[ karhi. ]

1/4 tsp. rye
1/4 tsp. zeera
1/2 tsp. lassan
karhi patta (about 5-6 leaves)
1 green chilly (fat, uncut, stemmed: the non-"chilly" variety.)
1/2 tsp. haldi
1/4 tsp. red chilly powder
oil
salt

Batter
1/2 cup dahi*
3/4 cup besan
1 tsp. salt

*preferably just a little tangy, borderline sour. the kind which can cause a bit of a tingle in that area at the back of your mouth.. the space between the ear and the jaw bone... where it is always nice to kiss and be kissed.
put the ingredients for the batter into a mixing bowl and add two cups of water. process the mixture anyway you like- fork, spoons, whisks, electric beaters, food processor- as long as you've got the lumps out.

heat oil in pan. considering you're going to be pouring in a good three four cups of water, make sure the pan is large. and make sure its hot. and make sure the oil is just the right amount, at just the right temperature. three-four tablespoons at medium heat for five mins should do it.
at this point, you reach a crucial juncture in family history. my mother only likes onions in moderation. my father was weaned on them. so my dadi would always throw in half a small chopped onion at this point until it turns from coral-pink-white to transparent-honey. in my opinion onions add great texture to just about anything, but if you dont agree, proceed to the next step.
toss in the rye and zeera. the flame should be low at this point, so as not to burn the stuff. add lassan paste. stir for a bit, then throw in the fat chilly. at this point something or the other is almost always burning, so add a bit of water. add red chilly powder and haldi, and then pour the contents of the batter while stirring. add another cup of water.
and then we add the karhi patta.
if you live in some far flung corner of the world that does not have karhi patta growing just about everywhere, youre going to have to settle for a dried/fried variety. drying and frying, while both excellent ways of preserving flavour, cannot compare to fresh karhi patta plucked from your (or the neighbour's) garden. unfortunately, this is where instructions cannot guide you anymore. to know how much karhi patta it will take to make the perfect karhi, you have to rely on intuition. does it smell powerful, potent- does the scent rub off on your fingers? does it kiss the back of your throat? then three or four big leaves will suffice. do you have to lean in, close your eyes, open your mouth and inhale before you can taste that faraway flavour of heat, lemon and spice? then you should throw in at least 6 leaves. it all depends.
stir the karhi for a minute. then leave it on a slow fire to cook, covered. check after five-ten minutes, it should thicken. check for salt, and then leave to cook for another twenty minutes. serve with rice, khichri* or eat plain, with bits of bread.

*for best results, scoop khichri into a mound on your plate. very carefully create a hole in the centre of the mound, to make a well. pour karhi into the well. and then mash the whole thing up.
while it is uncertain whether this does anything for the taste, two 3-year-olds (now 20) will testify that it does enhance the experience.

Satellite

ending,

beginning- the

sum of parts and the whole

leave; enter, fight

escape. Blend, mix

dance and play and

hurt each other, so gently

that they laugh in

astonishment. No tears.

tears are for flavoring kisses

of farewell, so sweet but

so incomplete without

that sad, salty trickle of

fear… transit room boarding

passes loading space shuttles

flying off into the great unknown

and both of us remain

here but I’m still alone

without you, spinning

satellite. more moving

more pushing shoving

take no luggage,

leave no bags

of love, and

sorrow

all the memories of

walking down empty

morning beaches, finally

figuring it out… memories

of the times we never

had.

[ if you haven't, go hear it already. ]

Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It’s not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn’t have to say that you love me
Cos I’d already know

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn’t make things new
Just by saying I love you

Now I’ve tried to talk to you and make you understand
All you have to do is close your eyes
And just reach out your hands and touch me
Hold me close don’t ever let me go
More than words is all I ever needed you to show
Then you wouldn’t have to say that you love me
Cos I’d already know

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn’t make things new
Just by saying I love you

~Extreme

in the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him ’til he cried out in his anger and his shame i am leaving, i am leaving, but the fighter still remains... yes he still remains.


li la li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li....

[ forgive me a cruel chuckle. ]

who'dda thunk i'd be endorsing F-16s.
i guess i know how they felt when women could finally smoke in public. its terrible, it shouldn't be done, but if it means thumbing the patriarchal system, i guess you'll get a grin out of me.
so, while hello kitty and the like have apoplectic fits, allow me to introduce you to the new face of the Pakistan Air Force ...

Saba Khan
'Equals'

The air force academy is still male-dominated, and it's not clear what the real feelings of the male cadets have been to the induction of women onto the fighter pilot programme.

Officially, most have welcomed the move.

But when one male cadet said the women should be shown compassion, female cadet Saman Ahmed was swift to say they were there to compete on equal terms.
"We don't expect compassion, we don't get compassion, and we don't want compassion," she said.
And this confidence is not without reason for Cadet Ahmed has already won praise in her engineering studies, beating both men and women.
Her excellence is not confined to the classroom, either.
During a rifle exercise, I watched as she shot all five bullets right in the bull's eye.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/4533367.stm

so from the thousands of women who cradled their babies in one arm and their kalashnikovs in the other and faced the men in their war machines, we now have women flying the war machines. historically, wars have meant greater participation for women.. but so have revolutions. and its great (i guess) that women are now, "finally" part of this whole mad war, but they've been part of the revolution for so many more years...
in reterospect, the last thing we need is die-hard feminists going like "yay, we can be fighter pilots now, patriarchy's finally dying out, pakistan's finally become more moderate".. for god's sake, no its not. hatch as many "conspiracy" stories you want (musharraf wants the army to be looked upon as "liberal," theyre making a few concessions to the west, its just affirmative action, whatever)... ultimately, stuff like this just distracts us from the real battle.

roger dat, houston. over and out ;)

[ a corporate story. ]

so one morning in good old lums, we open our eyes and see this



and this



and this



and this



now, naturally, those of us who
a) know that advertising, selling or endorsing tobacco within 5 miles of a university campus is explicitly prohibited by law
b) dont like a bunch of ugly men with puppoo sideburns and shiny white teeth staring at us
were obviously very, very annoyed. and many of us are smokers, however we know that at the end of the day tobacco is tobacco (a carcinogenic drug, not a pretty little plant), PTC is big tobacco (affiliated with the British-American Tobacco company), and the only reason THEY still have a business is because of their advertising, governement pay-offs, and our dedicated chain smokers. so lets be honest. if PTC wants recruits to sell, manage, manufacture and advertise their tobacco, we'll give em something better. many many very very happy happy SMOKERS!!!! :D

at the end of the day, it was just a move to slam the hypocrisy of our administration in their face. for those of us who know lums history and the babar ali foundation, we know that this joint was established as a manufacturing plant for yuppies. in the 80's big business needed dedicated young managers in their outlets in pakistan, and the Lahore University of Management Sciences was set up to provide just that. for those of us who study here, it is becoming increasingly obvious that the highest bidder owns the walls, pillers, arches, and any other sqaure foot of advertising space in this uni- no questions asked- while our societies scrimp and struggle to get a single banner or poster up to advertise a sports tourney, or a mela... and even those are confined to specific softboards. this isnt the first incidence of corporatization of this campus: PnG, unilever, Nestle are in our faces twenty-four/seven. and you might argue that- well, what do you expect- a business is a business. yes, but then people's power is people's power. moreover, while some people might not be aware of the creepy underbelly of happy-happy brands like Nestle and PnG that own everything from your butter to your toothpaste, the tobacco issue is blatant.





