Friday, July 27, 2007

The world is too tragic for one to wallow in ones own tragedy.

I have a sneeking suspicion I might be turning into the person I wanted to be,
before the tides of puberty finally toppled the walls of vicious A-sexuality...and we emerged, wet winged from childhoods final fort.

I used to be lunatic
from the gracious days.
I used to be woebegone.
And so restless nights,
My aching heart would bleed
for you to see.
but now...

No more I love yous
Language is leaving me
No more i love yous
Changes are shifting outside the words.

I used to have deamons in my room at night
Desire, despair, desire
So many monsters
But now...

No more I love yous
Language is leaving me
No more I love yous
Language is leaving me in silence
No more I love yous
Changes are shifting outside the words.

-Annie Lenox

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Hey, don't know if you've noticed what I wrote in flooble. If not, there is a new house rule:
If you read this blog, whether I know you or not, whether it's a one off or you always check out my blog, you have to leave a message in the flooble everytime you come here. It can be relevant or irrelevant to anything on and off this site. Or it can be, my personal favorite, utter, absurd randomness.

Also, I'm doing a charity trek up Ben Nevis to raise money for Darfur. If you're generous, please follow the link bellow to my just giving site. All of the money raised goes to those in need, via the charity I work for...which garuntees that it will be spent wisely on various forms of emergency relief and development work, and not squandered on admin or feeding the endless handout cycle. Also, we do not dsicriminate in the aid we give and we do not try to convert. The 'Muslim' in the name 'Muslim Aid' is the spirit of giving and its importance to the Islamic faith. It might also be because the charity is run pre-dominantly by Muslims, but with 4 Christians and a Buddhist working here, we are hopefully counting down to a more multi-faith organisation.
http://www.justgiving.com/gothonigiri

Terribly sorry for what may have come across as an overly defensive rant above. It is, what it has come across as. Why did the overly defensive rant cross the road? Because Pixi has met with too much negative feeling, suspicion and general ugliness recently.

I'm sad now.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

No near or distant past can come to claim me,
like family to bail me out of lockup.
The people I was hold no weight with what I am now.
The choices I've made cannot save or condemn me
but they weigh heavily on my mind and soul.
They incline me this way and that.

I am only me in this moment.
And I only have now
A new now
A new me
Over and over agin
With this burden of self loathing
These memories, shamefully, of better times.
To barely hold on.

Help me make the right choices again. Help me atest now. Believe. Be born anew.

Monday, July 23, 2007

I'm too affraid to use a spoon
-Thoughts before and after an encounter with a girl with plires-
By Pixi
Before:
Shi(KKKK)t!
After:
Oh. Maybe it helped that I could barely get a question about my very valid concerns in sideways from all her enquiries about my hijab. I'm glad she asked. There was something hurt and scared under her agressiveness, but she was one nice angry-at-the-world person.
...
Ultimately, physical pain has the capacity to do two things to a person.
Thing 1: It can calm you, because your biology reacts with an on rush of consolation so that your mind and body is at peace momentarily. And the physical and metaphysical anguish is that little bit less anguishsome...or at least, it doesn't matter in a tragically enduring sort of way.
Thing 2: It can do the oposite. It can bring back all those emotional hurts you'd been refusing to express, and all the pain you'd been hardening yourself to. The physical smart is like the snide remark you did not want to hear when you'd been having an awful week, and everything comes caving down like an avalanche.

No matter how much I tell myself I don't care any more, no matter how good I feel from day to day, because I'm getting over it, I don't think I ever fully can. Even if I become feelinglessly indifferent, I don't know if I can ever forgive you for leaving me here in pieces.

What hurts most are the best memories, and everything that reminds me that you were once the centre of my universe.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Street lights make faces familiar in a mutual existence,
And walking home in the dark hours, everyone is family.
Every day.
To every new possibility, every invitation: why not?
No direction.
No purpose.
No one to return home to.
Just this touchable, solitary state.
Why not?

The language of my body
My inhibitionless gait
My brisk foot steps, careless though vulnerable.
It’s the 3rd year of Uni, come back again.
Where I am seeking company,
intimacy with strangers
Though genuine in my meaningless articulation.

