the rhythm green.

Jupiter and Mars

2007-04-25T02:46:00.000+01:00

Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words hold my hand
In other words darling kiss me

Fill my life with song
And let me sing forevermore
You are all I hope for
All I worship and adore
In other words please be true
In other words I love you

the walled city

2006-11-10T01:51:00.000Z

lahore will not be lahore anymore.
you will not be there.
you have flown to a far away land,
but i pray that just once again
we can sit and write our names
on a piece of paper
and bury it in the sand
so that when you return
you will always remember
we are a part of the city
and the city is a part of us
Noone knows,cause its a secret
but Lahore is our story.

Guilt.

2006-10-26T00:59:00.000+01:00

i feel that you are truly lost when you lose the ability to speak to yourself. when you're sitting on the bed or in the tube or even in a lecture you're not even remotely interested in and your mind isn't occupied. the silence in my head scared me. it scares me, not because i have no thoughts but because i will die not having anything to say.

from the day i was born, i spoke to myself.
today, i speak to you.

it is not that i don't have thoughts or opinons or words. its just my head it not their place anymore. and when i think of that, i don't feel so scared anymore. so even if i do die, there will always be someone who knew what i wanted to say or would want to say.

something you said really stuck with me Z. what if one day i don't speak to my 'mind' and not feel guilty. then would not being guilty would be falling out of love? its so strange, isn't it. its supposed to be one of the greatest feelings in the world.

whoever said love is guilt-free was an idiot.
love is guilt.
love is guilty.
and i love it.

Incomplete

2006-09-12T14:34:00.000+01:00

'we lead very obscure lives, i guess' she added as an afterthought.

Conversations in number 28 never came this easy. like fleeting spells of sunshine in the winter, they saved themselves usually for special occassions. a death, sadness, acheivement and every now and then when pans would clink in the kitchen. she always cooks when she thinks and one would assume she thought very little resulting in cliched turkey sandwiches with a splash of mayo and a piece of lettuce roughly chopped up to remove the decaying edges. Ones you eat when you're thinking of home. but its true, conversations in number 28 never come this easy. caution cannot always be thrown into the air.

When he walks in, the house shrinks in size. it doesn't want to provide shelter for people as disobedient as him. the air suddenly goes thick, a blatant challenge to all authority is unleashed in the air. Quickly, she asks him whether he's eaten and he lies. A thick, lazy, turkey sandwich is quite expectedly shoved under his nose. He knows she hasn't been thinking today.

Scrubs

2006-09-09T18:15:00.000+01:00

“You’re self esteem is so wrapped up in what you do. You’re a doctor, that’s all you are, that’s how you define yourself. And you think that you’re better than me because of it.”

“Carla, I do not…”

“Admit it. Admit it right now or I’ll never respect you again.”

“Okay, sometimes that’s true…Carla, you’re a good nurse.”

“I’m a great nurse, you patronizing ass. You don’t even get it, do you? Nine years, not once I felt bad about what I do, not for one second. And then I met you.”

“Please, wait…”

“Don’t!”

tiny

2006-08-14T22:17:00.000+01:00

our worlds revolve around tiny things. so does mine. and even though the small thing i live for may not know it yet - it is the only reason i am able to walk through days with dignity and motive. thank you.

tiny like a star children point to. like a pixie they pray to.

son of a preacher man

2006-08-04T02:09:00.000+01:00

*wow*

Glass.

2006-07-31T02:09:00.000+01:00

Our love for one another has always been different. We have grown up believing so many different things - lies, realities, facts, stories, anger. However, every once in a while we like to remind ourselves that we are family and that we care. We always had a different way of showing it. Today, I realized that our love is not something we show, it is something we live through. How Ammi gets up every morning and makes the bed - she has to, it would be tragic to have it any other way. How Ahmed always pretends not to know your secrets just so he wouldn't have to act all big-brotherly, how Nosheen never directly asks for Ammi even though she knows we have nothing to talk about. Our love is woven into our souls. It is perfect, like glass.