thanks.. adeel, emad, izhar... good work :D

i made the poster in the labs at about 12. qasim and i got it signed by azmatullah (it says "SUPPORT British-American Tobacco," after all) at 1, and by 1:30 there were thirty of these all over the place. at 3:00 ammara decides that confining ourselves to softboards is useless, and slaps one on one of those standing banners that you see there. very effective. you know where it said "you know who you are, but who do you want to be?".. she took a piece of paper and wrote in huge letters "CANCER PATIENT", and stuck it at the bottom :D
twenty minutes later, a huge suited booted guy comes around, does a double take at the poster and rips it off, shaking his head, muttering "this is such bad publicity.."
twenty minutes later, the posters mysteriously reappear... :P

by 5 pm, everyones confused. who put these up? who keeps putting these up? qasim and i go around and meet the PTC guys... salaam, shake hands, take pics etc :P
azmatullah came running up at that point, with a bunch of torn down posters in his hands. apparently, some MBA faculty member had FINALLY gotten it, and called azmatuallah up and asked him to take them down.... beychaara, he was obviously very confused and kept asking us.. iss mey kuch ghalat to nahin likha hai?

the next day, at 6:30 we meet the vice chancellor (they still dont know we did it, we went voluntarily). he informs us that sending such confusing messages was unethical on the part of the miscreants.. that some society should have endorsed it.. and that "if you have an anti-smoking campaign, ill be right behind you!" they LOVE the idea of these little channels of communication ... they wont support dissent, but they'll loudly tell us to "voice your opinion". dont have protests... have debates, have little little petitions with lots of nice signatures. they wont answer straight... there was no mention of responsibility of the admin to the students, no.. "the students can start a program where you make one smoker into a non smoker everyday!!" ohh goody gumdrops i feel so much better knowing that its so freaking easy getting hard smokers to quit gee whiz thank you for your ignorance, sir...

hassan j and qasim kept their cool and decided that the green light to "express any opinion" is all we really needed. and we will start an awareness campaign about smoking. however, i still maintain that there was no time, during this whole process, to make our point in any way other than what we did. we went in with the explicit purpose of embarrassing and slamming both the PTC (for sheer audacity, if nothing else,) and the LUMS admin (who probably thought no one would notice, that no one would care...). and we'll take your debates, and your petitions, and we'll make you honor them, no less.. all in good time.
but this was just sneaky. touche. :)


nausheen... thanks so much for the pics :)

[ mmm.. ]

there's something about the

look in your eyes

something i noticed when the light was

just right

it reminded me twice that i was alive

and it reminded me that

you're so worth the fight

im beginning to notice how much this feels like a waking limb, pins and needles

adecadeago, i neverthoughtiwouldbe, atwentythree, onthevergeofspontaneouscombustionWoe-is-me.But iguess thatitcomeswiththeterritory; anominouslandscape ofnever ending calamityI need you to hear, I need you to see that I havehad all I can take andexploding seemslikea

so pardon me while i

could you show me, dear?

killthequeenandcrushthehive

[ this funk the feelin that you stay for ]

Fellas, I'm ready to get up and do my thing... I wanta get into it, man, you know.. Like a, like a sex machine, man, movin' and doin' it, you know... Can I count it off?

One, two, three, four!

Get up, (get on up) get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up) get up, (get on up) get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up) get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up)

Wait a minute!
Shake your arm, then use your form
Stay on the scene like a sex machine
You got to have the feeling sure as you're born
Get it together, right on, right on.

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

Hah!

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

You said, you said you got the,
You said the feeling,
You said the feeling you got to get
You give me the fever 'n' a cold sweat.
The way i like, it is the way it is,
I got mine 'n' don't worry 'bout his

Get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up) get up, (get on up) get up, (get on up)

Bobby! Should I take 'em to the bridge?
(Go Ahead!)
Take 'em on to the bridge!
(Take em to the bridge!)
Should I take 'em to the bridge?
(Yeah!)
Take 'em to the bridge?
(Go Ahead!)
Hit me now!

Come on!

Stay on the scene, like a sex machine!
The way I like it is, is the way it is
I got mine, (dig it!), he got his

Stay on the scene, like a lovin' machine
Stay on the scene, like a lovin' machine
Stay on the scene

I wanna count it off one more time now
(Go ahead!)
You wanna hear it like it did on the top fellas?
(Yeah!)
Hear it like it did on the top?
(Yeah!)
Hit it now!

Get on up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get on up, (get on up)

Stay on the scene, (get on up), like a lovin' machine, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

Taste, (get on up)
Bein', (get on up)
Taste, (get on up)
Bein', (get on up)

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up)

You gotta have the feelin, (get on up)
Sure as you're born, (get on up)

Get it together, right on, right on
right on, right on, (right on, right on)
right on, right on, (right on, right on)
right on, right on, (right on, right on)

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

And then, shake your money maker,
Shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker

Get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)

Huh!

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

Can we hit it like we did one more time, from the top
Can we hit like that one more time
(One more time!)
One more time!
Let's hit it and quit! (Go ahead!)
Can we hit it and quit? (Yeah!)
Can we hit it and quit? (Yeah!)
Can we hit it and quit? (Yeah!)
Hit it!

~ James im-black-n-im-PROUD! Brown

“
One of the (sub)-themes running through Woolf's [A Room of One's Own] is the "convention... that publicity in women is detestable." As a result, "anonymity run's in [women's] blood. The desire to be veiled still possesses them."
”

~Kofi Owusu

remember once.. i had asked you.. if were alright for me to cover myself (as i often do, when going to the market, when stepping into public spaces) and we agreed, that yes, i can and i may...
but you must detest it. as much as they detest your presence in their public. and by THEM yes, i mean men, and women who agree to live by Man's religion and Man's economy and Man's rules... made by that Man-God, the Tyrant...

