in memory of a great day in college and at home !!! the good phase begins !!!!!!!!!!!!

dream work

manic days end with strangest dreams. a moon boat.

shimmering in a sewage drain. and prithviraj, the film

actor, pretending to be a god-man. but no one takes

him seriously. i am a woman in a water-lily-blue-painting.

and always i stare outside the scene. as he cajoles, trying

to draw me in. row row row ur boat, mr movie star,

gently down the stream. there my daughter lies sleeping..

i don't want to wake her up and force her to watch your next

new film. and my nose starts bleeding. blood like thick honey

made-over with oil paint and water colors. i am not afraid.

i am not in pain. i know that everything is destined to be good.

from the very beginning. then suddenly i turn queen. in ten

acres of green land, with a compound wall that has pretty holes

in it, through which i see my brother on a cycle.  you bought 

us a new house?, he asks. and comes cycling to where i stand.  

yes yes yes. come in. B's mother gifted me this. she stands

behind in gloomy silence. but i trust B to help me, to

save me. and there is this doctor who says that my ulcer

is not a wound. its just a floating foreign object. and he can

heal it in three days. and i can drink again. i come home to a

huge hall to tell B this. i wake up this morning in the happiness

of these dreams. which gives me everything i need. i am kind to
my daughter and my husband. i make them eggs with orange
sunny sides. and for myself a capsicum omlet. what a wonderful life !

i wish i could make J understand how much i am an activist inside
and how little i have to do with academics

i wish i could make J understand how much i still want to change the world
with my tiny life.

my blood stinks of this sin
i grew up for this
i stayed alive for this

in kerala a generation of people live and die like this
with their sexuality and desire tied to the vigor of protest and change
i am one of them - this is the only thing that really turns me on

its the streak of the red left in me, maybe
seeing my father losing his job
building a trade union in the company
where he worked as a minor chemist in a huge laboratory

then watching the red, terricotton ezhavas in my house
the bearded ones,
the very thin, reedy, big-diary and huge-ideals souls
who would go hungry
who would give up anything
who would sell their girl friends and their family
to win a political argument

and my father who always abused us
even as he protested against everything that was wrong, un-fair and unjust

how can i not educate organize and agitate !!

how can J expect me to hold a cinema camp and not bring any activist spirit into it??!!

wasted days

sat, sun, mon - now theres just tue, wed and thursday left. i can do many things.
i can finish all my work. but not only can i bring myself to work, but i am also
looking for all sorts of ways to waste my time - like going online in chat -
and like trying to think that i am indispensable for those who have left me behind.
i dont understand this pattern - this need that i have to waste time
this passion to procrastinate - i really dont understand these wasted days..

yesterday

life was a ball 
i wanted to throw down the terrace 
of my five floor apartment 

yesterday
 

this room was an explosive, 
bursting out in expletives
with which i hated my daughter, my husband, my friends

yesterday

living with me was dangerous 
as dangerous 
as standing at the feet of an elephant

sunday morning

here i am - sitting with this sunday in my hands.
i know i am going to throw it away. need years of healing
to get myself even to feel...

i dreamt strange things. i asked people i hate in dreams
to make me a dream plan - a house, a telephone conversation,
that would burst into fire works in the middle of a sentence
and then i could crumble into peace -



mania is not a disease, its a way of looking at the world
with eyes of endless video streams, running
hot water pipes in a cold snow desert, wanting to squeeze
your heart out in trickles of love

maybe i am ill
but i still want to make the best of my life-

i am hungry. constantly. i am angry. constantly. i am tensed. constantly.

i want a bright pink mobile. i don't know why.

i hate the publicity that comes with taking up any project. i hate any situation which asks me to face a set of faceless people. i am not interested in people. not anymore. everybody is pathetic. this is what i know.

i cant see myself as being capable of any position. i hate myself. i hate myself more than i hate anybody else around.

i dont know how people finish writing books. how do parents bring up children. am i turning the corner into the next phase of my moon???

i hate to be fighting myself all the time. i want to sleep and never get up !!!

can i say abracadabra and would all the earlier posts disappear please ?? presenting me with a brand new blog? in the best colors that anyone’s ever got???

shall i parade myself here, stark naked? shall i shout and holler? run to the edge of the parapet, stick my neck out, sing a song? re run blogger clichés? repeat everything that everyone has always already said? gift myself this new notion of neo-space? which would hide from me the fact that this world is actually so ugly?

anyways going to start writing here again...