Oh wretched loneliness, why are you so beautiful?

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

'Good morning, Muslim Aid...?'

Monday, July 16, 2007

Life has come to a standstil. This is the moment of selfhood in an entity eliminating order. The calm, the fullness before a silent destruction of the world as we know it. The giant orb of light, which eats everything in it's growth. A blinding blast. The Mushroom cloud.

From the depths of the crater, I try to climb out. Yet freedom above is a burned and barren land, in nuclear-winter darkness as far as the eye can see.

In the struggle to forget, I find how much every aspect of my life was built arround every aspect of you.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

I'm sorry the charity I work for has the word 'Muslim' in its name.
I'm sorry Terrorists blow people up in the name of my religion.
I'm sorry that even though I try, apparently I still can't see things from a non-Muslims perspective.
I'm sorry my head scarf makes you feel awkward.
I'm sorry that though I try my hardest to be accomodating, approachable, and undignifiedly nice, it's just not good enough coz I'm Muslim.
I'm sorry I often feel unjustly judged and discriminated against.
I'm sorry I'm so upset upon meeting with aversion from the likes of poeple who I thought were open minded.
I'm sorry this hurts me, and I can't see why it aught to be expected.
I'm sorry I have no right to be human when everybody else is so flaw-fully so, and forgiven.
It's all my F***ing fault, and I'm so F***ing sorry I want to slice open my gutt with a samurai sword and spill my intestines at your feet.
And the world would be a much happier place when short of one more confused passionate, in dire need of the kind of biblical and Quranic inspiration capapble working miracles.

bibity-bobity-boo

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Bellow is an email we recieved this morning, following the launch of Muslim Aid tube collections for Darfur.

This is your first and only warning. If any of my members find your proto-bombers collecting at Tube stations again, you will be receiving bits of Paki instead of money when the buckets are returned.

Commander Bickle
UKDeF
(United Kingdon Defence Force)

Fundraising made a decision not to send out the femail volunteers for this, because even the guys have met harrassment.
Last night the news was full of it. This morning, plasterred across the front page of all the papers are the faces behind 21/7. You don't have to juxtapose the picture of a baby against that of the terrorists to remind us of how wrong what they did was. We know, and we feel the pain and anger more strongly than you, because we are the scape goat. We can't even the point a finger and all our angst at another party.
This morning, A.J had a good rant about the media and the failiure of Muslims to better the image of Islam in the light of all that is happening. His little spew felt great because of all that has been bubbling in me.
It's hard not to feel negative. It's hard not to think this will blow over, because it seems only to be getting worse.

Monday, July 09, 2007

At the edge of the world stands a man who
Stares into two dark choices
Space is arid, and dewy fresh. Crisp, fountain vapour, so you think: Canada. For no apparent reason.
Time has been lapsed out of.
It all ought to be like something you can fall off of
But there is no physical verge.
Instead, it is a verge in essence. Like dying and looking down at your body from above.
Like being given a moment of reflection in suspension,
A second chance place, where you can stare in the eye of your choices,
And truly feel futile.
The man stares, like at the mouth of a cave.
And he knows that either way, what ever befalls him,
His life has come to an end.
His time has past.
That there will be no more dreams.
No more futures.
No more endless possibilities.
The man cries and wishes he will never forget this.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

It's all good to be able to turn on the music after something unsavory. Chase the grossed out feeling away. But what kind of effect do these stuff have on us in the long run? Isn't forgetting it suppressing it? And isn't suppressing it just a way of sweeping it under your sub concious?

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Self involved, self inspired and self motivated; Salman Rushdie is litirary mastrubation. I may be a snob, but the man is overrated and far from exceptional enough to warrant a knighthood. Ordinarly I couldn't care less. A knighhood means nothing to me, nor anyone who matters...not when the likes of Elton John can qualify for one. In that light then, one questions the motives of her imperialness and all the puppeteers who prop up the royal Miss Havisham.

Sereously though, has the Queen actually ever read anything by this guuy? Can I imagine her snuggling up on her throne with a copy? No. I can, however, imagine her as that (racist, prejudice, homophobic) old woman in the Little Britain sketch, who spews out a fountain of vomit when she finds out the book she's been reading is by 'That Indian fellow with the fatwa.' Now that's a more probable scenario.