[ opp. sector u, dha, lhr. ]

And the women tug their hair
Like they’re trying to prove it won’t fall out
And all the men are gargoyles
Dipped long in irish stout

The whole place is pickled
The people are pickles for sure
And no-one knows if they’ve done more here
Than they ever would do in a jar

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone
Anywhere alone

And everyone is blonde
And everyone is beautiful
And when blondes and beautiful are multiple
They become so dull and dutiful

And when faced with dull and dutiful
They fire red warning flares
Battle-khaki personality
With red underwear

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone
Anywhere alone

The whole place is pickled
The people are pickles for sure
And no-one knows if they’ve done more here
Than they ever would do in a jar

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone

~beautiful south

the bullet hit the back of her at the exact instant the coffee cup touched her lips. in all honesty it was absolutely fascinating, the way it seared through her skull so that you could almost hear it straining against the metal, bone and flesh and carving another door at the end, smashing straight into the unsipped-first-sip of gently steaming coffee.

and i do believe she heard the explosion as it happened. and that if you reassembled her face, stuck it back with elfy you'd see that her lips were twisted into the first smile in a long, long time. and if you'd known her for many, many years before, you'd realise that the only way you could possibly know whats inside her mind was by putting a bullet through her head. i peered inside, half expecting to see the hard, heavy locks and bolts she used to keep everything to herself. half expecting to see a mind undergoing metamorphosis, struggling to become more resiliant, more insensitive, more... 'male'.

i dont think she ever realised that there was a paradox in her ardent misogynism. she wasnt the profound sort. she probably didnt even realise that she was battling aganst her femininty to get ahead, snapping out ideas, flaring at the slightest provocation. rage is a wonderful thing. only the truly violent can understand the rush of irrational anger, the exquisite, trembling fear of having gone too far- it feels like running off a cliff. it feels like the air would, if there were only air around you. then you fall, of course, but you'll be surprised at how thick skinned some professional violents can be. she found herself addicted to this game; her addiction grew with the number of people who began to fear her moods, respect her dedication... loathe her acerbic tongue. and because we still live in the real, un-politically-correct world and prejdices are woven into the fabric of our skin, these traits were seen as, if not completely male, then definately less female. ruthless. thats the word. thats what she was going for- ruthless. minimum family, spartan living conditions, no husband-kids-and-a-dog, and yet people in movies always handled it so much better. the charred fragments of her brain revealed nothing of the hunger and fatigue every day, every night. they told nothing of the fact that no matter how far you went in this world, you would always only be second-best. and that you could never possibly excel at a game in which they tailor to their own suiting, and make their own rules. and if there was a fuel to this fire, it would be the rage she felt evertime someone felt sorry for her. or helped her. or said "dont push yourself so hard"... they might as well have said "you cant handle it".

but, she reflected, none of this would be revealed by a bullet. or an axe. or anyother weapon designed by man to spilt her head into half. gentler, subtler, much more powerful forces of love, compassion, friendship were left undiscovered by her and those around her.

the coffee cup left her lips and was set carefully on the table. two strong arms folded firmly before her as she leaned closer, fixing the man in front of her with a peircing, cool glare.

".... i refuse to compromise on this..."

so much blood i'm starting to drown
runs from cold to colder
time to time the sky's come down
to help me lose my way
tears and lies for answers
you and open veins, god knows i'm gone
girl i just want you to
come on down
lord it's a storm and i'm heading to fall
these sins are mine and i've done wrong, oh babe
come on down

long gone day
mmmm, who ever said
we wash away with the rain

see you all from time to time
isn't it so strange
how far away we all are now
am i the only one who remembers that summer
oh, i remember
everyday each time the place was saved
the music that we made
the wind has carried all of that away

long gone day
mmmm, who ever said
we wash away with the rain

so many tears i'm starting to drown
the rain in heaven's all come down
silver spoons affix the crown
the luckless ones are broken
fears and lies for answers
you and open flames
god knows i'm gone
and i just want you to
come on down, hmmm

lord it's a storm and i'm heading to fall
these sins are mine and i've done wrong
i want you to, oh, i just want you to
come on down

i fear again, like then, i've lost my way
and shout to god to bring my sunny day

~mad season

:: gems ::

"...And I begin writing again. Word by word, the pustules erupt. The infection begins to drain. Such a fine motivator, is guilt. Type type type, tap tap tap, may I have this dance? It doesn’t matter that I’m out of practice and out of step. It doesn’t matter that I’m silly, selfish, self indulgent and misinformed. So is George Bush, and he rules the most powerful nation on earth. "

~Shandana Minhas, Chowk Tale




think about that. just before you hit "Publish Post".

[ allah hafiz. ]

a long december and there’s reason to believe
maybe this year will be better than the last
i can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaven’
now the days go by so fast
and it’s one more day up in the canyons
and it’s one more night in hollywood
if you think that I could be forgiven...i wish you would
the smell of hospitals in winter
and the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
all at once you look across a crowded room
to see the way that light attaches to a girl
and it’s one more day up in the canyons
and it’s one more night in hollywood
if you think you might come to california...i think you should
drove up to hillside manor sometime after two a.m.
and talked a little while about the year
i guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
and it’s been a long december and there’s reason to believe
maybe this year will be better than the last

i can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
to hold on to these moments as they pass
and it’s one more day up in the canyon
and it’s one more night in hollywood

it’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean...i guess I should

~Counting Crows.

Never smile at a crocodile
No, you can't get friendly with a crocodile
Don't be taken in by his welcome grin
He's imagining how well you'd fit within his skin
Never smile at a crocodile
Never dip your hat and stop to talk awhile
Never run- walk away; say good-night, not good-day
Clear the aisle but never smile at Mister Crocodile.
You may very well be well bred
Lots ot etiquette in your head
But there's always some special case, time or place
To forget etiquette.
For instance:
Never smile at a crocodile
No, you can't get friendly with a crocodile
Never run- walk away; say good-night, not good-day
Clear the aisle but never smile at Mister Crocodile.

:D

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brings back so many memories, for some reason. of school, of singing in the car, in the days when we were three, and not two. before ali azmat shaved his head, before they fired brian, before salman ahmed delivered his "the thing about peace is.." speech. when they were rebels. the gang that went to the farm on the 14th of August listening to Neend Aati Nahin and Dosti, came back listening to Mitti.

in lamhon key peechey.. koi to hai lamha aisaa bhi
jo beganaa bhi hai apna bhi..
jahaan thehray ye lamha, wohee say to aagay jaana hai
jissay soocha hai usko pana hai

jaaoon mein.. jaatay pal say aagay jaaoon
paaoon mein.. aagay jaa kay usko paaoon, chahoon,
aagay hee jaaoon mein..

and then my favorite... kabhi niklun gaa subha, shamon sey..


...
the best part of having a room of your own is slamming the door and taking off your shirt before you do anything else. if you're wondering why its so important to be stripped shirtless as soon as you enter your house, ask any man...

Then take me disappearin' through the smokerings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time,
far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees,
out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea,
circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

~ Dylan.

yayy... i knew it... :D (thanks n'sheen.. :))
"What Disney Princess Are You?"

Ariel
You can swim, flip, dive and be one with fish...WHY DO YOU WANT MORE?

[ "we're slipping off the map." -Stoppard ]

this land is your land, this land is my land...

Though the earth, and all inferior creatures, be common to all men, yet every man has a property in his own person: this no body has any right to but himself. The labour of his body, and the work of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature hath provided, and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. ~John Locke, 1690

...i saw above me, an endless skyway...

But perhaps the deepest aspect of the common law text of possession lies in the attitude that this text strikes with respect to the relationship between human beings and nature. At least some Indians professed bewilderment at the concept of owning the land. Indeed they prided themselves on not marking the land but rather on moving lightly through it, living with the land and with its creatures as members of the same family rather than as strangers who visited only to conquer the objects of nature.
The doctrine of first possession, quite to the contrary, reflects the attitude that human beings are outsiders to nature. It gives the earth and its creatures over to those who mark them so clearly as to transform them, so that no one else will mistake them for unsubdued nature.We cannot have our fish both loose and fast, as Melville might have said, and the common law of first possession makes a choice. The common law gives preference to those who convince the world that they have caught the fish and hold it fast. This may be a reward to useful labor, but it is more precisely the articulation of a specific vocabulary within a structure of symbols approved and understood by a commercial people. ~Carol M. Rose, 1995

...this land was made for you and me...

