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Kolkata, West Bengal, India
A FLAPDOODLE ... A COPROLALOMANIAC ... A DOPPELGANGER ... a blog when written when deranged for a man to give one gyp and what a gyp with a gusto ... this blog a mistaken ladder furnishes its one carrying self-lagoon ... rotten blog holding a periapt to vomit to laugh and cry and shout and yell ... a preface to the birth of an ablazed moon ... all white all gay all blood all sand ...

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

pages ... from … a … banned … diary

                        Now if you ask me ‘what is truth’, first you need to understand that ‘truth’ is ‘the opposite of what seems to be the faCt’, and not ‘what seems to be the fact’. Man invents god to mAsk his excuses under the omnipotence of god. Gods reside iNside

                        his head. I have told the ‘cunt’ ¾You are a white lie.” Only a whore’s cUnt

                        is purely unClaimed. GOd’s Pocket has beEn

                        picked. I have no time noW to shoulder god’s corpse. KIss your concubine. Shed blood. Indoor game. OuTdoor game. Daffodils. Tulips. THe

                        day dawns. Semi-feudalisTic aristocracy is dead. Semi-feudalistic aristocracy never dies. Long live semi-feudalistic aristocracy. Even more dead tHan alivE

                        than usual. Beckett told that. SophistIcation is synonyMous to bourgeoisie. Hit below the belt. NoAh’s ark indeed is an instrumental scheme to annihilate the imperialistic paradiGm. CrimEland.

                        Addictionland. White bitches. Watchdogs. An unique blade. God’s semen contains nO sperms anymore. Situations vacant. Gravediggers wanted. Bullets are Free

                        from gender-biasness. Wipe out the drops of sweat from Your fOrehead. Cherish the sUnset. Feel the moistuRe

                        of yOur Wife’s cuNt

                        with Your urinal bludder. The peOple will do the rest. We will become the people. What if yoUr appendix bursts out one cruel midnight?

                        The lightposts at the stReet-crossings conspirE for A counter-revolution. All at miDnight. CigarEttes buRn themselves. Sartre Camus Adorno Foucoult Castro Lukacs Said Beckett Hawking!

                        All upstarts. Where exactlY is the center Of gravity of yoUr

                        scroTum? I Have already been warned. Now I vomIt. There are wolves at every corNer of the roads. The vigil is inescapable. Incubus is in charge tonight. Hang zoon politoKon.

                        Hang zeitgeist. Sex is sumptuous. More when catered. Wait. Don’t trY tO escape. Give me a cigarette. Give me the manifesto. OUrs

                        is A countRy whEre

                        we have pRinted M. K. Gandhi on thE five hundred rupee note. Munnabhai told that. Ours is A race of chameleons. Communism has lost amiDst the weeds of pubIc hair. Socialism is felt at public uriNals only. Between idea and reality falls the shadow. Invest body. Earn money. Invest money. Earn love. Claim freedom of free sex. You are the monarch of all you survey. You are a Global

                        ciTizen. The NeHrus. The GandhIs. The TataS.

                        The Birlas. The AmbaNis. The MIttals. The Bajajs. The Dawoods. The Bin Ladens. The ClintOns. The Bushes. The Kennedys. The Fords. The Bachchans. The Khans. The KaPoors. The RAys. The Tagores. The Sarkars. BLissful exIstence. Peaceful co-exiStence. You are free. You are out of danger. Celebrate. Enter the ante-chamber. You are alone. I am Not alone. We are not alone. Is not she sweet? Make profit of her meat. Where have all the cerebral writers Gone?

                        This land is my land . . . your land. Which side aRe yOu oN? Crows are flyinG!

                        VultuRes Are flying! Who will dig The grave of capitalism? Do you know that JoHn Stuart Mill was defEated in the 1868 GReat

                        BriTain elections because He had publIcly proclaimed that he did not believe in god? Ideology of bourgeoiS

                        is the ideology of aNarchy. Cash Is the music of Labour in bOurgeois socieTy. It is inevitable for a culture to become bankruPt, when it is but A money-oriented cuLture; for no true culture, under no cIrcumstanceS, can ever be made a commodIty; and oNce you are raped by the bourGeois

                        culture, you get dehumanIzed. An artiSt’s

                        integRity is like a woman’s virginity; oncE lost, it cAn never be regaineD. Hemingway told that. Form of creatIve writing is form of life. SaNs story. Sans plot. Sans narration. Sans form. Assassin protaGonist.