And sometimes i feel,
because of me,
it is breaking.

dream

2006-07-31T01:54:00.000+01:00

Dear,

Our beauty is in our decline.
Let me rip apart our secure worlds now.

Love,
M

londres-

2006-07-25T17:53:00.000+01:00

this city is killing me but what a glorious death it is.

undisplayed affections.

2006-07-13T03:27:00.000+01:00

there are some things only a pakistani heart understands. things like how fifteen
people can most comfortably fit into the smallest of cars, like how a cold, frosty glass of rooh-afza can bring delight to any guests face. it is the perfect host. nothing more, nothing less. even as the single mundane ice cube floats arrogantly at the brim of the glass, it is the only thing of importance in the world.

i sat down and thought about home today. i remembered everything about it - the good times and the bad. the night-outs, the sleepovers, the smoking-secretly-so-the-parents-don't-catch you. as much fun as that was, i could not relate to my past self. i have grown since then. i have known love, more than i had ever before. i have hurt more people than i can possibly imagine. i have cried into silence when my friends were not close. i have drained you of all your energies. i have grown.

you had always been there to hold my hand, to walk with me. you took off your shoes when i did mine - even though the sand was hot. a sweet gesture, quickly corrected when the sand became unbearable. you cried into my hands and i let you. you never let me cry. until now. until this day. today, when i cry i wish you were not the person you are, 'cause it would be so much easier to let go. to forget that you are more unbearable than the sand on that summer day, to remember that we were always made from different fibres.

'Let us walk down lanes with memories displayed in stores. Mannequins dressed in lightbulbs and shiny white clothes. Walk back to a time when sunsets were never perfect. Let us throw misguided birds unceremoniously into the sky. And when they collide, rainbows will form. Fuck the merrier half, and smoke half a pack. There will never be a you and I. Never.'

i have never cried like this before. it is how grown-ups cry when their hearts are breaking.

Hassan-

2006-06-16T04:07:00.000+01:00

I, sometimes have no words to describe how much I miss you. Sometimes, I feel that there are no feelings left to be felt in the world, that you have taken them all with you. I believe I can never again feel as broken as I did when you left us. Never again, will I feel the happiness of holding you, or playing with you in the pool while Ibrahim flaunted his swimming abilities. Never again will I watch you squint with laughter and make all my worries melt away. Never again.

Sometimes I like to believe you visit me. And that you sit with me when life has been unfair. You never speak. Your words are your presence, and mine lose meaning in their midst. We both play, like before, carelessly for hours, and then you tire - and sleep. Like toys we had been joined together, and then like toys, just like that, we were broken.

Your picture hangs on a dull whitewashed wall in some far away country. I watch it and dream my dreams. You are inspiration. I love you.

rais-*

2006-06-14T05:24:00.000+01:00

to cheap shaadi dances and the diaper years, to poking our heads out of pajeros and watching 'goras' make out at hot spot, to freaky msn conversations and secretive sleepovers, to midnight telephone conversations and midday fights, to the ugly duckling, joyland rides and all those retarded memories.

i will always be better than you.
miss you choti-

the boy in the park, and no girls allowed.

2006-05-27T01:00:00.000+01:00

there are days when you look for reasons to be happy. then there are days when those reasons hit you smack in the face and you realize that happiness really isn't necessarily found at the end of a fairytale, or in a song or a movie. it can be found anywhere.it can be found in the childhood memories you almost forgot you had, or in a sand pit playing like you were a little child, with friends you know you'll never be able to forget or with a person who now you believe is yourself. as we lay there today in the sun, i realised how undetached we were. how even the two feet of grass between us was us. and how without really knowing it we were one. today, we were beautiful. even the odd twigs and grass that menacingly entagled themselves in our hair were beautiful. with all our imperfections, we were beautiful.

i usually never pray out loud. but today i pray, and i hope that the happiness i feel today, i will feel forever. that life will forever be so kind to grant me one day in the park once in a while, to remind me that your happiness IS the people that walk with you day after day holding your hand on busy streets, putting up with your baseless issues and phobias and remind you that you are never alone. may Allah grant us the courage to endure.