"i'd like to do a song of great social and political import.."
she said, before starting... "oh lord, wont you buy me a mercedes benz..."

we dont know what its like to be there, banging on tin plates with spoons, screaming, chanting, waving flags. we dont know what its like to protest, not simply protest. music is entertainment, a drug, an escape and not a statement, a banner, an anthem. no one's really interested in "sticking it to the man". our music is love and depression and lonliness and all that good stuff... uniting us only in our isolation. post-mordenist, existencialist, nihilist... the world is at once too big and too small for us to handle. and im only talkign about pakistanis here- i dont squat about how people in other parts of the world feel. we seem to know nothing about ideals, challenges, even faith. sure, people all around the world know nothings going to happen during their lifetime- that doesnt stop the rallies. that doesnt stop the screaming, the dancing, the chanting. we're a nation of cowards, at the top. down below they still have some fight left in them... but everything middle class up is scared shitless.

and we shrug it off, talk it off, rationalise it out, smile indulgently and say "bhai what can we do?"

nothing. nothing until thats a "what-can-we-do".

Don't believe them
Don't believe them
Question everything you're told
Just take a look around you
At the bitterness and spite
Why can't we take over and try to put it right

We're a suspect device if we do what we are told
But a suspect device can score an own goal
I'm a suspect device the Army can't defuse
You're a suspect device they know they can't refuse
We're gonna blow up in their face

you gotta suss, suss, suss, suss, suss out...

-stiff little fingers

[ for you. him. and donnie darko. ]

all around me are familiar faces
worn out places
worn out faces
bright and early for the daily races
going no where
going no where
their tears are filling up their glasses
no expression
no expression
hide my head i wanna drown my sorrow
no tomorrow
no tomorrow
and i find i kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i’m dying are the best i’ve ever had...

i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take
when people run in circles its a very very
mad world
mad world
children waiting for the day they feel good
happy birthday
happy birthday
and i feel the way that every child should
sit and listen
sit and listen
went to school and i was very nervous
no one knew me
no one new me
hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson
look right through me
look right through me
and i find i kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i’m dying are the best i’ve ever had
i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take
when people run in circles its a very very
mad world
mad world
enlarging your world
mad world

-gary jules

[ finishing touches ]

cool, damp softly pressed into the air, on to your face.
your eyes in the rearview mirror.
end of week laundry, two neat rows of damp underwear on the bed.
muddy jeans. does wet sand-concrete squish?
im gonna learn to play like clapton, someday.
black, white and lime green poster paint. b&h lighter.
itscoldoutside...shouldtakeashawl...
blue beads. purple beads, shell beads.
long flat hair swinging down her shimmery pink back.

why does your blog go cosmic on me?

it doesnt. it just is. me sharing something i think is rather nice with you.

in-sane. inn-sane. sarahashim.com

really funky visuals. thanks, sara b :) 

December 22nd, 2003.
http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/



...it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst...

And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life...

:)

You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure...but don't worry... you will, someday.

~American Beauty.

[ "and the thing is, bank windows- they're tinted, right? so you cant tell if its, like, just ok-weather out there or if its amazing..." ]

Until you've seen this trash can dream come true,
You stand at the edge, while people run you through.

And I thank the Lord, there's people out there like you
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you.

While Mona Lisas and mad hatters,
sons of bankers, sons of lawyers,
turn around and say, "good morning" to the night.
For unless they see the sky,
but they can't and that is why,
they know not if it's dark out side or light.

This Broadway's got, its got a lot of songs to sing,
if I knew the tunes I might join in.
I go my way alone, grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown, in New York city.
Subways no way , for a good man to go down,
Rich man can ride, and the hobo he can drown.

And I thank the Lord for the people I have found,
I thank the Lord for the people I have found.

~Elton John

http://www.sparkology.net

Overqualified:

Looking for work is an exercise in selling yourself. You write cover letter after cover letter, listing the parts of you that you respect the least, listing the selling points that make you valuable in a buyer's market. You leave out the little details that you tell yourself in the morning to make things okay. You don't mention the way your heart flutters when you meet your lover's eyes across the table, the way your feet felt like lead at your aunt's funeral. You write cover letter after cover letter, listing the same store bought traits in the same wording, day after day, hoping to find another job.

And then maybe one day you just snap a little.
You sit down to write a cover letter, and something entirely new comes out.

And you send it anyway.

http://asofterworld.com

some questions that occurred to me while recalling that the sea is the color of my shirt, ashen blue-grey and splitting at the seams.

does she write like this because?
or why?
or if she writes like, is she then
enormously
green, engulfingly
simply, humongously
grande,
and if her hair
dances with the leaves
and if her eyes
flirt with the wind
and if talking to her is like
visiting your saturday night
fever, can you come home?

do you eat with one hand, or both?
do you aim for the lips, or the mouth?
do you bleed with your veins or your heart?
and when it hurts, do the tips of your fingers
tingle?

do you do that out of habit?
or do you really mean to say?

i can warm my eyes by just staring at the stars. one night, alone, on a roof somewhere. the sky glows pink because of the city lights. i want to be spiked, cropped and the centre of the universe.
life is mine, mine, mine, mine.....

I threw your keys in the water, I looked back, Theyd frozen halfway down in the ice. They froze up so quickly, the keys and their owners, Even after the anger, it all turned silent, and Then everyday turned solitary, So we came to February. First we forgot where wed planted those bulbs last year, Then we forgot that wed planted at all, Then we forgot what plants are altogether, and I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting and the nights were long and cold and scary, can we live through February? You know I think Christmas was a long red glare, Shot up like a warning, we gave presents without cards, And then the snow, And then the snow came, we were always out shoveling, And wed drop to sleep exhausted, Then wed wake up, and its snowing. And February was so long that it lasted into March And found us walking a path alone together. You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus," And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower," I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?" You said, "I still love you." The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store, My new lover made me keys to the house, And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood, Because you never know how next year will be, And well gather all our arms can carry, I have lost to February.
 
