April 16th 2021

It is an autobiographical fiction

I was wondering about what Christ said. When questioned by the pharisees about payment of taxes: Christ made the prolific reply: ‘give unto Caesar what is his and give unto me what is mine’ For many years I have been carrying the thought with me.

 The Caesar of this earth is no other than the Devil.

I am fond of doing rituals. I take Heavenly Communion daily with biscuits and water. I take the food and drink and say: ‘I take this offering dear Christ, as your body and as your blood: sanctify it, nourish it and bless it. This ritual gives me a sense of peace and tranquillity.

Immediately after taking this ritual, I do the ritual of the pentagram. Through this ritual, I invoke the God behind the Pentagram to shower me with material blessings. I have not been lucky so far as I am winning only feeble amounts for the windfall draw.

Yes, we have to give Christ what is his and to the Devil Caesar what is his. I have no qualms in doing both the rituals.

I think of Christ’s words: what profits a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul. Actually, I have not gained anything in this world except penury.

I think of the real-self. The real-self, that’s me suffers from Bipolar disorder. It is a self of farting, shitting, pissing, puking machine. The real self is Camus metaphor of the myth of the Sisyphus, who is forced to roll a boulder uphill, only to find that it rolls down and he is forced to do this repetitive meaningless chores. Yes, the real self in Sartre’s words is a man who is condemned to be free. Existence of the real self is dull and pathetic. The voice of the real self-echoes the silence of a scream. The real self-lives unsatisfied and drools with misery, hatred and self-pity. It is a self which wakes ever morn, and rushes to the town to by lotteries and cigarettes. By the time evening comes, the real self is forced to crumple the failed lottery tickets on to the dustbin. There is no hope in the real self. The real self-lives with faded pessimism. The real self is a Jekyll of a personality.

 

Next comes the fictional self. The fictional self is fond of fornication and adultery. The fictional self is a self that has loved many women and it is a self that has been rejected many a time. The fictional self, is fond of smoking, alcohol and weed. The fictional self wants to travel around the world as a global vagabond. The fictional self is fond of reading fiction, poetry and philosophy. The fictional self is a narcissism of the body. It is a being, in Sartre’s words: a being for itself. There is no boredom or ennui for the fictional self. The fictional self-lives in the inner time of consciousness. The fictional self would love to be free from the worries and cares of life and offer freedom as the ultimate reality. The fictional self is immersed in art, music, philosophy, poetry and literature. The fictional self is a passionate Epicurean and a Sybarite. The fictional self would love to win a Brobdingnag Windfall and live a luxury of wine, booze, women and freaking out. The fictional self is a poetic mystic. The fictional self carries the shadows of a dream to come alive with reality. It is fond about the beauty of life. It releases the ego to a karma of art. The fictional self-lives with the aesthetics of consciousness. The fictional self is a mystic of passion a devotee of carnal Epicureanism. Writing for the fictional self is a music of words, a poetry of prose, a painting of literature. The fictional self is fond of the esoteric cults and secret societies. The fictional self is a ceremonial magician. The fictional self would love to live a life with recklessness. The fictional self is volatile passion and does an exorcism of useless reality. The fictional self longs for a day when it will merge with the real self and becomes a macrocosm of lived realities. The fictional self is a celebration of meaning.  The fictional self is an ecstasy of meaning. The Fictional Self is a Hyde in personality.

Now an image of a South-East Asian girl has crept into my mind. She is young in her twenties and is very beautiful. In the vision, I also saw her as belonging to Seam Reap in Cambodia. My intuition tells me to go to Seam Reap and fetch her. I wonder when I can do that? Only after my money position becomes secure. Yes, every dog has its day.