"the past is..in fact.."in the past"..and that the future is about to become the best past you could ever have."

~

2006-04-25T08:49:00.000+01:00

What I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that though I do not know you and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you.

detach.

2006-04-24T15:11:00.000+01:00

we have been drained like ink into the oceans
we do not belong anymore,
we do not belong.

patinga men-

2006-04-23T23:43:00.000+01:00

udhero naa.

2006-04-21T07:41:00.000+01:00

khamosh paani mei aaj eik awaz hei shayed? khwaabon mei liptey huey saaman ko lene aaya hei koi? gum ho gaye they shayed ek toofaan mei hum tum kabhi. baarish ke saaye hein deewaron pe. awazein hein. isharey bhi.

khoye huey dinon mei bas gaye thay hum. laut jao. udhero naa. bas gaye they hum mitti mei chup ho ker. laut jao. udhero naa. uljha diya zamaane mei jo humko tumne. laut jao. udhero naa.

ordinary, the.

2006-04-18T02:15:00.000+01:00

do you remember the story of the man who fought against the system, conquered all and became immortal. he was not ordinary. now each time someone does something remotely heroic they become that man. the man who would rather take a bullet to the heart then be just 'ordinary'. i want to be an ordinary man. i want no heroes fluttering about above my head, i do not want to walk amongst giants and i certainly do not want to remembered after i'm gone. my death, is the only connection i have to my mortality, i do not want to give it up just yet. we are not ordinary. sadly, we're not even close. we spend each day thrashing around in our own lives just hoping to go through a normal day. a normal day. one of which, has a rather inconsequential aura attached to it. one which goes by without you crying or laughing. instead, we are reminded constantly how we are not ordinary. how we do not have a choice but to fly in skies, how giants are our only companions and how our names are already immortal. we are never ordinary, never.

jolly ranchers-

2006-04-17T04:50:00.001+01:00

one really fun night.

the art.

2006-04-13T23:09:00.000+01:00

"The voice of life in me cannot reach the ear of life in you; but let us talk that we may not feel lonely."

- Kahlil Gibran

Patterns in the Ivy II - Opeth

2006-04-13T14:47:00.000+01:00

Without you I cannot confide in anything
The hope is pale designed in light of dreams you bring
Summer's gone, the day is done soon comes the night
Biding time, leaving the line and out of sight
It runs in me, your poison seething in my veins
This skin is old and stained by late September rains
A final word from me would be the first for you
The rest is long but I'll go on inside and through
One moonlit shadow on the wall
Disrupted in its own creation
Veiled in the darkness of this fall
Is this the end - manifestation

water under the bridge.

2006-04-12T00:41:00.000+01:00

a dry piece of flattened gum sticks to the sole of my shoe. it is the pavement's gift to it. i don't know why i never bother to remove it...somehow, i feel it deserves to be there. stuck on my shoe. that is my scar, an unimpressive, ugly, sticky blob of chewing-gum. it reminds me of the imperfections i have learnt to grow so fond of. the imperfections that mould me into the overbearing glass container that i refer to as 'life'. and the pessimist that i am, it's always fucking half empty. i also have other scars.

ever heard of the phrase 'water under the bridge'? its usually used when one wishes to indicate that they have graciously let by-gones be by-gones.

'Oh, thats water under the bridge'

'what is?'

'that...'

'that?'

that? what exactly is 'water under the bridge'. is it all those times that you wish your friends weren't your friends, all those conversation that slowly pierced your skin into your blood and remained forever a dysfuntional part of your being? is water under the bridge the night that you cried yourself to sleep in fifth grade because everyone at school made fun of you? or is it an apology, you know, from god...for ceaselessly fucking with your mind, smacking you on the ground like dice over and over again. go back three spaces, you're a loser- you deserve to die. water under the bridge. maybe its like the time when stick-thin slut went behind your back, or when brown-fat kid didn't know how to be a friend, or maybe even when you forgive the amazing-man friend for stealing the most important laughter in your life. surprisingly, i don't even feel bad about it. maybe i'm numb. or maybe, it is exactly what it is - water under the bridge.

sufi.

