“
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