This is a dream I had, twice for some reason, so I remember it well. It’s a sort of zombie dream, I guess I was Grigoris and the girl I remember as Claire Danes. It felt very Soviet, very hard boiled, very noir. It wasn’t a bad dream, it was just like a movie. The first scene I suppose, is as follows – Grigoris was in the bedroom with the old man. He was lying on the floor, on a pillow. His daughter was waiting pensively in the living room, legs up, looking into the grey urban night.

The storm drains of Colombo are full of love affairs, abortions, wedding rings, blood and tears. Beneath the veneer of civilization is the beating heart of lust. My heart, indeed, poor pilgrim, is taking a beating of its own. I wish for an arranged marriage. I wish for order in this world.

I was reading a bunch of gadget and tech blogs and magazines today. Sometimes the future is so weird and immediate that I don’t know how to process it. It’s not a matter of what’s possible or even what’s prototyped anymore as much as what’s popular. There are a million insane inventions out there (animalian robots, effective aqua cars, hibernation meds) that just haven’t been capitalized into existence. The only way I can process them is as science fiction.

Apparently Al Qaeda has started sneaking explosives in their bums. They tried to kill the Saudi counter-terrorism guy with exploding ass. He sustained minor injuries. I would say terrifying, but it’s also funny. However, this ass bomb was able to get through airport security and 30 hours with Saudi Security. Presumably he wasn’t eating much. Then they seem to have detonated it via cell phone, causing massive carnage but sparing the intended target. In this context I suppose cavity searches make sense. It is ingenious in a way, but I also think Al Qaeda should pull its head out of its ass.

I just woke up. This is the dream I just had. I suppose, a nightmare. We stopped in some Eurotrash bakery/bar. I was drinking a light arrack and soda. There was an empty bottle of Wild Turkey in sight. The music was absolutely blaring from the Eurotrash bakery just outside. As a benefit, however, they served warm chocolate chip cookies. They were round and lumpen more than flat, upon biting they seemed to reform into their original structural integrity.

Rena woke up expensively, and alone. She thought she had it when she started the job, but no one does. It’s still, really, no place for a girl. The cars, the money, the champagne. With most men it’s just the living, but some have the charisma and the cologne to spin it into a life. A desirable one. But, like a geisha, fundamentally unobtainable.

I’ve been intrigued by the Transnational State Of Tamil Eelam. In particular the science fiction potential. This is a bit of fiction about the same: They had painfully reconstructed Prabhakaran from brain fragments stored in a Paradise Road jar. One day the Colombo Swimming Club was disturbed by an attack on the Brigadier’s office next door. A crack team of Hungarian pole vaulters in hacked Nike exercise boots formed the suicidal vanguard, obliterating layers of military security amidst less terror than confusion. The ambulance which arrived immediately after carried out a safe on a stretcher and with it 7 ounces of Vellupilai Prabhakaran, minus preservatives.

This is video of Nav Rat reading a Baudelaire poem called ‘Get Drunk’. Also Jehan Mendis reading excerpts from the interesting Sinhala blog Beyond Frame. Also Gihan De Chickera reading from a performance poem by Mike Masilamani and, finally, an original poem from Saint Fallen. Twiggy has posted some nice photos of the thing here. We have some issues with anonymity and stuff. If people, especially bloggers, want to maintain that it’s fine. So any media put up can be removed and I’ll ask try to ask everyone personally next time. For now I guess it’s upload now and explain later.

Thank you to everyone, especially everyone who came out to read, and the Sansoni family, and Geoffrey Dobbs and the Galle Literary Festival, and everyone who came before. I got a bit tipped at the end and had to be trundled off in a cab, but I think it went off well. Near the end I couldn’t stop talking, but I was really so very proud. I wake up in the morning and I have a staff meeting and I need a haircut and my shirts are un-ironed, but last night I saw a variety of Sri Lankan talent which was interesting and new and hilarious. But overall, seriously, everyone was so good. Like Kottu, there are now a lot of high-quality and entirely different creatives in Sri Lanka, and that’s very entertaining to see. And this is just Colombo, there’s a lot happening island-wide in all our languages. More than anything, thank you to everyone who came and read and listened and heckled (Richard Simon, Timmy) and all.

Some peeps and I are having a small Open Mic at Barefoot. Was quite encouraged by the poetry reading at the Galle Literary Fest. Personally, it was captivating seeing people sitting quiet, just listening to words. I think it’s something that we should keep going, so in that interest we’re having an Open Mic at Barefoot today (Thursday the 12th) at 7:30. I think me and J have enough content to fill if needs be, but quite a few other people will be sharing. This may be a bit more political than the GLF thing, we’ll see. I dread events with a passion and I worry about the smallest things, but I think some sort of creative community is important. The Arts Centre fell apart cause no one had created anything in years, but I think it may be time for a Restart.