2006-04-11T23:51:00.000+01:00

maut mujhko gawarah hei leikin,
kya karoon dum nikalta nahin hei,
dil mei dard banke aana wale ko,
zamaane bhar ki raahat de,
mujhe tarfaane wale ko.

-

this blur.

2006-04-03T03:02:00.000+01:00

this blur is my favourite kind of picture.
it has been days since i talked to myself.

mask..

2006-04-02T03:45:00.000+01:00

i remember being a child and always fearing the worst. i think everyone does, everyone thinks of what could happen in the very next minute that could devastate their very existence. i have acquainted myself with these ideas, with my fears. i have overcome my "faceless monsters" and given each of them a face, a name and a piece of myself. kind of like a good trade-off. i let them urinate ceasessly over my brain, and at the same time remind myself of everything that could go wrong is not necessarily scary. Scary is just a word i often use to describe a sensation i wish to avoid. what is true, is never scary...it's just sad.

however, forgive me the use of the word yet again. i am scared of some things. i am scared of seeing those i love in grief. i am scared that even though my own grief would grieve me, theirs would devastate me. i am scared that one day i will see past this very facade that i have set up in my mind that decapacitates me from being afraid. i am scared that one day i will be revealed, naked, like an autumn leaf. bare, even in all its intricacies. i am scared that through all this pretense, i will actually forget to be the person i was born to be and shed all those that love me unconditionally.

little green men.

2006-03-31T02:00:00.000+01:00

you are the walls around you. your own only friend. you sit across from yourself and drink your coffee - you hold your own hand at the movies - and you quietly put away your third cigarette, and cajole yourself to the 'better'.

April, is a life too dreary - a life too empty for yours, mine and ours. Only once you wish you sat together and blew your worries away, like children to bubbles into the blue, carefree, flamingo sky. You close your eyes and smell the wind - no, wait...you are the wind, travelling aimlessly. you sit hand in hand, heart to heart, eye to eye - loving every moment - savouring it - and the only measure of time is the breath you take.

Have you ever heard of those little green men, that come from outer-space on big, beautiful spaceships and hide in your backyard shrubs. The little green men that everybody hears about but most live their entire lives without seeing one. I want distance to be our little green man. I want it to be something we both hear about, watch in movies, read in stories but never really experience. I want us to always sit hand in hand, heart to heart and eye to eye - so you're always a whisper away when i need you.

sperm bank.

2006-03-24T04:48:00.000Z

a bird walks in on me while i sleep. i remember telling it not to ask me any questions. i don't have any answers. who said it's not okay to not make sense once in a while...your friends will still love you. and hopefully your family wouldn't lag much behind.

i have forever associated chinese burns with reality checks. i don't know why. i wish my mind came with an ikea instruction booklet. then maybe i could get together with some friends, drink some ribena, and eat some cookies and make sense of it.

drawers, elephants, hindu gods and thai chilli sweet chips. whatayy funtasteeknuss. throw in a snoring manish and a cheap indian movie and fun fun fun fun fun fun fun.

oh and red. and i'm talking to chuggi, so bhaloo.

red, i'm guessing.

2006-03-24T04:40:00.000Z

how red is my shirt? so very very red.

RED. red red red red red red red!!! bahahahahahah red.

so SO sleepy. big indian manish boy is asleep. i' m not.

RED RED rEd ReD r3d red reD reeeeeed!

the pen is red and so is the stapler.

so is my shirt. red.

*yawn*

*eats more skittles*

oh look, more red!

