July 20th 2019

Today the clouds were angry, wet and sullen ….Day remained austere …clouds were pouring sentimental poems.
Lots of thoughts are crowding mind all fragmented. It is not my real self that is writing but a fictional self. What is the fictional self? Politically speaking, it’s the voice of post-colonial literature. Culturally speaking it embraces the liberal theology of Christianity and the moorings of occidental culture. Autobiographically speaking, it is a fragmented self with its desire to live in Bali, the enchanting island of Indonesia. The self is a fictional bard of sharing romance and passion. The fictional self tries to interpret Biblical Literature. The fictional self is fond of the clove cigarettes of Indonesia. It is also fond of roast duck (bebek), sambal (a mixture of lime, shallot and chilies) and grilled fish (ikan). The fictional love is fond of giving love and sharing love. It’s an escapist fanatic filled with wanderlust for places. Yes, the sights, smells and colors of exotic places like Bali fascinate the self. The fictional self is the mirror of existence. It is a passion of the soul, a delicacy recipe. Time moves in a dream as a slow wandering pace. I am fond of Jazz, Gospel and rock music. Time is flowing in the art of streams of consciousness. Yes, the writer James Joyce was a master of it. The writer Salman Rushdie transforms historical events into fiction into an ambiguous fictional language. I am a writer passionately seeking the art of transforming fiction into and epitome of pure art. Words dance colors, play music of sounds, and be a recipe of smells. Writing is a curious and enigmatic process of inter-textuality. Writing makes cultures into the exotic. Words are muses playing with fire. Words are mermaids singing in the ocean depths. Words are bards wandering across the earth. Words are the romance of the earth. Words are the halo of angels singing. Autobiography is the mirror of existence. Passion flows as river from the passionate pen.