~Dar Williams

and i said that i know who i am. and laughed, self conciously i said people may think im crazy but i know im ok. and i said people arent autists.. i dont take that back, theyre not, theyre just... silly, naive, selfish and if we knew exactly how each of our butterfly kisses caused every tornado we wouldnt have a single nights sleep. i think. but these arent butterfly kisses. theyre so much more.

woke up curled up on the floor, comfortable between a blanket and a bedsheet except that the blanket was under me, and the bedsheet over my head. soft whispers of female voices talking nearby. the room bright with streaming sunlight, cool with the humming AC. fluffy pink green yellow blue huddles all around, breathing softly. groped around for the cell... 9:25am. sighed happily, pulled the sheet back over my head and went back to sleep.

took me back... all the way to autumn quarter, when all of us used to troop up to the common room to sleep. somewhere in the back of my head, before i left khi for college, i was afraid that i'd have trouble sleeping in a new place for the first few days, because i usually do. never had trouble sleeping here... always tired, always comfortable between good ol' blanket and bedsheet.

hahahahaha.... fresshhiieee :)

as we were talking outside it was cold we were shivering yet warmed by the subject matter my wife is in the next room
we've been having troubles you know
please don't tell her or anyone but i need to talk to somebody

you said "wouldn't it be a shame if i knew how great i was five minutes before i died i'd be filled with such regret before i took my last breath" and i said "you're willing to tell me this now and
you're not going to die anytime soon"
and i said i haven't been eating chicken or meat or anything and you said yes
but you've been wearing leather and laughed and said we're at the top of the food chain and yes you're still a fine woman and i cringed

i was hoping we could heal each other
i was hoping we could be raw together

we left the restaurant where the head waiter (in his 60's) said "good-bye sir thank you for your business sir you're successful and established sir and we like the frequency with which you dine here sir and your money"
and when i walked by they said "thank you too dear" i was all pigtails and cords and there was a day when i would've said something like "hey dude i could buy and sell this place so kiss it"
i too once though i was owed something

i was hoping i was hoping we could challenge each other
i was hoping i was hoping we could crack each other up

i too thought that when proved wrong i lost somehow
i too once thought life was cruel
it's a cycle really you think i'm withdrawing and guilt tripping you i think you're insensitive
and i don't feel heard and i said do you believe we are
fundamentally judgmental? fundamentally evil?
and you said yes i said i don't believe in revenge in right or wrong good or bad you said
"well what about the man that i saw handcuffed in the emergency room bleeding after beating his kid and she threw a shoe at his head. i think what he did was wrong and i would've had a hard time feeling compassion for him"
i had to watch my tone for fear of having you feel judged

i was hoping i was hoping we could dance together
i was hoping i was hoping we could be creamy together

i hate you, blank sheet.
youre going to mock me again, arent you? you and those insane black figures on you. youre going to sit there, and mock me.
and i can see my fingers pressing buttons on teh plasctic tablet, like it were the most ordinary thing in the world. and i can see them scratch lead out of wood, as if that too was no big deal. and i can see my eyes...funny thing, to see ones eyes, but i see my eyes looking at a blinking vertical line on a white screen, following its path leaving a bunch of black igures in its wake. and i see my mind comprehend these characters. and so on. we love doing this. like a ugly threesome we play each other this way. se, dancing on her plastic platform, him, feeling the world press down on his eyes and i, lapping up words like a hingry kitten.

she wears a silver ring. she's beautfiful. we shut her in a box the other day, all five feet nine inches of her. coiled up in a little fetal position, her scruffy jeans riding low on her ass, flashing her canary yellow undees, her crumpled whit t shirt bulging around the stomach and the flabby upper arms, her hair breaking free of the neat, compact little bun behing her head. we packed her in, her toes stubby and dry and dirty, in the same old unpretty, unlovely black sandals. we told her we loved her very very much and that she was an amazing person and shut the lid down.

she must have sat there for hours, huging her legs, her arms sanwiched under the crook of her knee, rocking gently back and forth on her behind. she wont cry. she cant. she says she cant, and i belive her. she's different from the other girls because she doesnt run to her mummy and tell. she pretends that she enjoys it. she says it gives her strenght.

i knew her as my little sisters best friend. she used to come over to play all the time, with the clay pots and pans and little wooden rolling pins and rolling plates. and she loved the bunnies in our garden. and the big coconut trees. she didnt have trees, because they lived in an apartment, and we had the bigger house. and my mother used to give her a chocolate, every time she came. and she loved the cuckoo clock in our dining room. and when maliha and her werent playing they watched cartoons in the living room. and when malihas maulvi sahab came for teaching her the quran, i would get to play with her.

she called me bhai.

i told her her panty was crooked.

she asked me, how do you know.

and i said i dont, let me see.

and she did.

chocolate crumble
you're like cookie dough
small stubby toes and wide eyes.
everything so astonishingly
large from where you look
everything so bewilderingly
new from where you are.
i wish i were
you
when i see your tummy rise and
fall.
wouldnt it be wonderful to be back
home, rocked gently in your
deep quiet ocean
half-familiar voices a
faint mumble
away?

mood ring

silver ring
my silver moods
my silver silence like frost
on glass.
silver powder of a lover moth
darkened footprints on
silver grass.
streetlight fascinating
silver skin
moonlight watching your
silver sins
breathing deeply
shiver, grin
twirling muse my
metallic past.

A Poem on the Underground Wall- Paul Simon

The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows...

His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within it’s silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.

Now from the tunnel’s stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
tighter in his hand...

Now from his pocket quick he flashes the crayon on the wall he slashes deep upon the advertising a single worded poem comprised of
four letters.

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight

To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night...

*sigh*... sheer poetry :)

i think we were all brought up thinking that one day somebody's going to come along and complete our empty, lost halves. and all the halves in the world will link up perfectly, because at some point in your life, even if it were for just a second, you've met the other half of your soul.
when i think about the half that wouldve completed me, i think about all the people ive crossed on the street, made brief eye contact with in elevators, buses, bazaars. maybe we reached for the same book at the same time. maybe we bumped into each other in school, apologised vaguely and went on, not knowing. because despite knowing all i know today, about myself; my restless, anxious, fidgety soul... prone to running away and drowning her sorrows in a swimming pool or paul simon's voice, prone to cigarette breaks behind the cafeteria, prone to staring out the window and wishing i could pick the loneliest spot in the world and let my heart inhale the huge, vast emptiness of everything.... despite knowing all this, a part of me still wonders if the half can ever be wholed.
its a myth, honestly. all people arent built that way. some of us will find our halves, some will find lesser substitutes, some of us will wonder why the hell we're still so lonely, despite everything. our hearts and our lives are filled by our families, our partners, our children, friends, work... it doesnt just have to be one person.
and for some people, being a wanderlust is such a big part of your personality, that if you were ever to be with somebody, that would mean you would have to change. and nobody, nobody should try to tame a wanderlust's spirit. its one of the most powerful, exciting, beautiful, lonely things in the world. if you love somebody...set them free.

Maria's Song, Sound of Music.

How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!

Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand

Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

When I'm with her I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am
Unpredictable as weather
She's as flighty as a feather
She's a darling, She's a demon, She's a lamb!

She'd outpester any pest
Drive a hornet from its nest
She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl
She is gentle, She is wild,
She's a riddle, She's a child,
She's a headache, She's an angel,

She's a girl

Girl. Respect. ;)



someone in the fishbowl is rolling his eyes and asking me to get the hell back in the car. abhi aaiee. zindagi ajeeb cheez hai, baccha....

i'm sorry i blogged Red Rubber Ball. it's not true. it's terrible being the cause of someones pain and suffering, and im sorry im doing it. i wish i could do something that would make it easier for you, but i can't.

I hope its gonna be alright for you. i hope that the worst is over, now. come out, yaar... it really is a beautiful day. the morning sun is shining....

the last blog of Spring. dedicated to all of Earth's Satellites.

Home:
where my thought's escaping
where my music's playing
where my love lies waiting
silently for me...

