Elle est starts writing.
This is what happens when yours truely gets a Royal Holloway creative writing MA rejection.
Hoola hoops man: OI, ROYAL 'OLLOWAY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
And yet, we care not...I quote Gordon:
'Hi Elest. Stupid Holloway. What do they know? Not much, clearly.'
Yes.
We'll show 'em when 'The Violinist and Alexis Jezeabel' wins the booker, white bread, and pulitzer in every field known to man, and becomes an international, nay intergalactical best seller for the next fifteen years (and 300 light years), after which it will turn into a modern classic and some hundered years later, a classic classic!
We'll show THEM, that Davinci man what can't write to save his life, and Hollywood, who I shant be selling my rights to, thank you! (Inshallah)
Ps. Zadie Smith can kiss my hiney.
The stupid five letter 'B' word.

I leave you with Samuel Beckett:
"Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightening-conductor of his existence. Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit. Breathing is habit. Life is habit."

Yesterday afternoon I was high on sheisha.
Last night I was high on bleach.
This morning I'm high on job searches.
I'm gonna go out for a bit to get high on that SunShiiiii-iiiiiine...looks mighty fiiii-iiiine, to meeeeee-eeee!

Why do flowers grow out of little cracks and crevices, in places where no one can even see them?
Because even though.
That's why.
...
Dance to 'be' in the act of dancing. Dance in the face of an oblivion of emptiness, loneliness, sadness and your futility... in a grey, drab, refuse.
Because you are not here to have to prove yourself to the world. You are here to 'be', for one who knows you even when you are hidden. Even when you know not yourself.

There's your sign.

SunShiiiii-iiiine! Over HeeeeREEE! (with a strong Egyptian accent)
...weeehaaee! So nice.

SHIKKKT! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE TEACHING TODAY! OH MY GOD, I'D FORGOT COMPLETELY!

The glorious pod of mainstream in all its mainstream glory and glorified mainstreamness is playing:
Something -Hajime Chitose

I'm reading and writing about all these successful designers with their well established companies etc. and I'm thinking it's all bull shiKt. (with a capital 'K')
For a moment I put myself in their places and think, Jane Gordon Clark of Ornamenta, launched when I was 3 years old...I do not want to end up like you! I don't want to spend half my life, working and struggling at the same game to stay afloat, only to achieve what you have: a state of being too financially comfortable and well established to stop working at the age of...yes, you look well over 50. No offence.
I don't want to have a big massive house in the South London suburbs, and two kids in private schools ...crap, this woman's got real flower petals pressed into her wallpapers! And they're textured! This changes everything...hang on a sec while I write this down...

...Now where was I before I was so rudely interrupted by wallpaper samples? Ah yes...my uncle. South London Suburbs house. Two kids in private schools. And a chain of old people's homes.
So, we've established what we DON'T want...what do we DO want?
I don't know.
I just hope that I don't end up like these people, ia, and my kids aren't brought up pre-conditioned to the notion of fitting a certain criteria. What do I mean? Think my uncle's kids. And then think the following scenario:

Uncle: you guys have actually done really well for yourselves, getting
into the universities you've gotten into. (and you know he's thinking:
considering you're from a broken marriage, grown up in
some crap North London area, and gone to rubbish schools coz your
father never took the responsibility to ensure otherwise.)
Elest: (very pissed off) Yeah, coz we're so messed up, right?
Uncle & Aunt: Oh No! No, we didn't mean that!

Piss off. I know what you meant. My mom did a hell of a fine job bringing us up on her own, and I'm glad I never got the life your kids are getting. Right now, I'm the happiest person in the world, because I can think outside your dumb box.
Wish I'd remember it more often.
Alhamdullah.

Conclusion: Down with Jane Gordon Clark. Up with Chocolate Trufle Aero!

Ps. The weather's amazing outside!

At FRIGGIN last!
Been trying to log onto blogger for the past half hour. And now that I'm on, I forgot what I needed to say. That's just smashing. Shame on u blog! I'm gonna go take a bath, and while I'm gone, u think very hard about what you've done!

Ps. We got our windows today and the kitchen is finaly complete, Alhamdullah...
WOOHOOOO!
Pps. The Tea Building is full of loads of arty farty design companies and publishers, and likewise, lots of arty farty peoples. We are in the midst of cool, once again...possibly cooler than Think Publishing. Our boss, however, is a Canadian guy with a very gay accent, who was having a huge row with some press person this afternoon, so that the entire office fell silent to listen intensely. After which everyone started gossiping about him.
With the boss asside though, I've spent my day writing about something which is so absurdly random in it's sheer mundane boringness, 'twill blow thy mind away...(drum roll) WALLPAPER! Tada!
Now, you're thinking said task is probably as interresting as a life support machine. You're thinking wrong... researching tea-total football heroes was worse. Not to mention, I get to look at lots of pretty pictures. :)
Ppss. My father is in London this weekend.
Pppss. I feel the need to dye my hair again. Red or Pink?

Last night while Elle est star gazer was moon gazing outside her flat, some black guy asked her if she was ok...
Elest: Yes, thanks.
Black guy: I thought you were crying.
Elest: No, I was looking at the moon.
Black guy: The moon. (looks up) oh. What do you call that, a half moon?
Elest: yeah. (thinks: you fool, it's a crescent!)
Black guy: Where are you from?
Elest: (thinks: it's a bit more complicated than that.) Turkey.
Black guy: In London people don't see the moon much.

Now, you think he said that coz he was thinking the only thing that can justify my sheer weirdness would have to be the utter ailenness of my ethnic background.
I like to think he said that coz he was trying to say something. ;)

Elest, are you worried about something?
Can you tell?
...
Does it matter? In the long run, against the bigger picture of things, does it bear any significance at all, when those close to you, can't even care?
We're so lonely. What does it matter if we were just that much lonelier?
I'm only saying all of this now to put off facing it. I swear I don't mean a word of it...yet.

Help,
I have done it agin,
I have been here many times before.
Hurt myself again today,
and the worst part is there's no one else to blame.
Ouch,
I have lost myself again,
Lost myself and I am no where to be found.
Yeah I think that I may break,
Lost myself again, and I feel unsafe.

Breath Me -Sia

Aloof? ...Aphasia -that's what it's called.

Listening to: Breathe Me -Sia
That's it! I don't want to write a short story, damnit! I want to write an epic! AN EPIC! DON'T SMOTHER MY PASSIONS! AND IF I'M MAKING YOU CRINGE, PISS OFF!
(pouts)
So much for being calm. But no matter, some of history's greatest geniuses and most tallented individuals were a bit mad (maniac grin) Half of them committed suicide (even freakyer maniac grin) I'm special (Miyavi maniac grin) I am also craving some Haagandazs...no not just Haagndazs, I really fancy hanging arround central London and eating Ice Cream in Lesceter Sq in the evening. This might be becuase I'm stuck in a spice smelling tip of a living room, babysitting builders who are making drilling noises over my music. I'm not moaning, I'm excited because work is finally underway. With the eminent kitchen asside though,

I WANT TO WRITE AN EPIC!

Pish

DAMN JAMES BLUNT!

Ahem, I've been at the laptop for well over 4 hours now, I've actually managed to cut down 300 words of this short story, which apparently isn't short enough, and I still have another 300 to eliminate into the depths from wence they emerged. Blast them! Insolent little Times New Roman typescript pests.
I've almost worked up the nerve to scrap the entire thing and just dish out a new tale...still have that lingerring idea of Post-Second Coming story about an evil Rock Star, but fear it might verge on the cliche and overly dramatic...not to mention, is probably yet another too-big-to-develop-in-5,000-words plot.

...Hey me, have you noticed that I'm talking to myself?
me: So you are! Oh joy!
me: No, not 'oh joy!', me, we've come dangerously close to sounding self indulgent.
me: How so?
me: 'Dear diary, today Mr. Rochester complimented my imaculately pruned rodedendrons. I dare say he has taken a liking to me...I am after all a wickedly charming girl, he a dashing young blade, and the rodedendrons a mere excuse. Not to mention they vex me. I am terribly vexed by them. I shall get Striker to urinate at their roots...it will truely be a test of Mr. Rochesters affections.' -so.
me: aha. I see.
me: What to do?
me: ...umm, go to bed?
me: An Excellent idea! Lets.

Same thing we do every night, Pinky...try to take over the world!

Chatting to Mags online and because it's 4:00 am in Dubai she seems kind of mental (wants me to turn her into a turnip...my insanity may not be entirely inherited but it's certainly justified by the amount of loonys in this family). You know what this means right? And now she's going on about some martial arts move called The Pest of Harakiri -very deadly.

With that asside though:
Hello, Elle est star gazer is back in the country of very few stars. Thank you light polution.
Verdict: Istanbul is beautiful.
I have too much to say about the trip, so I shall opt for the Goth's way out and aloofly say nothing...I shall keep it to myself, because it's MINE!

Hmmm, the sound on my laptop seems not to work. If it was, I'd be listening to Venus as a Boy -Bjork. Do I have anything substantial to write? No.
Fellow Gothling little-miss-'did you go tinkle'-Sarah is trying to convince me to sign up at My-Space...we are not convinced. Presently we are too busy trying to purchase volume 13 of Fruits Basket. (sigh. Manga...ntch, STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES AT ME!)