Play those blues

2006-03-22T13:41:00.000Z

-

2006-03-22T13:32:00.000Z

i loved it when we both breathed the same cold, nauseating london air..
:(

hmpf.. :P

2006-03-12T14:55:00.000Z

to 3a.m walks and photography sessions, to bashing all the 'paki' kids who deserve not to live, to watching movies and crying in the end, to memories of gay beacon times, to retarded computer projects in the lab, to painduness and jihaan mubarak, to tunnels, fagatrons, starbucks coffees and ching chong (still not funny), to inadverdant homosexual jokes, to dirty straigtened long hair in mani's bed and thinking of people sitting on your face, not in the good way.

thanks, bitch.
happy birthday.

Tummy-drum.

2006-03-07T09:36:00.000Z

And now we rise and we are everywhere.
And now we rise from the ground.
And see she flies, she is everywhere.
See she flies all around.

-

Rant.

2006-03-06T15:06:00.001Z

you walk on empty sidewalks with a bag full of fat, irritating books slashed across your back scraping into the skin on the back of your shins. you hate it. you hate how the 'pretend' snow taunts you ever so frequently. you stick out your tongue for it, but it doesn't land there. not quite the sensation you'd been longing for. you feel hate. big, massive, ugly amounts of hate. yet this walk from the station is the best thing in your life right now.

i miss lahore. i miss my people, my home. i miss how my cellphone wouldn't stop ringing all day. i want to go to zahra's house and badger her mom for food. i want the coke in her kitchen and and fill our time with long talks of nothingness and laughter. i want to drive with fatimah in the backseat of a car, i want to sit in ukays's room and diss the fuck outta him, i want to crib about faiz's food and complain about feroz, i want to go see zareen khala and secretly observe jay's room again, i want to go on long drives with ahmed smoking stacks of cigarettes, i wat to argue with zahra asad outside tuition centres, i want to sneak from tuition centres to sunnainahs house, i want to kick qasim in the knees for having long hair,i want to strut around debate competitions with daniyal looking all important, i want to fight with zohaib, i want to sit in the computer lab with abdul and work on my project, i want to talk to habeeba and bug the hell out of her, i want to dance with crispy, hoor, nida, abbass and mysbah in SC-2, i want to be perverted with anam, i want rasti to slap me during concerts and i want everything i once called 'my life' back again.

thank you for being there mani, everytime ive needed you to be. for coming down when im sick, down or merely bored. for coming all the way to canary wharf to make sure i dont fall asleep, for not letting me feel like a fucking loner in the fucking dull grey country. i dont say it enough, but seriously..thanks.

saleha, you are my drive. my motivation. you make every minute of my life better, you make me realise that i'm still lucky to be alive, that i'm still loved. you're my every wish come true and more. i love you.

zahra, my biggest fear is drifting away from you. i'm scared that one day you'll realise that i'm too far away to be the same old 'dopey' that i once was, that one day we won't be the same. don't let that happen. ever.

i haven't slept. bye.

Whine.

2006-03-02T09:47:00.000Z

Thinly Pinstriped coats and marmalade spreads. No wait, sugar-free marmalade spread.

whine. whine. whine.

I can't blog when someone's around.

2006-02-28T08:18:00.000Z

One. Two. Three. Nausea.

I need a magic lamp. I think Aladdin was an ungrateful prude. Faggot.
The earth is wedged between thick chocolate milkshakes and used condoms.
I'm delusional, fuck off.

bored.

2006-02-26T08:30:00.001Z

right then. here i am sitting next to abdul, who insists that i post something since theres nothing better to do. now that he's reading out everything i write and being an annoying 'spell-checker', i'm thinking this wasn't much of a good idea. hmmm. fuck him.

magnolia was good.
abdul doesn't know how to kiss.

Fever.

2006-02-24T12:44:00.000Z

When superstars and cannonballs are running through your head

and television freak show cops and robbers everywhere

subway makes me nervous, people pushing me too far

I've got to break away so take my hand now

-love you.

thanks for being this amazing.

Skittle Sorting.

2006-02-24T11:54:00.000Z

skittle sorting is fun!!!
i dropped so many of them, mani was going to kill me!
eheheheheh. =P

Sleep-high.

