Tuesday, March 31, 2009

The Real of Absence in the Empty Space

“Yet these things you hid in your heart; I know that this was your purpose” (Job 10:13)

She digs a hole in the earth
To the other side
Past the molten lava
Past the tectonic plateaus
Past the hell fire
To the cool and breeze
Of the other side

Profoundly sad and painful
I feel like crying

My sister asks me to dedicate a poem to her
She is a good sister
For once in a while she points to the sky

Optical illusion all they have

It’s not that the river flows under the bridge
It’s the bridge that moves above the silent water

Saturday, March 28, 2009

The Hexagonal Casement

Geranium flouts the rules of the game
The musical smell of potpourri
Watches westward medley
Cyclone, the whore, and the child
Twirl the dusts of the brick road
A limousine
Can break through the wrinkled pain
Of animal passion
That is the mystery of it
The lines on zebra
And zebra lines are
Same in all possible universes
Until blood dries up in the linctuses
No one ever left this room piqued
No world for sleuthing
Hardly a memory prison
A wind in blue, a masquerade
There is an oubliette
Where broken languages are preserved
With a door sealed with tongues of poison
Why the room and street
The vast blue itself is otiose


The whisky fossilized; nothing.
A drink from the heaven
Would cost the heart pressed onto the trigger.
Waiting is poetry.
I read poems from the book of December
And leaped; heaven is black and cold.
I do love dying
Only if you won’t consider my sacrifice.


He called his son Gershom
For he was a sojourner in a foreign land*

He: a disjunctive synthesis
Wandered among Yehweh’s people
In Pharaoh’s land
Hid in the wings of the little bird*

Caught between an intolerant God
And a hostile indifferent people
The patriarch stood helpless
No one knows what happened next*

Zipporah, the blood bride of history
There was circumcision for sure!
There was blood as well, in abundance
You resolved his ambiguity for ever*

History got written in circumcised blood
Menstrual blood in the rags

* Ger in Hebrew means sojourner
* “I have been a sojourner in a foreign land.”(Exodus 2: 22). It is not clear what Moses means by it. Does he refer to his alienation among Israeli people as an Egyptian? Or an alienation that he, an Egyptian, felt among the Egyptians as the savior of the Israelis? Or his life in Midian, where he took shelter after he had killed an Egyptian?
* Zipporah means little bird
* Exodus 4: 24-27. The passage is very strange and difficult. It is not clear who is circumcised, Moses or his son, by Zipporah.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Gleaning in Bethlehem

A Moabite*
She smelled of barley at his feet on the threshing floor
In the day when judges ruled

She left her country her people
To follow an intolerant god
In a foreign country

A sleep a bodily passion
That cut through the flesh of levirate marriage
And every one became an exile once again

David to Jesus
Outsiders within the vortex of certainty
For women gain justice only in relation to men

* Ruth is a Moabite

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Imagining October

Poetry brings nothing except black.
It moves along the yellow pages
Till mother wakes me into slumber.
The astral substance of my song,
Perfects art,
Holding together the pieces,
Words, boughs, spirit, spine
Beneath the severe heaviness
Of multiple gravities.
No éclat for real act.

Monday, March 9, 2009

The Silent Presence

My silence
Stalks your shadow

Even your shadow
Deserves a thorough defense
From every danger

Because it is your shadow

Birds in the Six World from Sun

“All sympathy is thoroughly the will for pleasure and is thus immoral, because in sympathy pleasure is directly striven for in place of worth.”—Otto Weininger

As God recedes into the malls of antiquity
Every skinhead oozes out a serpent
A background radiation of cancerous pricks
Is all my leaden lips over my grey flowers
The red-necked roads in fire crackers

Too late you are my Milada Horakova*
Every poet has to sing gallows throat-out
A nation in every media walks in
Progressive jazz man and here we have
Three colors in the color spectrum

The sad alcohol burns in the dance of rain
While the red of menses thickens on the street

*Paul Robeson was singing at open-air concerts in Prague when the Socialist leader Milada Horokava was being raised to the gallows.

A Alegria do Povo

A brave new world was born
In the crooked legs’ feral dance
A fer-de-lance
Baroque bizarre
Yet an angel of the poet
And his sister’s brown bird

Neither east nor west
But over the cuckoos nest
Into the singularities of virtual time
Of alcohol of loneliness
The Combines
Couldn’t bend the unknown death

The absolute artist of the feutbal-arte
At Marakana with frozen limbs
What did those limbs want?*
The empty space of the enemy’s goal post
Or the birds in the Brazilian wilderness?
Far above, the God still plays the dice.