This is my manic state. Aren't I fun? I'm also working on being a more calm, and dignified individual...And I'm brushing up on my gracefulness- Amalthea, naked but not so that King Haggard feels the need to hide his modesty -style. (Ha ha, instead of, "What is the matter with your eyes? Why can I not see myself in your eyes?" he should have said, "Why are you perving at me like that! stop x-raying me!")
Speaking of which, to answer your question Sarah, he could not have become King Lear in Shakespear's King Lear because his name's actually spelt 'Lir', Prince Lir. :)

3 things about dictators: All of them were short (in addition to which Hitler had a little bumm). All of them had mostaches (Mussolini had one in secret, and Napolian's one was French so you couldn't tell) And all of them pretended to like classical music.

Ok, I'm off... this one goes out to my very brave Tarik. I love you, man. And I know you're doing well, coz I believe you always are no matter what kind of crap you're in.

Today Huden abla said:
We're God's mountains, Elest, He wouldn't burden any one of us with more snow than we could bear. And snow melts. In time there is nothing left of it.

South Park Elest.
He he he.

...No I don't have too much time on my hands, I just couldn't sleep! :(
I have my numerous reasons.

I'm a bit paranoid about my white earpohnes. This is because absolutely every other person I see on the street also has a pair. For the first time it feels like I'm conforming to something, and it's friggin ugly! Like a dead fish, or something equally vile and bloated being carried off by the currant that is mainstream...(sigh) maybe I should have gotten a black iPod afterall...or maybe I'm just making a big deal out of this.

Had a chat with the great aunt today. Heh heh heh...MUWAHA HA HAA HAAA HAAA HAAAA HAA! I love being shameless ;)

And (because there always is one), in spite of my Peter Pan syndrome (/tragic fixation. Nabokov style. (Nothing beyond the 'look at this tangle of thorns' -openning though, because the rest of the novel was far too twisted to finish reading)) I've finally watched Finding Neverland for the first time, after deliberately having avoided doing so, all this while.
(aplause. wild cheering.)
Thank you.

Now, leaving asside the sad things in life. Thoughts of Rivkah Zim (the personal statements have been completed (more wild cheering)) have brought to mind her Bible freakyness (because Rivkah Zim is the Bible-freak-woman, not the hand-bag-lady, thank you Sarah for clarifying that) and that absurd story about Jephtah's daughter. Now, if Jephtah's daughter is Bible-note-worthy, why does she not have a name? This is one of those Cruly's wife in Of Mice and Men things right? Yes, thought so. I'll roll my feminist critic sleeves back down for the time being, because the question really gagging to be asked is: Why the hell does Jephtah's daughter 'bewail her virginity' before her father kills her? (nay! I tell thee; sacrifices her!)
If anyone has an answer to this they will cure me of many a sleepless night.

Moral: don't make promises to God lightly if you have crazy, virgin daughters.
And there was much rejoicing.

The Peter Pan sadness has gone :) ...for now.

Tonsils are curious things.
What were once a pair of seemingly useless and quiet members of Elest's anatomy, have now suddenly made their presence known by becoming seriosly inflamed.
Can't swallow my own saliva. :)
-Funny how human beings like subjecting their fellow human beings to the grizzly details of their ailments. Why do we do that? Does sympathy offer a degree of comfort in the face of physical pain/discomfort? I'm not seeking sympathy though, I'm basking in the glee of your horrified reaction when I tell you, with a Miyavi-grin, that the back of my throat is oozing puss :)
Also, I think I'm making the most of the situation because I rarely ever get seriously ill like this. In fact, this is the first time in a very long time, that we are actually on antibiotics. (we, in the multiple personality sense of the word -I'm feeling a bit lonely) And No, we're affraid this is not the kind of illness which will feel neglected and leave if we ignore it. In fact, ignoring it for a week seems to have made it worse. See, sometimes you have to know when you can get away with not giving a toss...coz sometimes you can't.
In any case:

Penicillin.
Alexander Fleming.
Ian Fleming.
James Bond.
A damn good British Literrature and Film essay.
English MA.
As yet, still incomplete MA applications.
I promise I'll do it after the review for Shooting Dogs, coz the deadline for that is sooner.
Having a hard time starting...
Arigatou to my illness.
Which brings us back to Penicillin, and I wonder how fast it works...?

Also, as of yesterday, there has been a new addition to our household (which is, and continues to remain, despite all my efforts, a big dump (new boiler. missing cabinets. new kitchen. soon.)) ...No, not the boiler, Elest's iPod.
(!!)
It's theductive.

Shooting Dogs review, here I come.
...Miso soup helps.

Sounds: Joga...Where has Bjork been all my life?
Emotionaly and physically exhausted.


Life is a necklace of fears (my love)
Your uncried tears on a string.

-Bjork, Bachelorette

These sudden ups and downs are making me nauseous.
Maybe I'm bipolar.
Or just a piss-artist.
Or worse, both.

Little Minx saw cherry blossoms today and thought of ideals and passion and sacrifice...and last spring and the one before...and then that James Blunt song: In your eyes, now, I see no bravery. No bravery any more, only sadness.

Walking upto Edgware Road in the rain, with Faaria getting absurdly excited about a van making soap bubbles as it drove past, the wet pavement under NewRocks set off the following:
This moment is so beautiful. And it's sad that we are fragile, because what will become of it when we are gone?
Who is it going to matter to, when there is no one left that knows or remembers it?
Life is one big stupid tragedy if this is all. If all this beauty in our moments, in our memories, in our words, in your eyes, in my sadness, and a fleeting instant of feeling happy...is for naught in the end...of what ever and whenever.
That's why there's got to be more to come after. That's why our souls have got to be immortal, so that we will never forget. And that's why there's got to be God's love, because sometimes the love you feel is too great, and painful and fleeting, to be for anything of this world that can't keep it.

So far the MASTER plan (pun courtesy of Ryo), which is still in progress mind you, is as follows:
Little Minx is curently ruthlessly job hunting and not being a snob about it (as she'd been before) coz she is prepared to settle for any flee-bitten-jew job that'll pay somthing towards funding the MA. (Except working for NEXT or McDonalds)

Meanwhile I'll face the two final weeks of CELTA, I'll fail that bloody course MY WAY and I'll go down laughing like a maniac! Old Azazil style! (mind you, I wonder if Satan did go down laughing...? ok, joking aside, i dont think i want to wonder, I'm geting cold, sad feelings of devastation)

The current predicament now though is as follows:
Do I do a (strainght) English MA
or
the Shakespeare one
or
a Creative Writing one at Royal Holloway? ...I need advice, nay, direction, offered by a patriarchal/paternal figure. Daddy, as you would have guessed wasn't helpful-
Elest: Dad what should I do?
Dad: ... I donno Sev, what do you want me to say?
Elest: Anything. Say anything!
Dad: I donno Sev, whatever.

So, I've emailed Gordon (and for the last time, people, he's not a flirt! He's my father figure! Right up there along with Sting (and with a dad like mine, it's perfectly normal for me to be collecting father figures, Bill did. (And with two films dedicated to kill off one character, Bill's coolness is indisputable...maybe one day I can be like that: Kill Elest I. Kill Elest II (of course the cold blooded seeker of vengence will be myself- that's the twist. (where the hell was I and how did I get here??)))

And then there is the Dubai thing. 'Figure, once I've MA-applied, and if I find a job out there, I can go off for a bit to work and save in the Arabian gulf...Unless anyone has any objections...?

Ps. iPod front: we are £60 and counting. (yesssss!)
Pps. Gordon just emailed back! Who wants to come see him at the British Lib. with me on Wednesday? (Sarah? Misba?)

For Tasy, from the book we'll never publish coz it's probably too self-indulgent.

...See it all began in Stamfordhill, where a Scary Wicked 'Vat-To-Do?!' ruled a dingy little school with an iron fist. The first few days had been lonely, but then on the Friday of that week they sat the new new-girl next to the old new-girl and this is what happened several months later:

"YOU and YOU," fingers jabbing, "Alveeys making trouble! Alveeeys like dis!" Fingers making a fiddling gesture which is supposed to mean something, but the two terrified little girls forget their terror for a moment of mutual bemusement. "Dooon't look at each udder!" the terror returns with a vengeance.

It's gonna be fine inshallah, I promise.
It always has been.

...I just made a life changing decision.
Where was I when the universe, nay, God was trying to tell me something?
I'm here now.
(wrings hands)
And now to do something crazy to celebrate.
(grinns like an idiot)
...
Thank you.

Sound: Disarm, Smashing Pumpkins
Little Minx is going to pack her laptop and go away.
Standing in the 29 at rush hour with some guy's elbow in my face, and feeling like what has become of my life, merely amounts to a series of failiures and massive mistakes, I decided that I've got absolutely nothing susbstantial to stay here for.
Severing every illusion, every self indulgent hope and stupid 'what-if?', and pissing off without looking back is gonna feel almost as good as putting a blade to the real thing.
...
I suppose I could settle for a cigarette, but this would entail me dispensing some currencey. Do I want that iPod badly enough? Yes.
Tas tells me single tickets to Dubai are £270. The question now is, when?
...
Damn this.

Ps. Little Minx got an official (on headed paper) letter today during tutorial, stating that she will be awarded a 'fail' for the stupid CELTA course she never wanted to do in the first palce, unless she drastically improves on a number of points within her next 2 teaching practice lessons. Oh, no pressure of course. And since you'll merit that the odds of this actually happening are rather grim, considerring I've not only lost all self-esteem and motivation after being told there's nothing authorative about my too-casual-and-chummy class room manner, I F***ing quit!
...
There are much worse things in the world.
Alhamdullah.