So Britain gives the all mighty up yours to Muslims, and some angry Pakistani's have gone for a walk together. This morning across the Metro front cover is a burning Union flag above which the culprits appear to be more blissfully overjoyed than remotely angry. To top it off, they hold up tasteless pictures of a sinister bearded man with glasses. In one of them he points his index finger like he's telling someone off.
He thinks: this pose will boost my charisma.
We think: who is this man, and what has he to do with Salaman Rushdie or the Queen?
Perhaps in Pakistan, flag-burning occaisions are a great opportunity for advertising and spreading political propoganda otherwise irrelevant to the subject matter. Imagine...amdist an angerred crowd of fist shaking, flag burning and head bobbing one man raises a sign that reads 'Rajput Honey Mangoes: Vorld Class!'...immortalised on the cover of the Times. Classic.

With all the joking aside, a conclusuion is due, and here it is.

Salman Rushdie is an eccentric who pissed off the wrong people with his desire to pull off something meaninglessly contravertial for the publicity stunt of his carreer. He is also a spineless, ireverant Bastard.

The Queen is a dirty, old un-dying witch, for awarding a knighthood to a man who caused a number of deaths, a great deal of chaos including political strife between the UK and Iran, offence to the extremist and un-extremist alike, and shamelessly direspected the sanctity of one of the largest religions in the world and the memory of a man who was human perfection, all to no apparent end. The world has learnt nothing from Satanic Verses but ugliness in all of its forms.

And finally, to the enraged mob of layabouts who get together at the prospect of some flag-burning activity everytime the opportunity rears its head, our sentiment is this:
By inciting violence and acting like a pack of animals, you are not only affirming the Media's portrayal of Islam being synonymous with terror, but you are also doing the greatest wrong against a man who came as a blessing to mankind. Congragulations, in your attempts to look big as Muslims, you've succeeded in establishing a new low in the art of irony; You've corrupted Mohammad's (saw) message of peace by professing to defend it with your violence.

Monday, June 18, 2007

I am People. Says HR

Apparently writing to Tony Blair about one's life, and then asking him if he'd be interrested in spending a day with you is very theraputic.
Hinna's done it.
Verdict: I laugh till my sides hurt and then decide that I too shall write Tony Blair a letter, detailing all the major and minor goings on in my life, past, prestnt and future. I will also tell him I'm glad he's no longer prime minister and that his wife has a posterior of generous proportions.

There is nothing delicate about Indonesian buffalo skin chips. Why they call it a delicacy is beyond me. The dodgy smell and aftertaste combined with all the gros things Sarah told me previously about how said chips are made, almost made me gag. The office bedlam which ensued was rather amusing though.
Verdict: Never offer Munia buffalo skin chips without telling her what they are.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

We speak the same language but have different words for everything. Baffled, yet strangely accepting, because this gradual estrangement is so effortless.
At the beginning, the master articulator falls silent. When no words come, the frustration brews like something in the belly of the mountains, and only the tears speak, in sudden, torential spells, like summer rain.
I could not move you in any way.
And you? You complain that you could not help me, yet you tell me I should never have been waiting to be saved. You tell me I should learn, I should become complete in myself. You tell me I should mend, change, grow into something harder.
But you cannot will away a void, the depths of which have hollowed deeper over a period of 24 years, in spite of all your convictions about how it...how I aught to be.

Know that I never needed you to save me. I only wanted to be yours, just as I was.

I have no more illusions about my place in your life now.
So I give up trying
to make you smile
to engage your interest
to catch your eye
to communicate
to share

I give up
Believing you are mine
This evening last week.
I give up
thos feelings which turn something nostalgic

that your smell still awakens in me.
I give up

wanting to touch you
and become naturally drawn to the superficial warmth of complete strangers.
I give up
the heart ache

and give vent to hard, genuine laughter.

And momentarily, there is no meaning.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Rasty Nats at Bar Stucks,
I haven't got much to do.
Rasty Nats at Bar Stucks
I have a tummy ache too.