*Mané Garrincha (1933-1983), soccer player in the 1950s and 1960s who helped define the Brazilian style of play, and is considered one of the most spectacular and skillful players ever to play the game. In Brazil he was “the happiness of the people” because he was the man who engendered the most happiness in the history of soccer; a Brazilian poet called him “angel with crooked legs” because his legs were bent to one side due to the attack of poliomyelitis; his sister called him Garrincha because she thought he was like the small brown bird by that name. See You tube for his dance.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

An Introduction to Hegel

First Series on Static Ontological Genesis of Voyeurism

Mine was breech birth
My ass had the first mirth

Pants down, I have eyes to preach
And they have bodies to cover speech

Don’t call me a wanker
I am just a preacher

Second Series on the Logic of Voyeurism

With the kid I love to play peekaboo (1)
It is innocent
And the mother has peekaboo (2)
It is innocent

(1) n. a game played to amuse small children, in which the face is hidden in the hands and then suddenly uncovered as “peekaboo!” is shouted
(2) adj. clothes having holes or gaps intended to reveal parts of the body

Third Series on the Ethics of Pimping

Don’t call a pimp a pimp

Having sent out the girl
He wandered from place to place
Till he reached his water-mark

We still preach the same sermon from Sorrow Mountain

Fourth Series on Height

Plato* left the cave and rose up

With his head in the clouds
He towered into the heaven

Leaving behind the germs of idealism -
Philosophy’s manic-depressive form

*For Plato, the world of becoming is not real. Rather the Real is the world of Idea, which can be comprehended only if you break free from the shackles that confine you to the cave. Only in the light of the day, with the aid of sun, one sees the Real.

Fifth Series on Depth

Holderlin, before plunging into madness,
Discovered Empedocles* -
The philosophical schizophrenia

They placed thought in the deep
In the melting brilliance of volcanoes

Without limbs, voice or sex
The autochthonous dug deeper and deeper into the cave

*Empedocles asserted that all things are composed of four primal elements: earth, air, fire, and water. Two active and opposing forces, love and hate, or affinity and antipathy, act upon these elements, combining and separating them into infinitely varied forms. According to Empedocles, reality is cyclical. At the beginning of a cycle, the four elements are bound together by the principle of love. When hate penetrates the cycle, the elements begin to separate. Love reunites everything; then hate begins the process once again.

Sixth Series on Surface

The third Greeks*
They found no salvation in Platonic heights
Nor in the depth of earth

They gormandized** without guilt
Masturbated in public
Kept quite when asked questions
Tolerated incest and cannibalism

The spiritual was at the surface
In the event itself
Neither above it nor below it

* Megarians, Cynics and Stoics.
**Standard philosophical references are of the opinion that Cynics held abstemiousness as the means to human liberation. I am clinging here to Delueze’s reversal of the logic of many accepted paradigms of western metaphysics.

Seventh Series on the Game of Life

In Pascal’s gambling man
In Leibniz’s chess-playing god
In Adam Smith’s invisible hand

There exist rules
There exist models of good and bad
There exist causes and effects

In the game of innocence
We have no rules no loser no winner
We see no difference between chance and skill