I've noticed I've been trailing off alot lately. 'tis the curse of the inconclusive sentences of Clare Brant. I think her's was a bit more sinister like though, mine's just...ummm...tired? tragic? I-can't-really-give-a-shiKt-to-finish-what-I've-started-saying-coz-it-will-amount-to-naught-any-way...like? It doesn't really... sigh.

See.

I just cut my foot on the futon and can't be faffed to tend to it, so Huden is trying to stick a bandage on me while i write this.
Huden: Elest, you're not lady-like at all!
Daoud: yeah you should be like, 'oww, help, assist me!' (in a squeaky voice. I'm capable of squeeking. I can suddenly squeek the living day-lights out of people.)

Elle est stoned, is not really stoned, but she is failing her course! WOOOHOO! 'twill be fine. It's not as bad as some things, and I've already started feeling good about it. Resignation becomes me. Shrugging ones shoulders doesn't require saying much.

But do not give up hope,
because He, who can produce weakness from strength, can bring forth an even greater strength from this weakness.

-Rumi-

...upon a darker note, and picking up from yesterday: yeah, all this sounds nice in writing, but it's not a significant other's flaws which prevent us from loving, it's our own. Kindness thrives not, where we are but sorry pieces of self-involvement, who look out only for own interrests. I too am guilty of this. It comes with insecurity, and distrust in the ultimate shape that things will take in spite of our struggles.
There is no love lost, because there is no love left.
And so i fought off the urge to not get off at Oxford Circus this morning. The urge to stay on this train till it's final destination: for re-assurance, for my blind comfort...anything to make this go away.
But I'm re-embracing my dissilusionments. 'breathe in this bitter monotony, which promises to last for ever.'

...and yeah my period's late, what of it?...pisses me off, AND THAT'S NOT TO SAY U CAN UNDERMINE MY ANGSTING JUST COZ I'M EMOTIONAL! THIS IS REAL, AND I EVEN HAVE A POETIC OBITUARY TO LAY IT TO REST WITH!

I need some chocolate to get through today, but I've got no cash or change for the machine outside, and Mark is eating his in front of me! :(

10:15 - Think Intern has just come in! HA HA!
The Lord of the Rings figures on the shelf beind me aren't Matt's. They're Malcolm's. Malcom being one of those old fantasy-nerd men, hence, best suited for the job of talking to ilustrators about dragons, griffins and Rabbits with twitching eyes. I should have known. (of course, this doesn't make Matt any less of a comic book nerd, becaus Matt has a Tigger mug.)
Unfortunately for me though, Malcolm, who looks like Tery Pratchett with long hair, isn't here today. If he was I probably wouldn't be sitting here idley as I am now, coz he was the oly one who had something for me yesterday: 'Elest, how would you like to write a review for a book that hasn't been published yet?!' (Elest: 'ha? You daft?' -I didn't really say this.) Elest: 'I'd love to! I'm used to bull ***ing.'

10:58 - Think Intern has just been given the mind-numbingly dry task of writing a review for IP Review magazine, about a book on Software Patents. That'll teach you not to ask Matt for spare work next time. Matt: 'I'm warning you, you're going to be fast asleep by 11:30. It's certaily not written in lay-man's language.' -oh, thanks!

11:07 - FARHANA'S HAD A BABY BOY! AAAAAAAARGH! -Jeeeezus, this is freaky. It's gonna take a while for me to digest this.

13:23 - Screw this, I'm going on Amazon where someone might be able to explain what this stupid book is about, in English.

14:40 - Lunch break over, and half of Think Intern is back to work, while other half is looking for frequent distractions to keep awake with. Shakila's fallen in love with Wenworth. I aint feeling him...oh I know! I'll google Haido and re-fall in love with him!

...You know, the reason why the amazing ones (guys) are the ones too far to get with, is BECAUSE they're too far to get with. Yes, I'm stating the obvious borderring on a cliche here, but bear with me. With the ones that are close enough to get with, u discover your very-rewarding capacity for overlooking flaws as you discover just how human they are. This, I think, must be a beautiful thing: loving in spite of our humanity, while our natures are actually pre-conditioned to seek perfection on a higher plain. You can call it compromising. I think I'd like to call it the toppling of idols...which are really just as flawed and inadequate as us. And when I can love this inadequecey for all that it is, because it is me, as I am it...then maybe I can worship the perfect hand that fashioned us thus.

SPECIAL FEBRUARY ISSUE OF CEN, AND A TRIBUTE TO WHAT IS LEFT OF THIS SENTIMENT.


...a dream of perfection, an illicit truth of something whole. Something which breathes between the black and white, which fills in gaps and wishes away silence. Something Music tries to, but cannot define and Art clambers to capture but holds in itself. Something you find in sad eyes and crooked mouths, in voices that make you feel safe and hands that hold your secrets. It is the contradiction of violence and despair, the detractor of flaws. I love all that paints the confines of the word Beauty.
Alternatively, I love Seth Cohen from The O.C. and Krispy Kremes.

-Shakila Rajendra, Sub Editor-


...everything that's wrong with everything that's wrong. Because wrongness is in the eye of the beholder, lingering only momentarily, in search of what's lacking, fuelled by the lack's promise of it. You are, because I am not. Because perfection and symmetry is only reserved for the divine, and I can sing my praise to it with the ugliness of my flaws. Because even Sisyphus made meaning out of supreme meaninglessness.
I love me, because I am Your promise.

-Elest Ali, Contributor-

Cookies are being delightfully cooperative today. Yay!
I wonder why I bother coming in so early in the morning if Matt barely has anything to give me till mid-day.
It's Malcolm's job to talk to the illustrators, and as i write this, he's going on about Basilisks, griffins, draggons, and tortoises looking a bit too Disney - "...we're moving off style a bit, could you fix that? and the march hare, has a little bit of froth coming out of his mouth, and his eye's twitching, so that's perfect. But are they playing football?"
What's a sooth and a gulo?
Jeeeezus.
Do I have something important to write here, instead of going on about this office, which obviously doesn't interrest anyone (not that the rest of this will)...?
Perhaps, but it probably won't make sense, so you can just stop reading now.
I've made two resolutions, (Yes, I know it's March tomorrow) a discovery, and have discoverred a fear. (so really, that's two discoverries)

A Discovery: I seem to be less depressed. I hope this isn't coz I'm so jaded most the time...or worse, I hope the high hasn't gotten to my head permenantly, and worse still, I hope this isn't the calm before the storm.
Resolution 1: Instead of moaning and saying I have to do something, I'm just gonna keep my mouth shut and do it already.
Resolution 2: I'm not making any more resolutions.

-I'm shutting my eyes and divig in (or out) blinded. I'm braving any accidents, because i've proably had them coming for a while now any way. But I know you don't want me to hurt anyone else, any more than I do, so mabe you'll help...?
I know I don't deserve to be asking this.
I've screwed things up pretty bad, and gotten too deep into it to realise.
But nothing I've done is bigger than your mercy, and you can turn this into good, because tht's what you are.
Please.
I need you so much.

ahem...
A Fear: I'm scared to death that this is hope.

We've got 40 days.
Why 40 days?
Don't ask stupid questions.

Ps. Thanks Faaria.

--We regret to inform you, that the blasted cookies have screwed us
over yet again. This post is a day late. Gomen.--

(Friday...in composition all day)
...sigh
Think Intern remembers the days she used to blog as 'Office Idiot' -while working at the Faith Regen office 2 summers ago. How things have changed.
Think Intern, spent all of this morning reading through 'Football Heroes' in search of offensive material that will need censoring in the 2nd edition because we have a market at (classier-than-thou (my hiney!)) Marks & Spencers apparently, and we have to cater for the more elite specimines of our society now. (in English, that's called selling out) So basically, I'm incharge of censoring. Which I wouldn't ordinarily have any qualms about, if the material really is offensive, but when Matt tells me 'screw' is one such example of the kind of thing we're scrapping, then I think: hang on, half the anecdotes in this will have to be taken out. Which got me thinking further, borderring on the deep and terrible again (as it happens):
I've become very, VERY desensitised. This is worrying.
Ok, I admit I've always been a bit shameless, and the brave perpetrator of social inpropriety when necessary in situations of
stifling properness...or maybe you'd call it being laid-back and cool. like 'my idea of a celebration is raising both eyebrows simultaneously' -cool...but still, by comparrison to the likes of Tas and Shakila, me is innocent. (ok, correction: me WAS innocent, and still IS somewhat
mentally innocent.) ...ah, sod this.
I'm drinking elderflower presse.
Ian, the other intern, who'd had an asthma attack this morning apparently, hence the reason why he hadn't turned up, has turned up.
and they've given him the job I started.
My new task: Quote clearing. (wrings hands) Rivvetting! (and there isn't a single element of sarchasm in that...no, don't cock ur eye-brow at me, I'm learning the tricks of the trade here!)
They're playing some ancient Madonna album over the sterio, and Like a Virgin is not only pissing me off but depressing me to boot.

Han sarhos, Hanci sarhos.
Yolda yabanci sarhos.
El cek tabib gonlumden,
Icimdeki sanci sarhos.