                        Assassin antagonist. Let writing itself be attitude. Do not be content. Be audacious. Be anomalous. Be reactionarY. ModulatiOn of diction. The opportUnist’s

                        anus is always the Easiest to fuck. Do not be a Don QuiXote. Give blank cheque to none. The language of true creative writing must be Psychosomatic. It’s anti-aristOcratic, becauSe It’s Not neutral. A psychosomatic lanGuage

                        can never be neutral. It’s a corrosive language. Just like gasping. Rawness of language. NowadaYs a true penman need tO feel the bUrning waRmth

                        of the hot moon, to feel the Potency of fleShly voices that ask uneasY questions. IonesCo BurrougHs BaudelaIre JoyCe

                        Genet Eliot Nietzsche DalI NiloTpal RimbAud HegeL Sartre!

                        Quest¡ons af¿er quest¡ons af¿er quest¡ons af¿er quest¡ons af¿er quest¡ons . . .


  1. Sir, your banned diary banged through the recesses of my imaginative faculty, thereby resurrecting, and at times engendering, too, certain burning moments lost with the days gone by. The way you spread sparks on the dormant and imbecile earth to feed a new, or ending-in-embers, conflagration is an action I want to capture in moving frames if I am fortunate enough and am capable of doing so.

    1. Have you noticed the inherent parallel sub-text recurring in-between the lines ???
      It can be read following the capitalised alphabets and capitalised punctuations.
      As you can notice, the paragraphs of this text have been prepared by breaking the opening and culminating sentences (of each paragraph) half-way; which means that the last sentence of a paragraph begins in that very paragraph, but --- (as when that paragraph ends, the sentence is only half done) --- ends in the next paragraph, as the opening sentence of the next paragraph.
      Thus, in each paragraph, you get a few capitalised letters, which if you gather in the sequence they are placed in that paragraph, you get a word; and after you have gathered all such words from each paragraph, arrange the words in the sequence they have been placed in the text, and you now get the parallel sub-text comprising a few sentences.
      You must also notice the capitalised punctuations, as they denote the separation of sentences in the said sub-text.

  2. Sir, really amazing! I have just now gone through the parallel sub-text. I am enlightened! can you please throw some light on this type of writing, which had no knowledge of until now. It's truly an intriguing style of writing, and equally engrossing. The under-the-skin, assailable attack on reclining readers inherent in the sub-text is arousing and purgatorially mordacious.

  3. Sir, I have committed some mistakes while writing quickly. Please don't consider the mistakes.
    The mistakes are:
    1. 'can you please...' should be 'Can you...'
    2. 'which had no...' should be 'which I had no...'

  4. No source for this type of style of writing. An exclusively NILOTPALESQUE GENRE, as you must say. For the last 16/17 years, I've not been in vain urinating on the face of the creatively bankrupt 21st century human race. [After all, my piddle too is creative!] I do have some of my own inventions, very little though. If someday this century happens to read my manuscripts, hopefully posthumously, perhaps I'll be then still alive and kicking by virtue of "these" only --- a few words, a few ways of constructing sentences, a few narrative techniques, a few NILOTPALESQUE watermarks --- both in Bengali and English. Hope you people will be alive to see that day.

  5. Sorry for the late reply, Sir. I understand, it's your signature style that permeates through the whole of this blog. Your one hand may be busy writing the annals of days to come, but your another hand, though unnoticed by you, is rightfully posited on my cerebral cortex thereby pricking the sleep-induced cells dwelling therein. Your timely shocks have been making me what I am going to be and what I want to be. Your blog, which to me is an ever-changing and ever-moulding womb, is a receptacle that holds the iridescent elixir of my life. But, Sir, hold this receptacle always at a fixed distance so that I can never, in any life, reach it to drink it's content. Make me a Tantalus so that I can never be satisfied with the elixir and hence keep improving as days pass, till eternity.