2006-02-23T04:05:00.000Z

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

oh and my baby's blog is YELLOW. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
i want more blueberry cheesecake.

Simon says...

2006-02-23T01:25:00.000Z

I looked over the crumpled piece of paper just been handed to me, unable to understand what actually had been put down in words. Instead, my eyes land on the same word. Scribbled in a nauseatingly jittery writing, there it was, alone. 'Inhale'. So I did. It's so easy doing what you're told, exactly how you're told. Kind of like a game we used to play as kids. "Simon says, Inhale." So we did. "Simon says, jump!" So we did. There, plain and simple. Just do as Simon says, and your life will be a whole lot better.

Jump on a bed, jump on a bed. Your life's just brilliant, jump on a bed.

My dad gave us all letters one new year. I remember reading it over and over again. All the time when I'd be alone, or bored, or helpless, or alone. It wasn't much really considering i was only nine back then, just the usual "you're a great kid" and the "I know you'll do me proud one day". Or will I? See, here's the fucking thing that Simon doesn't say. Things that he really really should. I wonder if I am the person my father wanted me to be, the kind that would do him proud? So yeah, Simon really doesn't say fucking much now! Out of all the times when he was going jump, fetch, run, play dead and I fucking obeyed like a fucking cowardly house-dog, the faggots SHUT UP now!!! So, really...what DO you say now?

That letter really is the closest connection I have to my father. Even though I don't have it on me, I know it's back home waiting for me. I will always write to my children.

mush-monster, wuss? Maybe.

Sky.

2006-02-20T04:46:00.000Z

A sky has no stars, no moons. It does not change color with time, it remains stagnant. The sky is the little itch you get beneath your lip while kissing, the sky is the ring stain on your polished coffee table, the sky is the baby blanket you grow out of but still keep in your cupboard, it's the lamented piece of broken glass clown you never had the heart to tell your mother you broke. The sky is a friend, the lover, the silver dust you wipe off a CD with your bum. It is the long spiral smoke string that escapes your mouth and nose when you breath too hard in the winter and it is the small, messily made plans on a starbucks table while you watch the rain.

The sky is not the sky you know.
The sky is the limit.

21 grams

2006-02-20T04:21:00.000Z

How many lives do we live? How many times do we die? They say we all lose 21 grams... at the exact moment of our death. Everyone. And how much fits into 21 grams? How much is lost? When do we lose 21 grams? How much goes with them? How much is gained? How much is gained? Twenty-one grams. The weight of a stack of five nickels. The weight of a hummingbird. A chocolate bar. How much did 21 grams weigh?

i was sad the second time around too.. =(

'Thook Wali Billi'

2006-02-19T06:13:00.000Z

thoook wallii billii,
thorii gillii gillii,
thorrii silly silly reh,
woh thook wali billii

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
cheap fuck she is.

"green green hills with the green green grass"

2006-02-19T05:08:00.000Z

got this from abdul's blog.
makes a bit much too much sense,
for him, that is. =]

"Mmhmm I did it today. I rolled down a hill after such a long time. The sun was out, the sky seemed to have found its pretty blue dress again, the grass looked green and I couldn’t help it.
Ended up with loads of green stains all over my clothes but god was it worth it!!

When was the last time you did something really “fun” eh…? And please don’t call me immature like everyone else does… How do you define being “immature”… is having fun while not hurting anyone immature? going out with friends getting drunk every weekend and thus acting like idiots is very “grown up” is it. Going to cafes and drinking mochachinos is mature is it? Well fuck your “maturity”. Give me a green hill, a frisbee, a balloon anyday. I remember when I used to play frisbee at college with simon (i miss him soo much…) and people would give us that “look at those two twats” look… but there were also the ones that gave more of a “I really want to play with them… but everyone’s looking they’ll think im being immature” look… Stop caring what others think, there is nothing wrong in making yourself feel all happy by doing the things YOU want to do, as long as it doesn’t do anyone else any harm. Hell jump in a pile of leaves if you want to, if it makes you feel better. When did humans forget how to really have fun. Remember when we were kids and used to play hide and seek? How great was that, why doesn’t anyone ever play that anymore. Honestly, Id rather be in the company of my 9 year old cousin than be with some “mature” 18 year old. Fuck the norm, go out and do what YOU want to."