-Soner Arica

Saimecan: What's 'jaded'?

...all those times I didn't hesitate to use the word without knowing half of it. I lied Saimecanii...This is jaded.

For the last time, people, Matt is not cute! He looks like one of the Wechowski Brothers. When I said cool comic book nerd, I meant it, complete with Iron Maiden T-shirt.
On the other hand though, Mark is ;) ...Oh yeah, Shaikila would be feeling him!
Meanwhile, I've spent my entire day doing research on teetotal/clean-living footballers. I'll be damned if I know why anydone would give a toss, but it's something for a trivia list that's gonna go into the new edition of Football Heroes. So far I only have 3...and you'll merit that this task, for me, is just as stimulating as a life-support machine.
Sigh.

--We regret to inform you, that for reasons beyond our control, the below blog could not be published at the time of its composition. We apologize for any inconvenience, and re-publish it now--

(1:00-somethingish pm)
Think Publishing intern, repoting from our snazzy offices at Ladbroke Grove.
I am on my break.
So far...

• I've been introduced to the people here. One of the guys I'll be
  working under, Matt, is well nice! I quote: "Elest, do you need to
  pray?" -nice. :) And he seems to be one of those very intellegent,
  knows-everything-interresting-but-otherwise-useless, comic book nerds!
  He co-put together 'The Little Green Book of Big Green Ideas' (one of
  the stuff the publish here) among other things, and I suspect the Lord
  of the Rings collector's figures on the shelf behind me, belong to
  him. I shall introduce him to the inner geek in me!
• and I've spent most my morning carrying out the first task Matt gave
  me: namely, researching the dates of the all time greatest Low-Budget
  Horror and Sci-Fi Films. Amongst which, are such gems with titles
  like: 'Attack of the Giant Leeches', 'Creature with the atom brain',
  'Feind without a face', 'Attack of the 50 ft woman', 'Eegah!', and my
  personal favourate, 'the brain that wouldn't die!' Yes, I've been
  keeping myself thoroughly amused :)

...Ok, will get over myself now, and get back to researching these Horror films.
I leave you with: This place Rocks! Al!
Over and out.

Sound: Terra Firma, Delerium

It is He who has made the stars for you, so that you may follow your course by them, through the darkness of the land and the sea. Verily, We detail Our signs plainly, for a people who know.
(Al-Anaam:97)

Sound: Les Nuits -Nightmares on Wax

Today we said goodbye to our first group of students...and just as I was getting chummy with Cristian (Ha ha!) and Jean Charles (who's a real cool guy! (I think I wanna be like him. (when I asked him what the hell he was doing in this country, if he comes from such a beautiful part of France, he said he was only here to learn English, after which he'd be pissing off to spend a good few years of his youth travelling the world like you only live once. (and damnit -I saw it in his eyes! You know! The look of someone who doesn't give a shiKt coz 'yeah, I'm only living once'.(Tas, remember that guy we met on the train back home all those years ago? Did we see it then too? Is that what I can't foeget? (hope he has a great life.)))))) ...I think I'm gonna miss them alot :(

Meanwhile, before Shakila fell asleep, her and I concluded that the best combination second only to Ben and Jerrys Cookies & Cream and Vermonster for the ultimate milkshake, is Japanese men and makeup. That's sad and sordid. But it got us laughing.

I've been getting ill since Tuesday, and it's worse now.

-I tie it down to going to bed without enough clothes on.

...And you know I'm only writing about trivial things coz I have too much that is too big and scary to articulate.
...And you know I'm only making small talk, coz there is so much more that matters but I can't say any of it.

Dear blog,
In truth, I dare say, Little Minx hath quit being completely honest with thee.
And doth she care?
Pshaw!

-I tie it down to not being completely honest with too many people in my life. Including, and mostly, myself...of course.
In fact, the only person I'm being completely honest with at this time, is God.

How do I face you when I've got so much to be sorry for?
How do I get down to being sorry if I can't even regret it?

I dreamt of Joshua (a.k.a Bandana-boy. credit goes to Misba as usual.) last night.
This may have had something to do with bumping into Tim on the tube home yesterday. Speaking of which, seeing Tim made me worry about the future again: About the next step defining the course of my entire life...and how do I know I haven't already taken it, in between the waiting and the thinking of what to do?
And talking to my Bro this afternoon made me realise that the jobs we do shouldn't have to define us. But the society we live in is so tailored for that kind of outlook, and so we end up making it our reality. I've got my priorities mixed up.

Get this: Mary 24, is a designer. she shares a flat with her friend. She has just started her first job so she doesn't have much money. She loves cooking dinner for her friends and relaxing at home. She loves exercise and keeping fit but hates competitive sports. When she goes out, she goes clubbing and to rock concerts. She would like to be in a band.
This is from the Pre-intermediat English text book I have to teach out of. See anything wrong with it? No, right? EXACTLY!

Mary, a young designer, is what you would call a fairly successful individual, who has some interresting interrests, a good social life and time for her hobbies.
Otherwise known as; a good load of bloody nothing. She aint even a stain, nay, a flee-bitten speck on the face of this earth. She's one of those entities who's gonna live and die ('Oh Covent Garden cobble-stones, will you forget me also?' style) and no one will be remotely aware of her purposeless existence. If there was a Mary shaped space in the world, we wouldn't be at a great loss, or for want of much.
And yet, I could have found nothing wrong with it.
But I do.

I'm not gonna be a friggin' Mary!
And no society's gonna tailor my preception into seeing people through a Mary-measure.

I've gotta go away somewhere. Even if it's just for a bit.

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I? should I?
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me
Never coming home
Never coming home

-My Chemical Romance: Ghost of You-

I'm going to climb out of my head
and remember how to remember you again
But I don't know how.

Thank you
for the sunlight that warmed my feet on my prayer-mat today.

Deficits within deficits within deficits,
and there's no way out of here.
Misery within mirth within misery within mirth
and I'm like a drunk man.

Sounds: The boiler.
Ntch, I meant listening to: Somewhere only we know, Keane.
Feeling: Like a hug.
Thinking: Of...well actually I'm trying to convince myself that if I didn't feel discontent with myself and the world arround me, that would mean I aught to. I mean, if you cant see things that need fixing all the time, then really there's gotta be something much bigger that needs fixing and you're not aware of it. You're unawareness perhaps...for instance. No? Am I making any sense? I was having this excellent conversation with my brother in-law, and it sounded great at the time.
... : ...
??? : ???
Ahem: I feel like a cigarette.
You don't say?! : :(
Reading: err...Islam and the Destiny of Man, by Charles Gai Eaton. And the new volume of Fruits Basket, but that doesn't count, coz...well it doesn't.
If you weren't sitting in front of your laptop now what would you be doing?: Ha?!
Just answer the question: Finishing off that volume of Fruits Basket, i think...why?
No reason. Quote of the moment?: ...
To darkness, to nothingness, to earnestness, to home.
-Samuel Beckett-
Ooooh, that was quick. Smart ass: He he...oh, the song's changed now, by the way, it's Krwlng, by Lin-
Shutup, I don't care. What are you most affraid of?: Of....Of the fact that I'm sitting here having a fucking conversation with myself!
(hides head in hands)
Augh! leave me alone!


I'm so tired
of looking for security
of looking for peace
of looking for home.

[...] For Danish journalists to demand "Europe-wide solidarity" in the cause of free speech and to deride those who are offended as "fundamentalists...who have a problem with the entire western world" comes close to racial provocation. We do not go about punching people in the face to test their commitment to non-violence. To be a European should not involve initiation by religious insult.

[...] What Muslims did not expect was that admission also required them to tolerate the ridicule of their faith and guilt by association with its wildest and most violent followers in the Middle East. Islam is an ancient and dignified religion. Like Christianity its teaching can be variously interpreted and used for bloodthirsty ends, but in itself Islam has purity and simplicity. Part of that purity lies in its abstraction and part of that abstraction is an aversion to icons. The Danes must have known that a depiction of Allah [swt] as human or the prophet Muhammad [sas] as a terrorist would outrage Muslims. It is plain dumb to claim such blasphemy as just a joke concordant with the western way of life.

-Simon Jenkins: These Cartoons Don't Defend Free Speech, They Threaten it. -

Ah look! At last there's something other than obscene exclamations, song lyrics and shaded remarks (about something that must be important (??)) here!!
I'm supposed to be finishing off this review for Stravinsky's L'histoire du soldat (...and that sounds alot better than it actually was) but instead I'm ... well I'm kinda multi-tasking I guess. Now, how to slag something off and sound professional in the process while writing a blog, chatting, trying not to think of...ahem, and harbouring the usual deep and terrible thoughts, among other things?

Other things?

I think I've lost my written voice.
I think it's because I can't give shape with words to this duality within me.

I wish I could go to sleep now and not wake up tomorrow morning.


There's no escape from the slave catcher's songs.
For all of the loved ones gone,
Forever's not so long.
And in your soul, it poked a million holes
but you never let 'em show
...
And you already know,
Yes, you already know how this will end.

- Devotchka : How it ends -

That night he dreamed of a ship in the sea
That would carry his father and he
To a place they would never be found
To a place far away from this town
A Newcastle ship without coals
They would sail to the Island of Souls

Sting: Island of Souls


Screw grammar because life has no full stops


(If it did, I would have put one on a warm sandy scented night;
the taste of sweat on your upper lip and running home;
chlorine smell of swimming pools, dune hills and hating Sting before I knew who he was.
(See how self-indulgently stupid things look with all those comas and semi-colons?))