And the game of innocence
Requires no hero
It amuses nobody

അവ മധുരിക്കുന്നുണ്ടാവണം

ത്രിശ്ശൂർ നഗരത്തിലെ ഓടകളിൽ കാണുന്ന
ഉറുംബരിക്കുന്ന മാംസകഷ്ണങ്ങൾ
എന്റെ വായനക്കാർ ശ്രദ്ധ്ച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടോ?
ഉണ്ടാവില്ല, എനിയ്ക്കറിയാം.
എന്റെ വായനക്കാർ കാമിനിയുമൊത്ത്‌
ഐസ്ക്രീമും നുണഞ്ഞു
ആരും കാണാതെഅവളുടെ ഫ്രോക്കിന്നുള്ളില്ലേക്ക്‌
കാൽ കടത്തുന്നവരാണു;
കാമുകന്റെ ഈ ക്രിയയെ
ഒരു മന്ദഹാസത്തോടെ സ്വീകരിക്കുന്നവരാണു.
ഞാൻ ശാസ്ത്രീയമായി അവ നിരീക്ഷിച്ചു:
മുലഞ്ഞെട്ടും സ്ത്രീശിശ്നവും!
മുലഞ്ഞെട്ടിന്റെ കാര്യത്തിൽ
എനിക്കു സംശയമില്ലായിരുന്നു:
നിറഞ്ഞ മുലകളിൽ നിന്നും
അവസാന തുള്ളി പാലും കുടിച്ചതിനു ശേഷം
സന്തതി കടിച്ചു പറിച്ചു തുപ്പിയതാണു.
ഇരുണ്ട ഭൂഖണ്ടത്തിൽ നിന്നും
ഇറക്കുമതി ചെയ്തതെന്നാണു
ഞാൻ ആദ്യം ധരിച്ചത്‌.
ആഗോളവൽക്കരണത്തിന്റെ കാലമല്ലേ!
അതിന്മേൽ 'ഇന്ത്യൻ നിർമ്മിതം' എന്നു കണ്ടു.
അവ ഉറുംബരിക്കുന്നതിന്നു പിന്നിലെ
ശാസ്ത്രീയ യുക്തി പിടികിട്ടിയോ?
അവ മധുരിക്കുന്നുണ്ടാവണം!!!

വൈജാത്യവും ആവർത്തനവും

"We do not repeat because we repress, we repress because we repeat."
---Gilles Delueze

കഴിഞ്ഞ ദിവസങ്ങൾ
അസ്ത്മയത്തിലെ നീണ്ട
ഒരു ഒറ്റ പക്ഷിയുടേതായിരുന്നു

ഏകാന്തമായ കാതുകൾ
ശബ്ദങ്ങളുടെ മൃഗീയ തീവ്രതയിൽ തിരഞ്ഞത്‌
അകലങ്ങളിൽ മൗനത്തിലേക്ക്‌ ചേക്കേറിയ
ഒരു ചിറകടിയൊച്ച മാത്രമായിരുന്നു
ഇപ്പോൾ സന്ധ്യയിലെ
അവസാന തിരയും കരയ്ക്കണിഞ്ഞു
ബാക്കിയായത്‌ സാഗര നീലിമയിലേക്ക്‌
മുങ്ങി താഴുന്ന ഒരു തിങ്കൾ മാത്രം

Where are you, Hagar?

After his Democratic Presidential candidature was ensured, the first thing Senator Barack Obama did was to extend his support to Israel. He was essentially saying to the women and children of Palestine, the worst victims of the male game of game: “Look guys, there’s nothin’ wrong in Israel bombin’ you and your dilapidated toilets. I will support Israel as the only male cheerleader in the entire world, that too fully clad in American flag”. This militant pro-Zionism has been the core of African American non-violent thought and praxis from the very beginning. The violence started with the African American messiah of non-violence Martin Luther King Jr. and continued through Jesse Jackson, his most celebrated disciple, and has now reached its decisive turn in Obama.

But in the militant tradition of African American thought we can trace a different color and vigor of thinking. Malcolm X’s growth from a Harlem criminal dealing in drugs and armed robbery to that of an inspiring spiritual leader of the twentieth century was marked by sudden shifts and insights of thought which finally culminated in his own negation of his own earlier stance towards racism, and his proclamation of international brotherhood. In 1964, after his pilgrimage to Mecca, he ended his reverse racism towards whites because while in Mecca he had realized that people of all colors were children of Allah. Shortly before his assassination, he told a group of African American leaders that the problem of race was “not a Negro problem, nor an American problem. This is a world problem, a problem of humanity.”

Immanuel Levinas talked about two types of journey. One, the linear journey of Abraham. Two, the cyclical journey of Ulysses. While in the latter’s journey a reunion with the origin was the precondition and assurance of his explorations (you keep everything intact: your identity, locality, woman and possession), in Abraham’s journey one does not return to the origin (you throw away everything and are forever moving and changing). And Levinas maintains that Abraham’s journey is painful. But this is still a very crude formulation in the sense that Abraham does not throw away the desire for the Promised Land. I feel that Levinas’ is a Jewish philosophical exaggeration of a popular bias regarding the pain of Jewish exodus (In short, I have problem with that moving film “Fiddler on the Roof”).

Being the quintessential Jew that Levinas was, says my friend, he could not see a terrific journey in his apodictism of journeys: the journey of an Egyptian slave girl, Hagar. It was a journey through the desert without oasis, without the Promised Land, a journey culminating in her hysteric run for water for her son, Ishmael. This journey, to me, is the most painful of all.