Tis 17:33 and as always I'm sitting here trying to will the digital clock numbers to change faster. I wonder if work will ever really become stimulating in the least...as opposed to just the general spells of buissiness amongst dry days we've been experiencing.
If this is gonna be the rest of my summer I think I might turn senile. By the looks of things though, even if I could have afforded to go OFF (OFF I SAY!) abroad before, i sure as hell can't anymore. Not with the amount of rent and home utility I'm going to have to start paying.
And yet, life continues. Like an insensitive, heartless bastard. And I've had my fare share of those.
I used to wonder if being subjected to that kind of atitude could eventually start turning me heartless too. Far from it, seems to have had the opposite effect.
But how much can a person tollerate, especially after realising what's begun to happen between the silent exchange of human characters?
So Now I'm wonderring if being subjected to that kind of atitde for much longer can eventually drive me away for good. I think so, but we're yet to find out

Any way, now I'm having a pop arguement with A.J about Jessica Alba (gag reflex) and the double standards of men. Just called him a hypocrite, so why the hell is he laughing?
Oh I see.
I should have learnt a lesson or 2 from the likes of him and Tas. The messes that being naive has gotten me into.
Any way, now he's gonna have a complete piss-take out of me over Miyavi. Ah yes, and here is the pop in response to the Miyavi link.
A.J: May Allah have mercy on you.

Amin.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

When you go would you have the guts to say
"I don't love you l
ike I loved you Yesterday"

-My Chemical Romance

Monday, June 11, 2007

Nothing is real with millstones on your mind. And yet, one may argue that these are the effects of Raz's miracle allergey tablet. To our dismay, it is drowsiness, not a near-death overdose experience I'm experiencing.
Meanwhile in the field of our toils:
a) I think 'The Mohammedan Bean' is the perfect name for the Muslim Aid coffee shop, and I don't care what anyone thinks. That or 'QahWah' --It's time with gve the Coffee back to the Arabs, where it came from.
b) Executive Committee meetings are a waste of paper.
c) Two Algerians and a Bangladeshi were arguing over how much a coffee shop can make in a day. Sounds like a joke. A bit like Two Muslims and a Monk...but that one's true too. I promise. They were walking down the street with lots to carry.

Cry. Cry because after you've cried and there are no more tears left, life will carry on.
Today begins the beginning of the end, and I will finally do my time for my sins. I feel like the guy in The Mechanist, my first good night's sleep in an entire year awaits.


Death is the road to awe.
-The Fountain

Friday, June 08, 2007

On the corner of main street
Just tryin' to keep it in line
You say you wanna move on and
You say I'm falling behind

Can you read my mind?

I never really gave up on
Breakin' out of this two-star town
I got the green light
I got a little fight
I'm gonna turn this thing around

Can you read my mind?

The good old days, the honest man
The restless heart, the Promised Land
A subtle kiss that no one sees
A broken wrist and a big trapeze

Oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine
Before you go, can you read my mind?

It’s funny how you just break down
Waiting on some sign
I pull up to the front of your driveway
With magic soaking my spine

Can you read my mind?

The teenage queen, the loaded gun
The drop dead dream, the Chosen One
A southern drawl, the world unseen
A city wall and a trampoline

Oh well I don't mind if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine
Before you jump,Tell me what you find..When you read my mind

Slipping in my faith until I fall
You never returned that call
Woman, open the door, don't let it sting
I wanna breathe that fire again

She said I don't mind if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine
Put your back on me
Put your back on me
Put your back on me

The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds, cut out of the sun
Can you read my mind

-The Killers
'In Allah there is a successor for everyone who perishes and a compensation for everything that passes away. Indeed, the one afflicted is he who is denied the reward.'

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Dying is a bit like giving birth.
Once you're pregnant you don't really have a choice about giving birth any more because there is only one way that baby can come out. Iit is painful and since it's also inevitable, you might as well face it.
Similarly, once you're brought into this world, there is only one way you're getting out of it, and staying is not an option.

Our souls are imprisoned by the organic fibers of our boddies and the laws of nature. Our immortal spiritual selves are dragged in through one reality and out another. We will undergo death as we undergo life as we have undergone birth as we have undergone exisiting in the womb. We will undergo death as we undergo it every instant of our lives without realising...Like a staircase down the eventual inevitable.

I'm going to die.