SHI(kk)T

...

'...of whom to ask Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies'

-John Milton-

Pre-first English lesson:

They're coming to take me away. Ha ha!
They're coming to take me away. He he!
Ha ha. Ho ho. He he. Ha haaa!
To the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time.
And I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats.
They're coming to take me away, Ha haaa!

-Dr. Demento : The Funny Farm

'You and I drift further and further apart. I've...had to do some things. Do some things differently. I make my heart harder, colder, stronger. I stand before a door that will never open. Still, I knock on it for eternity. And you will remain you: beautiful, young. And I will grow older. I will grow older alone.'

-Voices of a Distant Star

Sound: 'Maps' - Yeah yeah yeahs
Smell: Something yum.
Sensation: Tired (Insomnia). Insomnia (Thinking too much). Thinking too much (Angsting). Angsting (Chrono Crusade...among other things) ... this Blogspot is called OnigiriPathos for a reason. -DON'T "YOU'RE SUCH A 12 YEAR-OLD" ME! This is not teen-hormones-angsting, I'm pulling a Donnie Darko!
But I have no giant Bunny.
...
I've cut my hair.

Smell: It's CURRY!
Fears: ...I better not say.
Less scary fears: Facing a classroom full of foreign older-than-me students on Tuesday.

I'm gonna go watch Underworld II with Sis and Bro now, because the best way to drive away very important but frightening thoughts that are so bloody loud upstairs, you can't even read a book in peace anymore, is to blare out the noise with something noisier - namely, cheap, often-witless entertainment.

All is at peace in London town the evning of Friday the 13th 2006...and we, its inhabitants, seem to be happy.
...Happy the way you are when you're avvoiding to think about the future after having read an email from Olga (-in Bahrain), who is actively trying to do something to bennefit mankind.
...Happy the way you are, as you walk over Waterloo bridge sharing a coat with a freezing Saimecan who's left hers at home, and trying to see the beautiful, lit sky line from beyond a blaring traffic jam of too-many-thoughts and anxieties.
...Happy the way you are, when you've spent a few hours with your dad, for the first time in months, and then put him on a bus, but not before he says what he always does instead of Goodbye: 'I'll talk to you. Yeah?'
...Happy the way you are when the friendly bacteria HOWARU (trade mark of Marks & Spencers) is caring for your well being, from the precincts of your banana smoothie.

You're right Tarik, we're not victims.

I'm gonna save the world. And I'm gonna die a beautiful, meaningful death.

Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-ssssssssssssssssssss-ssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-sssssssssss? ... sssss.
(The Producers)

Listening to live performance video of Jyojyoushi, L'arc-en-ciel. (Haido rocks)

I have nothing to say.
This is me taking a break from pre-course learning task of too much grammar.

But,
Here's what I found in the 'terms and conditions' fine print of the Telewest Broadband E-billing service form. (Note, I don't usually read fine prints. In fact, I never read fine prints -which got me to wonder, this time around, if I might be missing out on something.)

5. Telewest accepts liability in full for any personal injury or death caused by its negligence and for any fraudulent misrepresentation. However, to the extent permitted by applicable law, Telewest hereby excludes any and all other liabilities and/or responsibilities and disclaims any and all warranties, whether express or implied, statutory or otherwise relating to the E-Billing service, the information contained on it and/or its use.

Basically:

In the unlikely event that you get dead or hurt because of our E-billing service, we will take full responsibility for it. (for everything else that may befall you because of our E-billing service, we won't.)

That's almost as funny as the giant telephone with giant for-certified-blind-people buttons that my mom got. The BT Big Button 100- comes only in one colour: white, for the ultimate shock effect.

Speaking of mommy, she wore my NewRocks while going out earlier on, coz her own boots got soaked in the rain.
Mom: Wow, this is cool! -oh wait, I think I'm getting dizzy.
Hope she's fine.

Honey Greek youghurt is nice. It's even nicer with maple syrup cereal clusters.
Formage Frais isn't.
Don't accidentially buy formage frais instead of cottage cheese.
And don't ever eat the formage frais with maple syrup cereal clusters, just coz you think you need to consume it and don't know how.

An 18-year old I was having a good, immature, laugh with at NEXT asked me my age.
Elest (suddenly feeling rather ashamed): errr...22.
18 Year-old: REALLY!? you don't look it!
Elest: You think?
18 Year-old: Yeah! you must love it.
Elest: Love being 22?
18 Year-old: No, not looking it.
Elest: He he, yeah, coz I sure as hell don't love being 22!

Mom figures I don't look it coz I don't act it.
I reackon I don't look it coz of the fairy dust! He he he.
...
:(
All my friends are growing up, and getting married, and moving on.
Ordinarrily I wouldn't give a crap but people won't get off my F**ing case about being single. Bro reackons (since this is the hot issue of the moment) I can only get with someone younger than me coz I'm such a big kid. Hypothetically speaking (since I refuse to let this be the hot issue of my moment. And absolutely refuse to give it any real thought) I CAN GET WITH AN OLDER GUY! ALL THE MORE REASON TO BE IMMATURE! ...Maybe I need a father figure instead of a man. Maybe that's what's wrong with me :(
...
Tas reackons I ACT like a kid but I THINK older than I am.
I reackon I act like a crazy person and I think like a crazy person.
Maybe instead of a father figure I just need a room with soft walls.

Maybe I should go to bed.

...crap, appetite is back with a bloody vengence and it's not even that time of the month. What's wrong with me?

Listening to: Krwlng -Linkin Park ...and trying to be as productive as yesterday in regards to the Novel-In-Progress. In any case, Zachariah or Zacheria or Zechariah (haven't decided how to spell it yet) is becoming a very 3-dimensional character, 'I'm a real boy!'-style.

Will fast tomorrow.
Meanwhile...

Art as flirtation with surrender: or wanting new silk harp strings.

C. Barks & J. Moyne:

Art gives a teasing taste of surrender without the full experience. Beautiful poetry can keep one on the verge of oceanic annihilation in God. Rumi says, we've been walking in the surf, holding our robes up, when we should be diving naked under... and deeper under.

Rumi:

The old poet (...) threw the harp on the ground and broke it. "These songs, breath by breath, have kept me minding the musical modes of Iraq and the rhythms or Persia. The minor Zirafgand, the liquid freshness of the twenty-four melodies, these have distracted me while caravan after caravan was leaving. My poems have kept me in myself, which was the greatest gift to me, that now I surrender back."

Little Minx- (and if you don't already know, 'Little Minx' is what yours truely was nicknamed by a handfull of repressed 'brothers' at Kings. We find it hilarious now because it is so absurdly un-befitting. You would too, if I told you I was 'Little Minx' with the straightest of my pissed off, asexual faces.) where was I before I was so rudely interrupted by myself? ah yes,
so...
Little Minx woke up a few hours ago, saw the world and thought: Augh! not you again, you benign pain in the ass, can't you just piss off!
But now, I'm feeling good in a shiKKt way (with a double 'K'), and I got a big stupid grin on my face to prove it, and I think I must have hit bottom. This must be what Sisyphus feels after the horror of watching his bolder roll down the mountain again (for the millionth time), and he's eyeing it with vague irritation where it sits at the bottom, and he's thinking: well, it's just back up now.

Find me in this resignation and 'well-crap-happens'-shoulder shrugg, and in the contentedness of discontent because sufficiency is only ever suffoncified and there is no point in wasting a life angsting over wasting a life when you can waste it trying not to, and climb out of this already because perfection and symmetry is only reserved for the divine and you can sing your praise to it with the ugliness of your flaws and imperfections, because even Sisyphus made meaning out of supreme pointlessness and meaninglessness.
Do I see my point?
I think so.

Quote of the week: 'Miyavi Desu!' ...AAAAAAAARGH! (Acts like a maniac)

Listening to
John Mayer: Split Screen Sadness
...
Mazzie Star: Fade into You
...
'Allow it' -coz you know you can get used to this, and it's not what you need.
But every so often my mind's retrieving snippets of memory from lost time,
and I'm trying to piece together six hours,
and I'm trying to convince myself that it didn't feel great.

HAI HUSSAIN! (shant let it go till it's dead and twitching no more. bloody hilarious, wot?!)
I'm sitting here thinking of something to write, but most of what went on in Rome is better left in Rome. Of course there was the less embarrassing stuff; the pleasant Kodak moments that no one really gives a crap about. Speaking of Kodak moments:

Cute Chinese Guy at photo shop, peering at Elest's photos: ...ummm, I won't be nosey (puts them back in the envelope)
Elest: Actually you guys already see everything you print don't you?
Cute Chinese Guy: Yeah, because we color correct them... (grins) ...so we... (grins bigger) ...well that means you get these perfect pictures... (grins huge) ...but I don't do all of that, I'm not qualified to...yet.
Elest, worried about the pajama pictures: I always wondered...do you get a lot of really... nasty...stuff?
Cute Chinese Guy: Yeah we do!... (grin is ginormous) ...errr but that would be telling.
Elest: Ugh! No, I don't want to know.
Cute Chinese Guy: No, you don't, coz they're just nasty.

Lo and behold though, By some curious turn of fate, all the pajama pictures came out blurry. And so our modesty, dignity and cool have been saved. For once.
In any case, what you certainly can't get Kodak moments of is...