(everyday's an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines and each town looks the same to me the movies and the factories and every stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be... long to be, reminding me, endlessly... homeward bound...)

hang in there, rookies. :)

Red Rubber Ball- lyrics modified with the permission of the lyricist, who happens to be an old lover.

You should have known I'd bid you farewell.
There's a lesson to be learned from this
and you learned it very well

Now you know I'm not
the only starfish in the sea.
If you never hear my name again
it's all the same to you.

I never cared for secrets you'd confide.
For me you're just an ornament,
Something for my pride.

Always running, never caring,
That's the life I live.
Stolen minutes of my time
were all I had to give.

The story's in the past with nothing to recall.
You've got your life to live and you
don't need me at all.
The roller coaster ride we took is
nearly at an end.
You bought your ticket with your tears,
that's all you're gonna spend.

And I hope it's gonna be all right.
Yeah, the worst is over now,
The morning sun is shining like a Red Rubber Ball.

everything comes together at once. love you, Aunt Su :)

and once again that time
i feel
my head and eyes
they dont agree
my head
and my body
body, head, mind-soul-brain
pick me up, put be back, put me back
together again.
im a jigsaw that only makes sense to you.
twirl the silver on my finger
imagine what it would be like
to taste the
the rain, again.
break me up, pack me up, take me away
smash and start again.
only you could smash me to peices agian.
what would you say to
her, if she were 75
hairline fracture down her thigh?
would you hold her hand
tell her, honey
you're still lovely
are you watching her, from whever you stand?
at 75, to have someone hold you hand.
someone to smash you down to peices
and them put them together again...
and only you, only you knowing
only you can
fractured mind, body, heart, head, hairline, soul...
come back, come here, come on
wont you make me whole
again?

...and its the same story everywhere, all over the place. why women stick with men, despite the beatings, and the abuses and the crap. because just when shes got her hand on the door, he'll touch her. he'll beg and plead and go down on his knees in violent passion, swear if she walks out that door he'll die, he'll simply die. and he will. and just out of decency, out of sheer decency, because she does care, she'll put her dreams on hold for him. a woman loves only when she wants to, when its safe. she can fake it to the point of convincing herself. and in all this terible lie that we live there is no love, only support. only sacrifice, and commitment. the shackles of passion that a man puts on a woman may be made of gold... but theyre still shackles. and she never really cared for gold, anyway. it's the story of my mother, my grandmother... and me, next.

walk like heaven... run like hell.

do you think Evolution is a plausible way to explain the universe as it exists today?
do you think Evolution undermines the power of or does away with the idea of God?
have you studied/ researched the process of evolution?
(why not? we study creationism before we enter a forum of argument with you... you make it compulsory for everyone in this institution to read Harun Yahya (www.evolutiondeceit.com), why don’t you make it compulsory for everyone to read the blind watchmaker? is the language too technical and high-flown? would you rather have people read the evasive and very often contradictory script of your Islamic textbooks? I must be losing my mind- are you blind?)

i think one of the major causes of disagreement is that creationists... or just about any follower of organized religions... would agree that the main proof of God is that He created Order out of Disorder, coherence out of chaos. God created a system that works.
then again, it depends on what you consider "working" to be. anyone who has studied physics or chemistry at any level knows about the second law of thermodynamics that basically states that the universe tends towards chaotic activity, which is ultimately what the measure of entropy is all about. so, apparently, the universe tends towards a state of complete anarchy- some say it is already in a state of complete anarchy, and that the seeming, temporary "order" of anything is just a blip on the probabilistic map of general randomness.
i mean, at one point in time i suppose it was ok to look at a leaf and admire God in His infinite wisdom, to have provided the leaf with stomata, palisade, spongy mesophyll, the works. and to look at a dolphin and admire the fact that its blood has a high percentage of myoglobin that allows it to stay underwater for extended periods. but leaves and dolphins are dying. their beautiful, elegant structures are no match for even more simple molecules such as CFCs, radioactive substance and toxic waste. the "natural" world is no match for the destruction being caused by the work of one species. is this species "unnatural"? simply put, we're burning out. so what’s so "orderly" about the world anyway, that all it took was one species to wipe it out? it’s beautiful, of course, but so, so fragile.
i guess the world is not immortal. just like our cells and our bones grow old, start dying without replacement, the world grows old too... and that split second of something "happening"- what we like to call the Big Bang... deteriorates into chaos. black holes fragment everything into primordial "goo", out of which- who knows?- maybe another world will be created. maybe the goo will remain for a few billion years and the cycle will repeat.
so what is God? and why do we try to save anything, if there simply is no hope?
because we're human. because ultimately, man created the concept of God, and stuck to it. and man decided that look: we have uselessly weak limbs, no tail, we're so vunerable its like being a bald monkey; highly developed hands and an obscenely large brain that is so perfectly useless that even ten percent doesnt know what to do with itself, so man created Thought. and Wisdom. and Ethics, Law, Values, and Suffering. and all this was so ‘hegemonically’ predominant that we didnt think twice about believing in any of it.
and the funny bit is, belief in God is the ultimate hegemony. its what makes us human. we cant really go beyond that. so existencialsts idiots who talk about Life as if they were somehow detached from it are basically wasting everyones time, including their own. just becuase you may have an idea of what it means to be human doesnt make you any less human. so youd better get used to the whole idea... belief in God, suffering, trying, scraping a living, work buy eat die. and yeah, its worth it. my conscience is too deeply ingrained with the language of good and bad, of heaven and hell, of love, fear, power, existence.
i think it boils down to this- yes, maybe on a large scale things DONT really matter. but we're not a part of that large scale- or conscious existence is a mere 80 years, if we're lucky. coming here, we realise that we're all in the same boat- whether we're good or bad doesnt make as much difference in a realm that we're not so sure about as it does in a realm we are sure about- now. if i kill, it wont haunt me after im dead- itll haunt me now. and if i dont try to make things better for other people, to do my part to ease someones suffering, i wont regret it later, ill regret it now. and God is someone i like talking to about these little things, so sue me.
and religion isnt opium for the masses... unfortunately, its a lot more like oxygen. you can hold your breath ‘till you turn blue, but what are you proving anyway?
sigh.. its ok, jaan. itll be over soon. and if it helps, you can talk to me about it.
a great philosopher once wrote about Gods Final Message to His Creation (God has to be a He, somehow. has to be human, and since we still cling to Aristotlean veiws that testosterone=rationality, the human must be a He. and the great gender bias in religion goes on... MAN this and MAN that. huMAN. woMAN. HIStory. MANkind. all those male prophets. how everyone thinks the holy books were addressed to men. but anyway, god had to be huMAN. i mean, who would you rather talk to about these things- a cat? (would it help if you named the cat 'the Lord'? :) ))
sorry. huge digression. so... Gods final message : "we apologize for the inconvenience".
id give a small, albeit tired, grin. no problem, yaar- all good. it was great while it lasted. and you were so much fun to talk to, seriously.

addicted- to life, love, beauty, morals, faith, ideals, suffering, trying, striving.
and im not even trying to quit. Existencialists exist. I prefer to live.

