asian Indian by descent. I live in a Country that was brutally colonized by the British for nearly two hundred years. The English that I have learnt is British English. Yet I am not a preferred candidate for International Schools in South East Asia. South East Asians carry a prejudice that white English spoken by the natives of America, Canada, Australia and New Zealand is correct. Blacks and colored people are discriminated against whites. I carry no regrets but I fondly think that speaking and writing in English is my birthright. There are many Indian writers who have won the Nobel and the booker prizes. Examples are Salman Rushdie, V S Naipual and Arundathi Roy. I feel that English should be Englishes. Englishes is not white, colored and black. It is inadvertent to say that there are only Native Speakers of English. 

Recently I committed adultery. When I went to her apartment, I was blockaded by a burly watchman who would not allow me inside. She had to phone and tell him to release me from bondage. I knocked at her door with trembling fingers. I was literally scared. I put my lips and tongue on her flower many times and made sweet love. My nervourness made me unable to penetrate. She was a beautiful woman and we fell in love. We are lovers and I write poems for her in Whatsapp. Communicating with her is passion. She has invited me again to her house. She comes from a very conservative Indian family. Life has become a bliss of musical flowers after coming to know her. 

I had an interview for an English Teacher in Hong Kong. I put on my best attire. The Chinese bitch asked me how is English teaching in your coutnry. I spoke one sentence and I was dismissed curtly/ I thought the Chinese bastards will ask me questions on Literature. To my sad regret a white was selected for the post. Before the interview they had promised that they would reimburse the airfare. The assholes did not. I ended up h0ome pennyless. I some how distrust the Chinese and don't favor them after this bitter experience. They are cheats. Bloody buggers!