• Stromboli trying to pull a fast one on us but failing miserably coz..."These Italians don't know that Asians don't part with their money that easily." (-Tas)
• Walking for miles to get to our hotel in a city we don't know with no subway working after midnight, no night service for our particular bus, and some freaky guy following..."start praying Ayatul-Kursi and walk fast. START PRAYING!" (-Tas)
• Tas being dirty the way married women shouldn't be, but Faaria being dirtier still, and the two together being too much for Shakila and Elest's lungs to endure.
• Italian food resuscitating your dead appetite. (We are still dreaming of that clam starter, and waking up in terrible fits of passion. The withdrawal symptoms persist.)
• Italian men not only being stylish, but keeping the romantic dream alive. This is in comparison to our part of the world of course, where chivalry's dead because women killed it, because English girls are so damn cheap, because. So maybe, it's the Italian women keeping the dream alive then...hmmm...worth pondering this.
• Sitting on the steps of an ice cream shop, watching street toy vendors shoot little glowing disks up into the night sky over a buzzing square, and just not talking.
  Silence.
  Faaria: "What are you thinking?"
  Elest: "What, now?"
  Faaria: "Yeah."
  Elest: "Well I was having some real deep thoughts, but then I got interrupted by those flying stuff, and thought how funny it would be if one fell on your head."
  Faaria: "Ha ha! Yeah I thought that too."
  Silence.
• Familiarity. and how it doesn't breed contempt.
• Striking up instant, close friendships with strangers who speak your language, where everyone else speaks in a strange tongue.
• Being without the things you take for granted, making life a little more interesting and meaningful.
• And drinking green tea out of coca cola cups in the hotel grounds, on a wet wall that's freezing your butt, and under some tree still dripping rainwater...giving you the chance to look at your life from this distance: you still feel lost, small, and helpless...but less alone.

'Speak in the name of those who cannot write. If the poet did not make himself a spokesman of the human condition, what else is there for him to do' (Neruda)

This is not the quote of the week. The quote of the week is below, by Chrono (sigh). What's that? The quote of last week? The quote of last week was: "I'm sorry, did my pin get in the way of your ass!? Lose five pounds this instant or get out of my building immediately!" (ahem, Mugatu)

Anyway, so the former was inspiration, which has got me wonderring once again weather I should try to publish my poetry... But then, no one really reads poetry nowadays. Maybe I should sell my poetry to some band who'd wanna use it as lyrics, and that way I can get people listening to it! ..Nah, I'm not sure if that's a good idea.

In any case.
Rome.
(Grinns like an idiot)
..Has almost made me forget my maddenning desire for a lip piercing, which I have concluded, would add charm to my otherwise daft smile. And yet no one in the Ali nuclear or extended family seems to appreciate someone with creative vision :( -that's just another way of saying, they're tired of tollerating my insanity. Pish. Elest cares not.

Oh yeah,

Terribly impressed interviewer, staring dreamy eyed at an Elest who's been blagging off a bunch of rubbish about customer service like she really can't be faffed: "You know, you seem like a very intellegent person and you have previous retail experience. I won't ask you any of the other questions." (Puts down pen) "I'd like to offer you the position."
Elest: (thinks- what tha? Oi!)

I got a 2 day job during Christmas sales. And I dind't even want it. Conclusion: If you want something, don't want it, and you'll get it.

What have you done, lowest of the low. You so beneath my contempt, you have not even a name! You dare touch my contractor, you dare hurt what's mine!!

Ahem... quote of the week courtesy of Chrono Crusade.
-oh Yeeaah! (does silly dance. Stops. Does Mugatu-)...Chrono Crusade, it's so hot right now.
This of course, means there is a new anime I have no money to invest in and yet will find a way to non the less. All in good time (Muwaha haa he he he).

Meanwhile, I'm listening to Rise by Origa, which I stumbled upon by chance while looking for something else from Ghost in the Shell. In fact, I think this whole week has been full of stumbling upon cool things. Funny that. How life has a way of imposing things on you when you think you don't want them, but then you realise: hey, this is neat.
Elest has had an epiphany.
Let it go.

Thank God for absurdities.
Thank God for great distractions.
Thank God for the inspiration and those unexpected moments of epiphany that silly little things are capable of instilling.
Thank God for Pathos when you thought you'd turned to stone.

Now listening to Inner Universe by Origa and Yoko Kanno.
I'd started on a light note and now I've gotten serious again. Sorry, lets end this light ;)

Thank God I'm immature as hell! WOOHOOoo!! -The current object of Elest's effections is Chrono. :)
(does a Mugatu-) Chrono, he's so hot right now.

I recomend getting your heart trampled on to anyone
I recomend walking around naked in your living room
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles

I recomend biting off more than you can chew to anyone
I recomen sticking your foot in your mouth at anytime
Throw it down (the caution blocks you from the wind)
Hold it up (to the rays)
You wait and see when the smoke clears

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn ...(Alanis Morisette)

-and a fat lot of good it ever does you.

I'm staying up at nights, with no excuse and nothing to do, because I don't want to sleep.
I'm putting myself to sleep in the middle of the day, because I don't want to be conscious.
I'm sitting here staring at this screen with nothing to write, nothing to say and nothing to think.
I'm listening to music, the irrelevant kind, trying to block it all out.
And it's working.

Feel Yippeeee!-fied: Got an email just now from Father Figure no. 2: Gordyy! He's sooo sweet :)
(I just had a thought, I get more emails from Father Figure no. 2 : Gordyy than I do from Father. In fact, I suspect that if I was to write to Father Figure no.1: Sting, the chances of me getting an email back from him would be greater than getting one from Father (and speaking of Father, I had the absurd desire to listen to Joe Cocker and I've been doing so for the past few days (not now. Now I'm listenning to Savage Garden, which I haven't heard in ages)))

Feel vaguely amused: Crazy Irish neighbours have found another excuse to rejoice in celebration of having no reason to celebrate, no doubt (Because the frequency at which they celebrate, thay aught to have run out of reasons long ago). They're blasting crap Irish music again and what's worse (wait for it) singing along to it. I suspect by 3:00 am they'll get pissed enough to start fighting amongst themselves, at which point, said fight will spill out into the street and guests/friends will tuck tail and return home. Until the next excuse to resume this cycle.

Feel like pot: How do I cope with this? I don't, I'm imune to it. I'm also wearing freaky eye makeup which Huden (talking to Daoud abi) just told me to wash off coz it looks freaky (which was the point) - man, haven't I the right to do what I want to my face at un-Godly hours of the night when no one has to see it? They never let me get my lip pierced either :( WHICH I STILL WANT BY THE WAY!

Feel sick: Has any one else noticed that Hershey's choclate has a vomit like after taste? Bloody yanks aint got nothing against Cadburys.

Feel the need to be superficial: otherwise I might succumb to the urge to shave off half my hair- which would be a big shame coz it's only just started looking half decent after the last dissaster. In fact it's looking rather rock stylish- hmmm...maybe I should get the scissors and give it a more punk edge...NO STOP, YOU'RE DOING IT AGAIN!

David Bowie was cute when he was Ziggy Stardust.
Jeff Buckley was cuter.
I'm listening to Hallelujah and feeling like a razor blade.
...
Damn.

This is not exaggeration. It's not self indulgent, live journal, angsting. And it's not vomit-ranting of all the thoughts that don't agree with my system.
I've lost sleep trying to make sense of this.
And this is what it looks like:
I embraced my disillusionment a long time ago.
I've been taught to compromise everything.
And I'm grateful for every last bit of it.
Now I'm at a point in myself where I've very nearly given up trying to fight for the second half of my life.
The half I grew up hoping I wouldn't have to compromise.
But the things you said last night brought back every one of my doubts and every last self-destructive bitternesses towards an injustice I have no power against.
And who's gonna take responsibility for it?

You know the great classic romances...no kisses...Nothing at all. Very pure. That's why they're great. Feelings that are unspoken are unforgettable. (Nostalghi- Tarkovsky)

They exchanged notes like children. My grandfather made his out of newspaper clippings (...) Meet me under the wooden bridge and I will show you things you have never, ever seen. The "M" was taken from the army that would take his mother's life: GERMAN FRONT ADVANCES ON SOVIET BORDER; the "eet" from their approaching warships: NAZI FLEET DEFEATS FRENCH AT LESACS; the "me" from the peninsula they were blue-eyeing: GERMANS SURVIVE CRIMEA; the "und" from too little, too late; AMERICAN WAR FUNDS REACH ENGLAND; the "er" from the dog of dogs: HITLER RENDERS NONAGGRESSION PACT INOPERATIVE...and so on, and so on, each note a collage of love that could never be, and war that could.

(J. S. Foer)

Sadness of the Fickle Human Nature:

or Why Being Enlightened and Being in Love is the Same.

-another one of those rants by someone who thinks too much at ungodly hours of the night-

I'm sitting here finding new sadnesses for Brod's list. I'm wonderring why it's so easy to come too dangerously close to losing something that ought to justify everything about why you ARE. And what do you call that then? What's close enough when even 'if', you have no other way to be? I'm listenning to crap, sad music (because everything human is imperfect and with it we have a tallent for creating bathos) and drawing out the difference between believing that God is One, and knowing that God is One.

How do I attest to a single truth when I'm condemned to change? How many faces can you face in a single reflection?