'<3' wtf?

2006-02-19T02:21:00.000Z

okay, this is the farthest thing from a heart!
if anything, it looks like an underview of someone's butt.
if you look closely, it has an uncanny resemblance to mani's behind..hmmmm
anyway, its gay.

Nostal-fucking-gia

2006-02-18T07:36:00.000Z

"Chuddy buddy,we're a sax couple.Sally should know that I'm your backup when we're 25(I'm only saying that cuz you and I know I'll most probably be married by then).Kudos to you for tolerating me for almost a decade now.To dancing in front of LUMs security cameras,being stuck in the wrong places at the right times,BDC memories that never seem to fade,and your *cough* leather jacket.I still think you have the sexiest teeth in the world=)."

whatayyy saskk. my 'one of the best people in the world'.
i feel lost without you.

Upward Over the Mountain - Iron and Wine

2006-02-18T07:27:00.000Z

Mother don't worry
I killed the last snake that lived in the creek bed
Mother don't worry
I've got some money I saved for the weekend
Mother, remember being so stern
With that girl who was with me?
Mother, remember the blink of an eye
When I breathed through your body?

So may the sunrise bring hope
Where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds
Flying upward over the mountain

Mother, I made it up
From the bruise of a floor of this prison
Mother, I lost it
All of the fear of the Lord I was given
Mother forget me
Now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to
Mother forgive me
I sold your car for the shoes that I gave you

So may the sunrise bring hope
Where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds
Flying upward over the mountain

Mother, don't worry
I've got a coat and some friends on the corner
Mother, don't worry
She's got a garden we're planting together
Mother, remember the night
That the dog had her pups in the pantry?
Blood on the floor and the fleas on their paws
And you cried 'til the morning

So may the sunrise bring hope
Where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds
Flying upward over the mountain

Ibu.

2006-02-18T06:44:00.000Z

ibu likes momie mamoon more than he likes ahmad mamoon.
he's the only one.

...of broken shells and decembers of pain.

2006-02-15T19:34:00.000Z

Let us walk down lanes with memories displayed in stores. Mannequins dressed in lightbulbs and shiny white clothes. Walk back to a time when sunsets were never perfect. Let us throw misguided birds unceremoniously into the sky. And when they collide, rainbows will form. Fuck the merrier half, and smoke half a pack. There will never be a you and I. Never.

Remember rusty morns when we burnt chocolate cakes. And tins of mushrooms we ate with our fingers. Go open your diary and read me a line, from a life we built together.

Tomorrow is a bitch and there will never be a you and I. Never.

Mr. Mo

2006-02-15T04:53:00.000Z

a rather scandalized mr. mo at that. eheheheh. ;)

Hyde Park.

2006-02-14T05:34:00.000Z

Psychobabble.

2006-02-14T05:07:00.000Z

a butterfly buzzed around my head today, and the little chinese man i know smiled at me, aside from that things are quiet. Im broke. I find myself counting things alot. Weird what numbers can do to you.

greeting card heart

2006-02-13T22:45:00.000Z

tinseltown pancakes and ice skating.
tall christmas trees with silver cardboard triangles.
love, served as a side order with toast and butter.
happy valentines day.

-

Such Great Heights - Iron and Wine

2006-02-13T22:26:00.000Z

I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles
In our eyes are mirror images and when
We kiss they're perfectly aligned
And I have to speculate that God himself
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay
True, it may seem like a stretch, but
Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled
Head when you're away when I am missing you to death
When you are out there on the road for
Several weeks of shows and when you scan
The radio, I hope this song will guide you home

They will see us waving from such great
Heights, 'come down now,' they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
'come down now,' but we'll stay...