todays bone of contention is this phenomena of "chick-lit". "chi-clit". ahan.
as if i didnt have enough issues with "womens" studies and "womens" literature. point is- when will we learn to take ourselves seriously? whats the use of being educated, when you cant go beyond language and worldveiws, out into the realm of "gendered social consructs", and then proceed to decontruct the whole damn thing?
dont ask me whats so annoying about calling someone a "chick". its something that so basic, its difficult to articulate. and to capitalise on it, make it an institution, a bloody career (www.chilcklit.us... Mills and Boon- "chick fic") aarrgh!! spare us your cutesey catch phrases, will you?! i mean, "chick fic"!!! as opposed to what- "dick-fic"? just like Bridget Jone's Diary went form a "chick fic" book to a "chick flick", im going to start calling everything that stars Vin Deisel, The Rock and skimpily clad girls as "DICK flicks". stop cringing. its no less insulting.

finally... just to keep the cow supply in abundance, i like to visit the Fox News website, every now and then. interesting little slogans there, too... these are the guys who gave us the all-time favorite "WAR ON TERRORISM", after all.
so do we call it "Elections 2004"? nahh... too boring. get me something catchier, Bob. alright... hows "You Decide- 2004"? oooh, nice... freedom! liberty! justice! equality! America rocks, man! yeah!

"This moment in Iraq is a moment of truth," Kerry said. "Not just for this administration, the country, the Iraqi people, but for the world. This may be our last chance to get this right. We need to put pride aside to build a stable Iraq. We must reclaim our country's standing in the world by doing what has kept America safe and made it more secure before — leading in a way that brings others to us so that we are respected, not simply feared, around the globe."
-http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,118621,00.html

"One year later, despite many challenges, life for the Iraqi people is a world away from the cruelty and corruption of Saddam's regime," said Mr Bush.
He said Iraqis' "daily life is improving" with more widespread electricity, a stable currency, schools and clinics renovated and reopened and basic infrastructure being rebuilt.
But the president also said: "On the ground in Iraq, we have serious and continuing challenges.
"Illegal militias and remnants of the regime, joined by foreign terrorists, are trying to take by force the power they could never gain by the ballot. These groups have found little support among the Iraqi people."
He said the US-led coalition would "ensure an atmosphere of security" for the handover of limited power on June 30.
"Our coalition supports the efforts of local Iraqis to negotiate the disarmament of the radicals in Fallujah. We've also made it clear that militias in Najaf and elsewhere must disarm or face grave consequences.
"American and coalition forces are in place, and we are prepared to enforce order in Iraq."
He said the transfer of power, which is being worked out by UN special envoy Lakhdar Brahimi, was the second element of the US strategy.
"As the transfer of sovereignty approaches on June 30th, we are likely to see more violence from groups opposed to freedom.
"We will not be intimidated or diverted. On July 1st, and beyond, our reconstruction and military commitment will continue."
Without mentioning the heavy toll suffered in April, which was more than the 109 troops killed during the invasion, Mr Bush said that US forces were "sacrificing greatly".
"Families of the brave troops who have fallen must know that their loss is not in vain. We will finish our work in Iraq, because the stakes for our country and the world are high.
"The failure of Iraqi democracy would embolden terrorists around the globe, increase dangers to the American people, and extinguish the hopes of millions in the Middle East.
"The success of Iraqi democracy would send forth the news, from Damascus to Tehran, that freedom can be the future of every nation."
-http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au

yeah. Decide. Choice. yay.

and you're just
fashionably intelligent
fashionably elegant
fashionably rude and insincere
fashionably tacky
fashionably childlike, and i hear
theres a genuine streak of goodness in you.
throw in quasi-pseudo, just to be
on the safe side of you.
yes, but id rather be inside of you and you
understand this, i fear.
and wouldnt it be wonderful to bite your skin
oh wouldnt you
wouldnt you let me in-
side your skull?
wouldnt you rather i fingerpick your nylon nerves to shreds
somewhere deep inside do you dread that you
might just enjoy yourself?
and youre just
fashionably calm
politically incorrect
fashionably on the verge of indecency, desperate.
mythology must mean alot to you
choking, clinging
god, i love you.
fashionably straight.

hahahahahahahaha.....

my first Pink Floyd lyrics. there's a story. tell you someday...

through the fish eyed lens of tear stained eyes
i can barely define the shape of this moment in time
and far from flying high in clear blue skies
i'm spiralling down to the hole in the ground where i hide
if you negotiate the minefield in the drive
and beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes
and if you make it past the shotgun in the hall
dial the combination. open the priesthole
and if i'm in i'll tell you what's behind the wall
there's a kid who had a big hallucination
making love to girls in magazines
he wonders if you're sleeping with your new found faith
could anybody love him
or is it just a crazy dream
and if i show you my dark side
will you still hold me tonight
and if i open my heart to you
and show you my weak side
what would you do
would you sell your story to rolling stone
would you take the children away
and leave me alone
and smile in reassurance
as you whisper down the phone
would you send me packing
or would you take me home
thought i oughta bare my naked feelings
thought i oughta tear the curtain down
i held the blade in trembling hands
prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
i never had the nerve
to make the final cut.

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain...
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rain?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?


How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

i will always return to you.
your name is whispered on the notes of
songs we sang together, in absence.
i will always return to you,
sans fear, guilt, secrecy
your heart being my dark
secret room
tired, endless escape into your lungs
swim smoothly through your veins
fall asleep in the gentle rise
and fall of your chest
you'd carry me around even if
you could barely carry yourself.
and it asks no return,
except all that i give and it
speaks no strange befuddling language of the eyes and the tongue
it just sits, close, warm, compassionate:
beating gently, whispering like trees in the sunshine
this deep, common dialect
of our lives.

-anon, discovered on blather

Part of Your World, Little Mermaid

Look at this stuff
Isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?
Wouldn't you think I'm the girl
The girl who has everything?
Look at this trove
Treasures untold
How many wonders can one cavern hold?
Lookin' around here you'd think
Sure, she's got everything

I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty
I've got whozits and whatzits galore
You want thingamabobs?
I got twenty
But who cares?
No big deal
I want more

I wanna be where the people are
I wanna see
Wanna see 'em dancin'
Walkin' around on those
Whad'ya call 'em? Oh - feet
Flippin' your fins you don't get too far
Legs are required for jumpin', dancin'
Strollin' along down a
What's that word again?
Street

Up where they walk
Up where they run
Up where they stay all day in the sun
Wanderin' free
Wish I could be
Part of that world

What would I give
If I could live
Outta these waters?
What would I pay
To spend a day
Warm on the sand?
Betcha on land
They understand
Bet they don't reprimand their daughters

Bright young women
Sick o' swimmin'
Ready to stand...

And ready to know what the people know
Ask 'em my questions
And get some answers
What's a fire and why does it
What's the word?

Burn

When's it my turn?
Wouldn't I love
Love to explore that shore up above?

Out of the sea
Wish I could be
Part of that world....

in between the usual drivel of positivism and proactivity... the softest, strayest desires for something better... a wisp of a wish, like "far off carnival music", as tenessee williams would put it. like a cool little breeze... and you were so sure all the doors and windows were sealed.