At this point I won’t talk about another journey: ‘the journey of the rejected’, of Ishmael. The reason is: I believe that Islam is born at the precise moment when the forced and hysteric journey of Hagar is tamed (No wonder, in Islamic tradition, Hagar is Abraham’s true wife). The beautiful and painful thing about Hagar’s journey is that it takes place on the margins of three great religious traditions, uncared, leaving only a hysteric scar , which Islam later buries with proper religious psychoanalysis.

In Martin Luther King, Jesse Jackson and Barack Obama, we have the cyclical journey of Ulysses. They have always-already swallowed the myth of ‘American Dream’. They never throw it away. In the famous mountaintop speech, a day before his assassination, King responded to the death-threat in this manner: “It doesn’t matter with me now because I’ve been to the mountaintop…And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land.” That is, he has already seen the Promised Land. Hi hi.

In Malcolm X, we have the linear journey of Abraham—he never believed in the ‘American Dream’ and he changed throughout. And like Abraham, he dreamt of a Promised Land. Calling non-violence as the ‘philosophy of the fool’ he ridiculed King’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech: “While King was having a dream, the rest of us Negroes are having a nightmare.” And Malcolm buddy has got it right. It is sad that the influential African-American filmmaker Spike Lee sold this fiery revolutionary to the mainstream America for a few dollars.

And in the ‘Nation of Islam’ of Wallace D. Fard, Elijah Muhammad and the early Malcolm X, we have the journey of Ishmael. Remember, the Nation of Islam, whenever it confronted the hysteric modern Hagar, tried to resolve the feminine jouissance by a simultaneous glorification and objectification of women, a political praxis for which it was heavily criticized.

Where is our Hagar?

The Law of the Father

The father-Father, the priest-Father, the mother-Father, the teacher-Father, the professor-Father, the god-Father, the saint-Father, the husband-Father, the wife-Father, the doctor-Father, the nation-Father, in short, all the SAVIOUR FATHERS and THERESSA MOTHERS in all the towns in all the world, everyone of the species has a rotten image of learning: they conveniently believe that learning is a matter of memorizing something that somebody else memorizes. The novice, with the notebook, sits before the all-knowing Professor with lecture notes and transparencies. The Professor knows ‘the things and items’ the novice is supposed to learn. Before the class period is over, the Professor empties the load from his brain to the child.

We must be careful to note that in this sublime world of conventional and conformist teaching (CCT), teaching and shitting are the dialectical variations of the same thing: both refer to the same thing, although the apostles of this kind of teaching let themselves be blissfully ignorant of this state of the fart. Or better still, in CCT, teaching is raping ‘with other means’. The Professor penetrates the brain of the novice with his intellectual tools. That’s why Fathers of all variety have ‘penetrating’ intellect. In street rape the aggressor is punished, in classroom rape the aggressor is paid!

Long live the loads in the bowels and balls!

Let me quote the dirty boy of the twentieth century philosophy, Gilles Deleuze:

“To learn is to enter into the universal of the relations which constitute the Idea, and into their corresponding singularities….. To learn to swim is to conjugate the distinctive points of our bodies with the singular points of the objective Idea in order to form a problematic field….. learning always takes place in and through the unconscious, thereby establishing a profound complicity between nature and mind.”

Yep, swimming. We know that once we have learned to swim, we never forget it and the strategies and techniques that we adopt in different waters (“to conjugate the distinctive points of our bodies with the singular points of the objective Idea”) are unconscious. This also happens with walking, running, driving, bicycle riding, etc. They are the lessons one cannot master with the help of the penetrating brain of the Professor-Father. Unlike two lines of Wordsworthless that the worthless Professor has taught us, we never forget them. And the most beautiful thing about them is that our conscious mind is free to do whatever it wants when we walk, swim or run because we have learned these lessons “in and through the unconscious”.

The task of revolutionary and radical learning (RRL) is to conjugate Simondon, Jacques Monod, Kamala Das and Keki N. Daruwalla with the singular points (nationality, citizenship, migration, religion, fanaticism, fundamentalism, glocalization, ethnicity, race, gender, caste, color, sex, alienation, exploitation, sweatshop, etc) of the bubble universe through unconscious. In other words, one must learn and use Lacan and Delueze and Marx and Max Hardcore in and through the unconscious so that one’s conscious mind is free to do whatever it wants. In other words, it is when one complains, after reading a book, that she has not understood a single thing that we know that we are in the presence of RRL.