My enlightenment is not the life of a recluse nor an end to anything, when life persists.

It is to be constant in an inconstant world.

-And here's the Shakespeare part, not because no self respecting rant should be without Shakespeare, but because I don't know anything more relevant to all that I want to say these days, and fail so miserably at doing so.

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

(...) it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

This here, is me flirting.
I am not in love.

She wished there were another commandment, an eleventh etched into the tablets: Do not change.
(J. S. Foer)

I'm gonna go back to writing poetry no one reads.

Sounds: very loud Hajime Chitose.
What am I trying to drown out? My life. Is it obvious? Does my honesty scare you? Then piss off coz it gets worse.
Speaking of which, my ingenious bowl-of-fruit metaphor to justify Ryo's Musical snobbery has gone hay-wire after listening to the last CD he gave me.

Elest when checking out CD: What tha-??? Wha-?? What is this? Is this right? Did he get the CD mixed up with one of his sister's stuff? ..SHIT, WHAT'S GOING ON? WHAT IS THIS?! AAAAARGH! MAKE IT STOP! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!

ahem. I like Hajime Chitose. Hajime Chitose rocks. I think I'll make it louder.

Meanwhile: Hope that after I've gotten all this out of my system I'll have the courage to delete it and everything will be fine in the way it is when you have a secret you'll only tell to tree hollows, and cats stuck on roofs, and bottomless wells, and holes.
So I'm telling it to cyber space.
To the space that no one can read, that is the between of The Lines.
Or the space where speech-bubble-question-marks would appear above your head in an ideally cartoon world. (wouldn't that be ideal? If we were all more expressive.)
Because this is just too absurd.

Now to answer the most-asked-question of the moment, upon popular demand.
Our question was: "Elest are you blind? Or stupid? or both?"
And the answer is: Both. And a tad pathetic.
But you can't stop just because you're told to.You can't pull a switch or simply turn it off from the mains. You can sleep. And then wake up again and want to pull a switch, or something more humanly possible. (pause rant.)
...
I'm not writing this for you, I'm writing it for me. And I'm so glad you'll never read it.

So I'm starting all over: Count the days and the weeks and hopefully by the time it's months, I'll wonder why I was being so stupid.
I wish I could tell you not to call me again. But that'd just make me seem more pathetic.

I promise I'll delete this when I'm feeling better.
I promise I'll feel better.

-Grow up believing you're gonna change the world,
And you lose faith in your humanity.

-Grow up believing you're gonna become something meaningful,
And you lose sight of what that meant, in a plight to find your calling by trying to draw meaning out of every meaningless thing.

-Grow up with a crush on Peter Pan,
And you end up a late bloomer attracted only to 'boys' who are boys in all the wrong ways and the half-starved-feminine types, for reasons which couldn't possibly be sexual.

-Grow up daydreaming,
And your scepticism towards dreams has driven them away from off your pillow forever.

-Grow up seeking lonely roof tops,
And you're forever trying to surround yourself with people to drive away the dissapointment of all those lonelinesses never having done anything for you...
And you're avoiding starry skies like you avoid an old frined you never bothered to keep in touch with; because the awkwardness of not knowing what to say, even after having been so close once.

-Grow up wanting to grow into Amalthea,
And you become something dark-goth, in mourning of the innocence and puirty that never stood a chance.

-Grow up not believing you'll ever grow up,
And you don't, even though you do.

Standing at this crossroads, jet-lag from the disilusionment still lingerring, is a kid. And they keep telling him/her, already (not a moment to lose), that apparently he/she's got his/her whole life ahead of him/her.

I've got my whole life ahead of me
And I'm terrified because I don't know what to do with it.


The world's your oyster. Have it raw.
And if it make's us sick, maybe we can get our money back.

I am not sad.

When it comes to falling, do men hit harder? Is the velocity stronger? Has it something to do with weight? Our physical make up? Or is it that our masculine fellow beings are the pansy girls who moan more over their pain?
Maybe it's cultural?
Maybe we've been fashioned by a world which has no sympathy for melodrama; so that we can't allow ourselves the the indulgence...to wallow in self pity, to wallow in desperation, to wallow in the sadness eating up inside.
You do not deserve sympathy.
You do not deserve comfort.
You do not deserve this sadness, when others have sadnesses that are so much more real.
I hate you for wanting to.
I write it on your flesh, your limbs, where you can see it and not forget.
So it begins all over again. Some things just won't take the hint and piss off for good. They're like those annoying acquaintances you never wish you made.
Any way, initially there was more to this crap I've been needing to spew all week, but couldn't. I deleted it all and fealt real good afterwards.
Sometimes though, it's better not to say anything. Not because apparenlty in 22 years of not saying what matterred to make a difference, because I never knew what it was, and because it may not have been proper -(and I'm sorry if you're reading this and still finding it improper and too personal. If it makes you ashamed, then don't.) -but because words are so ugly.
STOP TRYING TO GIVE MY CONFUSION A NAME WHEN ITS TOO BIG AND MESSY FOR ME TO CONTAIN IT IN SHAPE. STOP WATERING DOWN MY FEELINGS.

J Rockers are Dorks
-I have no idea who made this, but thank you. Lol!
Ps. Spot the Haido.

Film: Kung Fu Hustle. (one hell of an original plot, don't think there was a single cliche in the story- except the obvious spoofs which were necessary to make it a...well, spoof.)
Sound: You Already know -Devotchka (we're spreading our musical interrests to the Balkans now. Japanese was extraordinary for a while, but the novelty is wearing out.)
Literature: Everything is Illuminated. Again.
Inspiration: Falling In Love, 1791-1830 is the most beautifully written chapter in the history of beautifully written chapters.
Imagination: Somewhere between an Egyptian Oasis and the Jewish/Human fault line of Trachimbrod/Sofiowka.
Withdrawl Symptom: It's not what you're thinking. If it was, it might be much easier, and less scary. Because sometimes nothing seems more right.
Angst: A would-be writer reading a brilliant writer is like a hamster in a hamster ball. The ecstatic inspiration you draw from a piece of literary genius makes you want to run a marathon with your own words, but you're always restrained within the orb of your mediocre tallent. You'll get to where you want, but only in hamster-in-a-hamster-ball way.
Something to be proud of: I dropped my mom's mobile phone into the soup during sahoor (and that means the time when you wake up before sunrise to eat. If you don't know that, that means you aint Muslim or Shakila. And that means tough!)

Mom: Give I'll show you the message.
Me: Here-
SFX: Plop.
Mom & Me: AAAAARRRRGHHH! (arms waving about. extended and exagerated expression of horror, Greek tragedy chorus style.)
-It survived though.

Speaking of Sahoor: ...

Huden: 1, 2, 3, 4...errr, Why is there an extra egg at the table?
Mom: Because someone whose kismet it is will show up to eat it.
Elest: What, at this time of the night?
Mom: Shutup!

Huden: It's way past the time now, stop eating.
Me: Everyone spit it out! Spit it out!
Saimecan: Nooo, I have to drink water. Where's the water? QUICK!
Mom: Huden, you finished all the water again!
Me: Spit it out! Spit it out!
Saimecan: I have to drink water! Give me water quick!
Huden: You can't man, it's past the time.
Me: Ha ha ha ha ha-
Saimecan: You shut up, you sponge! you finished all the water!
-I'm going to miss Ramadhan.

Sound II: Sura Ya'sin (that's a bit more befitting.)
Angst II: ...So I'm going to curl up in a foetal position and immerse myself back into my brilliant book and not come out.

I am not sad.

I swear by time
Most surely man is in loss
Except those who believe and do good, and enjoin on each other truth, and enjoin on each other patience.

-Holy Koran: Surah Al Asr-

(Thanks Jarrad.)

• Steven Spielberg must be one hell of a pain in the ass to watch films with, because ever since Saimecan started this media course, she has been meticulously scrutinising the life out of every film I've attempted to watch with her. 'But this is what they teach us. This is what you have to do to be a director!' -I don't give a toss, take it some place else!
• Cute guy sitting next to me on the 29 bus takes out a copy of Alan Hollinghurst's 'Swimming pool Library' and begins reading it. Said book is an incredibly graphic piece of Shi(K)t about the escapades of gay men (I know this because of Queer Theory.) ...'should have sussed it by the way he was dressed too cool.
• What's that? ..Oi SHUDUP, I can't help being attracted to metro-sexual men!...and any way, how was I supposed to know he'd crossed the border?
• I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: Tauwba, lower your gaze in the month of Ramadhan at least...otherwise direct it some place else!
• And I'm thinking: You are absolutely right my friend. See if everyone in my life actually gave me some advice instead of just thought things, I may have been a better person.
• Since we're on the topic, notice how in the Koran it's: 'Tell the believing men/women to lower their gazes.' Whereas in the Torah and Bible it's: 'THOU SHALT NOT COVET THY NEIGHBOURS WIFE!' and '...And if thine eye offend thee,(in regards to oggling thy said neighbour's wife) pluck it out, and cast it from thee!' respectively. (Wow, sometimes I reallys surprise myself.)
• ...And yet it seems I won't hear the end of people telling me Islam is harsh.
• Meanwhile I've decided that life is too short and it could be too beautiful to waste away doing things you don't want to. I'm talking about office jobs. I'm talking about admin or racking your brain energy for the benefit of some empty, boring, greedy fatso you gotta kiss up to coz he writes your pay cheques. I'm talking about selling your soul, and I hope to God I don't regret saying this one day.
• If this means that I'm never going to live up to some people's standards of a respectable individual complete with mortgage, car, family and good bank credit -I show said people my middle finger. And I show it some more to everyone who asks me if I have got a graduate-befitting-job yet, because I am very generous with my middle finger.
• And I'll tell you why. Because I aint living for this life. I aint gonna build an empire I have to leave behind when I'm DEAD!
• The plan then, and I mean the immediate future plan, is to get one or more remotely interesting part time jobs, which will not only be intellectually stimulating or fun or rewarding or all of these, but will also give my brain the space to breath and work for itself, so that I can concentrate on what really matters, which right now is: Writing (tada!). I think I could do this until the opportunity for a drastic change in my life shows itself at some point.
• Also, maybe I can start trying to change the world, one good deed at a time, like Amalie.
• Sarah, I think You're right, I think my Blogs are starting to get very serious and maybe a tad dark :(
• In that case, let's lighten things up: I WANT CUTE SNOOPY UNDERWARE FROM H&M! I WANT IT IN PINK!