The Laurel and Hardy Love Affair by Ray Bradbury
"Now," she said, "I'm heading for the door. We are very special, wondrous people, Ollie, and I don't think our like will ever come again in the world. But I must go. And now," she reached out. "My hand is on the door and..."
"And," he said, quietly.
"I'm crying," she said.
He started to get up but she shook her head.
"No, don't. If you touch me I'll cave in. I'm going. But once a year I'll show up at our flight of steps, no piano, same hour, same time as that night when we first went there, and if you're there to meet me I'll kidnap you, or you me."
"Stan," he said.
"My God," she mourned.
"What?"
"This door is heavy. I can't move it." She wept. "There. It's moving. There." She wept more. "I'm gone."
The door shut.

....

The Dot and the Line by Norton Juster
"Once upon a time there was a sensible straight line who was hopelessly in love with a dot. 'You're the beginning and the end, the hub, the core and the quintessence,' he told her tenderly, but the frivolous dot wasn't a bit interested, for she only had eyes for a wild and unkept squiggle who never seemed to have anything on his mind at all."

....

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"...A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who dept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by."

The fifty buck joyless
cold lemonade and a battered
old textbook will do.
And I'll have a side serving of
life, with that, thank you.
Carry spare change, carry lots
of distractions that you can
reach into a sack and pull out of.
Building close ties with all the
people inside my head-
head on, bouncing, beautiful,
joyless.
Satiation, it seems
is too much effort.
Perpetual hunger will keep you on your feet
pushing, stretching, aspiring
to make it through, make it through.

I worship the clock.
But this class isn't over yet.
(can you whisper nicotine and crawl into my veins?)
I have the blueprints here, if you want to
make your machine and fly away.

My world twitches, manically,
As if electrocuted.
(Dragonflies skim the surface of the pond
but only long enough to outstrip their
reflections.)
I digress. The glass sweats.

Im going to smile for you, now, and i want
you to take a picture of me.

for you, and the childhood together that we never had, but remember anyway.

2 little whos
(he and she)
under are this
wonderful tree

smiling stand
(all realms of where
and when beyond)
now and here

(far from a grown
-up i &you-
ful world of known)
who and who

(2 little ams
and over them this
aflame with dreams
incredible is)

-e e cummings

large gaps in my heart are slowly filled with the
silent whooshing of a breath of warm air. dull aching fingers
rest heavily on your tired skin. we reach out between the lines and bars and sonnets of
human verse
smile through screens of blue white light.
and i pause, two inches from completely giving in to you.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.

But why would I want to do a thing like that?

-Trainspotting

its like watching a foreign film, or a silent movie. i can understand each word on its own, but strung together like... alleles, on a chromosome... they just seem to go on and on making no sense. im not really paying attention. something pulls me towards fear as if it were a dark, bottomless well and the minute im standing over it im sick with vertigo... suddenly weightless, suddenly... panicked. panic. panic. fear. fear.

so that they will recognize my eyes
in a crowd, so that
they dont run away, turn around
so that you remind me of who i am
two strangers in a strange land
and tounges stutter words unfamiliar
cities built stone by painful stone
and hearts beat stronger
standing still, moving closer to home
here, within the cusp of light between your hand and mine,
between the naked feet that run, laughing, side by side
under the melting heat of skin, in the sun dappled shadow of a grin
a thousand pinpoints of light dance on the water as
fluid fishnets of the sun swim...

you are

everything i love.
tied up, enshrined as gently as a
monarch's wing
this secret, faded old wooden box
of wishes,
and whipers,
and wonderings...

the water fountain
three stories up is
always exactly
the right temperature you need to cool
the burnt sores on the tip
of your tongue.

outside, again, twenty minutes later this time
in looser pants, in softer slippers
beyond the frosted door
i notice its not so cold,
so cold anymore.
past chokidaar drooping over glowing coals
never stopped to greet him before
and im suddenly
not thinking about anything in particular
anymore
alseep, in the chair,
bent over, sitting there thats not
its not fair, somehow..
past lovers linked in their silent
soft talk, statues of flesh and bone
and if the world had a lover she too would
live on love alone...
devdaas couldve have been so much better, suddenly
aesthetic erotica, romanticised
invaded by alienation-
we're all just stupid painted a shade of wise
we're all just colourblind idiots in disguise
walking out into the not-cold night air
in my chappals, past the people
swimming there
through the haunted stillness of silent rain
past the snores of tired sleepers
the lovers and the gatekeepers
glittering earth, glistening creepers
beneath my heavy step:
my ghost will lead my shadow
across the cobbled floor-
its not so cold,
(i notice)
now,
not so cold
anymore.

Beyond the door,
There's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven.

'Cause I know I don't belong... Here in heaven.

-Eric Clapton, Tears in Heaven

Sadomasochistic tendencies often drive people like me to read things like this... that and evil Communication Skills teachers who one veiws with a mixture of pity and disgust, because they chose to make livelihoods out of enforcing political correctness on the world.

"The popular MIT economist Paul Krugman tells the story of Smokey Mountain, a huge landfill outside of Manila and "a popular media symbol of Third World poverty." Hundreds of families chose to live on the dump, collecting scrap metal and other recyclables, subjecting themselves to the stench and unhealthy air in return for the higher wages they were offered.

This image is both upsetting and frightening. As Krugman points out, however, media stories like Smokey Mountain mask something even more unsettling - what must the less-documented rural poverty be like that families actually choose to escape by moving to a waste dump?

I'm sure Hausman would agree with me that almost all U.S. jobs are better than those offered by Smokey Mountain or by sneaker sweatshops. We are (rightly) appalled at these working conditions, but most of us do not get to see the alternatives these workers face. Sadly, it is usually unemployment and starvation. Trade may create unappealing jobs for developing countries, but the fact that these jobs are freely filled reveals that bad jobs are better than no jobs for these workers."

yeah, sure... we've made the world so that some people eat cake, and some people eat shit. if they didnt eat shit, they would starve and die. so, like... shits not that bad, i guess....

the stupid, stupid commercialisation of Karachi culture... its expos, franchises, chains, Zaibunissas and Zamzamas, designers, divas and demons. and now, the latest... The Jewel in the Crown. how incrediblely stupid are we in the clutches of the second Imperialism? have we no dignity? its bad enough that this land was exploited once, must we bend over and say "fuck me again, your royal highness!"?! besides, we were never the jewel. we were the fly in the royal ointment... with all the Hur rebellions and riots and refusals to be ruled. now thats something worth celebrating....
oh yes jolly good ol boy lets relive the days of the good ol Raj before those damned sepoys had that insolent mutiny of theirs, wot? a cup of tea on the good ol' Lady Lloyd pier would hit the spot, eh? do bring the memsahib, if shes done fucking the native boys. such a feather in our caps, this place... pity to let it all go, really. they do have the best tea. bloody barabarians... after all we've done for them, really! this is no place for gentlemen.
there are people in london who blanch- and rightfully so- at the mere mention of colonialism. there are British journalists who have apologised to the "Orient" that the west created and destroyed. and you... you stupid, senseless IDIOTS are celebrating the Raj?!?!