Time: 01:16

Oww: Head ache.

Ha ha ha -notice the tone of sarcasm: 'Elest, does any one ever mistake Haido for a guy?'

'Riddle me this': Has any one heard of The Mars Volta? Televators? No?

Sigh: Ramadhan is not going as well as I'd like it to.

Grrrrr: This is because I'm just real crap.

Ah! Is that me? make it go away!: I think I'm gaining back the weight I lost this summer- according to some people, that's a good thing, but personally I was feeling the Ramses's mummy look, hence, am not feeling this. Not to mention, hair has now got a red tint to it. Thank you shiKt henna treatment- next time, I'm putting the whole pack of ebony in there, and I don't care if I turn out goth-black. Apparently we are Dark and there is nothing we can do about it. (and by 'we' I mean that in the multiple personality sense of the word, not the queen's-anal-retention sense of the word.)

Clang clatter clatter: Time to pull off emotional armour and start losing appetite and losing sleep again. Might as well turn Dark into Tortured-Byronic-Poet Darkness, think I can pull it off with my new Highway man coat too (and I mean Highwayman, in the cute-heroine-out-of-Shakespearian-cross-dressing-play sense of the word. Freedom to the female roles! Or Freedom to boy actors from the indignity of wearing dresses on stage, even if only for a little while! -Take your pick.)

Hmmm: Oddly enough though, as unattractive as we've been feeling (and by 'we' I mean that in the Shakila and I sense of the word, not the multiple personality sense of the word.) apparently two silly young ladies turned quite a few heads down in London today! Oh behave! -By the way, we've decided to speak Jane Eyer English from now on. Out with the 'crushes' and 'liking' and 'chemistry' nonsense- a direct result of the bane of our day and age; being cynicism and scepticism, and basically the Beauty-of-Simple-Innocence making cartwheels in its grave.
From now on, I'm falling in love man, there and then, on the spot! Ideally my true feelings will be concealed by deep hate, intimidation, or fear, until the fateful moment: OH MR. ROCHESTER! -'reader, I married him.' end of story...and no false promises of anything happily-ever-after either...after all the guy is too old, ugly (though I refused to accept it throughout the book.) and now blind too!

Here's my spin on what Jane Eyer should have said at the end (mind you, Bronte's ending sucked): 'Reader, I promise you we encountered a great deal of human waste in our lives- and the kind that thoroughly disagreeable company generally use that obscene 'S' word to describe with. That kind.
Our relationship was far from smooth, our lives hardly Barbie, and there were many a rainy day when we could find no bread to have with our broth, because the last shilling went towards paying for the marraige councelling bills. Not to mention, I hate dogs, and Mr. Rochester is so attached to his guide bitch.
But you see reader, if I didn't marry him, I would have regretted it till the day that my miserable essence ceased to linger in this cold and lonely world...Because I believed for an instant that flawed little me and flawed little he were meant to perfect each other. Jigsaw puzzle style.
So do you think me daft, that I call this, the ability to endure a togetherness that was often times very vexing and taxing and all that stuff, love? We are human after all, very capable of hating one another...so why is it I must understate those kinder feelings in me?'

I think once upon a time we believed we were deserving of wielding an emotion very near to something divine. A heroic, romantic history of poetry and stories attest to it. When did we lose faith in ourselves?

Close parenthesis. I'm going to bed.

Know, oh beloved, that man was not created in jest or at random, but marvellously made and for some great end.

(Al-Ghazzali)

-Daifuku Mochi...yumm :)
and it's an acquired taste, thank you.

You know what rocks about writing free lance and earning peanuts for the articles you are then forced to edit, re-edit and cut down (damn, unappreciative creativity stunters!) even when you were originally given a large word limit?

Walking up to the ticket desk at the Barbican and saying "I'm press". That rocks! Especially when you're then pointed in the direction of the press desk, where you will be collecting your free, pre-booked tickets :) Heh Heh heh...But remember:

1. Shakila is never on time.
2. DON'T RUN IN YOUR KNEE HIGH NEW ROCKS!
3. Never take your 17 year old sis to see Kronos Quartet, and expect her to behave herself or refrain from making very politically incorrect remarks, and loud enough for you to wish you were invisible.
4. Never try to be in two places at once.
5. A Kronos and Asha Bhosle concert, Bollywood as it was, is by far more enjoyable than any private view full of Shakila's idea of 'buzzing beenies!', especially when said beenies are pissed.
6. (In fact, I rather enjoyed it (The concert.).)
7. (...augh, hate being arround people who've been drinking. Human beings get so stupid when they're in that state, it's insufferable (and if you think making small talk with people with whom you have nothing in common is bad enough, try doing it when the barricades of self control and self awareness have fallen, and you're standing there trying to console a complete stranger when she's ranting at you about how difficult it is to be a phtographer in a male dominated system (I really felt sorry for her, not only coz she's been having a hard time, but God, the state she was in! (It's not that she was doing anything really embarrassing, but you can see it: that numb resigned look, the loss of human grace, an absence of dignity...and it's times like this i really appreciate why alcohol's haram (So why do we do it? To fill the emptiness? For lack of something to cling on to? -sorry, it's just that I'm having a hard time grasping how ending up like some of the people last night is fun (from what angle like? (Am I not seeing something? (Have I boxed myself in too many brackets? (Aaaah snuggly bug...this is comfortable- feels like receding into your self on a train of thought.).).).).).).).).)
8. Right, out we get (9 of them!) ..where was I? -ah yes:
9. Posting yourself by the toilets to say "Heyyy, you gotta pee too eh? ;) " to the said pissed beenies in the toilet que, is a hilarious chat up tactic, but is not to be put into practice under any circumstance. (This is feeling a bit shallow after my parenthesis thing.)
10. Heh heh, it's a funny thought though...Shakila you crazy cookie!
11. And finally, Never eat anything after midnight, no matter how many meals you've skipped and how starving you are.

So far Ramadhan hasn't had a very good start at all, but I swear I felt something the first two days, and I aint giving up yet. We're still at the beginning. I'm getting this article out the way and pulling myself together. Lets hope we stay together for the duration of the month...and, perhaps if we're lucky, the duration of what follows.

My next door neighbour died two days ago. He was really nice. Now his wife's all alone, and she's an old lady and i don't think they had kids. I'm ashamed of myself when I see how strong she is. Allah (swt) rest his soul inshallah.

Right, I'm off to find myself some more brackets.

'...And whoever fears Allah, He will make for him a way out, and will provide for him from where he does not expect. And whoever relies upon Allah, then He is sufficient for him.' (At-Talaaq)

• Bloody stupid two-hour-long-anti-climax-of-a-film!
• (Why the hell can I not get onto Blackwells Online?)
• (Sod it, getting back to yesterday...)
• ...Howl was fit though :)
• Yes I'm immature, you got a problem? I still have a crush on Peter Pan!
• (And Aladdin)
• (And inspite of the fact that now I'm old enough to see just how politically incorrect Disney's little spin on Sherazade's immortalised quite-litteral-life-saver is, I still go all fuzzy inside watching it.
• (I suppose that just makes me a stupid girl, right? Dispite the New Rock boots, and freaky don't-mess-with-me jewlery.).)
• (Sod Aladdin too. Where were we? ...ah yes.)
• I'm a bad daughter who got lectured yesterday. But it wasn't the thought of fit Howl that got me through it, and yet also added some turbulance to the bumpy ride that was Guilt Trip.
• Come up to meet you. Tell you I'm sorry. You don't know how lovely you are. I had to find you. Tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart. Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions. Oh let's go back to the start. [...] I was just guessing, at numbers and figures. Pulling the puzzels apart. Questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart. tell me you love me. Come back and haunt me. Oh when I rush to the start. (Cold Play- Scientist)
• Wow, what a waste of time...It's 4:00 in the morning, should probably go to bed and try to sleep.
• I kinda feel like Ice cream though.
• Well since we started this blog with movies, maybe I can finish it on that note: Motorcycle Diaries has made me want to buy a one way ticket to the remotest corners of some random country (preferably South America or Morocco), and just try to survive. In the hunter gatherer sense of the word- like screw hotel lobies, it's all about hitch hicking and taking shelter with strangers.
• There is a great deal of comfort in the thought of getting lost.
• Don't think anyone would come back packing with me though :(