I tried my best to leave this all on your
Machine but the persistent beat it sounded
Thin upon listening
That frankly will not fly. you will hear
The shrillest highs and lowest lows with
The windows down when this is guiding you home

-

The Cat and the Canary.

2006-02-13T01:11:00.000Z

this picture was taken at three in the morning. it was drizzling.
two guys.
big town.
and a camera.

it was a good time.

Bleh

2006-02-12T03:31:00.000Z

Sitars have big bums.
Pink post-its are gay.
Pedro is not my friend anymore :(.

-

The Worst.

2006-02-09T02:41:00.001Z

at night it's the worst.
i hear ambulances on the street and i start to panic.
it's so strange,
because i know the worst has already happened.

Bakra and Maasi 420.

2006-02-08T12:57:00.000Z

miss you moti.

bhangra

2006-02-08T12:24:00.000Z

ritika: you know you should really focus, you haven't done this before
mo: TOOTAK TOOTAK TOOTAK TOOTIAN HAY JAMALOO!!!!! BAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
ritika: *sigh* fine then.
mo: I wanna wear a dhoti! I'd look good in a dhoti, heina?
ritika: yes mo. *continues to make notes*

hahahahhahahhahahahaha. I love red bull. marketing lectures are BRILLIANT.
jamaica's capital is not timbaktu and I am not racist.

Chuggi the Chaukidaar.

2006-02-08T12:03:00.000Z

bahahahahahahah. I don't know why, but this picture always reminds me of the way my chaukidaar would wrap up a 'chaddar' around his head in the winters.

oh and her real name is ZAINAB!!! eughh!
*makes scrunched up disgusted face like in picture on chuggi's blog*

-

Stains.

2006-02-07T06:18:00.000Z

I am writing graffiti on your body,
I am drawing the story of how hard we tried.

Memory Lane Detours.

2006-02-07T06:05:00.000Z

The Trapeze Swinger - Iron and Wine

Please, remember me
Happily
By the rosebush laughing
With bruises on my chin
The time when
We counted every black car passing
Your house beneath the hill
And up until
Someone caught us in the kitchen
With maps, a mountain range,
A piggy bank
A vision too removed to mention

=]

2006-02-07T05:18:00.000Z

hawwww!
nangoo patangooo!! shame shame!
ahahahahahaahahahahahaha.
i miss being a kid.

can't sleep. buahahahahahahahahahah.
insomnia.

Fairy Lights.

2006-02-07T04:38:00.000Z

I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons, knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my hand
Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you're here
Brighten my northern sky.

love you.

Welcome To - Ani Difranco

2006-02-06T06:44:00.000Z

welcome to:
no amount of stoned makes you feel okay
welcome to:
this year's alone - brought to you by Christmas day
welcome to:
the darkness into which prayin people pray

it's quiet here except for this song
now that everybody's gone
but hey
least you don't have to play along today

welcome to:
something like elation when you first open your eyes
just cuz it means that you musta finally got to sleep last night
welcome to:
the precipice between groundlessness and flight

it's quiet here except for this song
now that everybody's gone
but hey
least you don't have to play along today

London.

2006-02-06T05:16:00.000Z

I'm a sucker for light trails.
*shrugs*

Clementines.

2006-02-06T04:43:00.000Z

Starch white walls and mustard stained carpets.

You sit on small, dirt colored stairs on a street to prepare for dinner with your friends. In the process however you end up saying much more than you had intended. All that you wish you could've said but never mustered the courage to say. And your eyes align to a perfect level and you understand that she understands. Memories have been created. Memories, like ones you store in large used tin chocolate boxes being eaten away by rust and time. Perfection.

Some memories are silent memories. Ones where you could promise you weren't alone. Your fingers trace the surface of her face and the silence becomes another person sitting beside you. The observer. The friend. And you're always glad its there.

Three's a crowd? Fuck that shit.

-

Chichori Chipkali.

2006-02-05T05:48:00.000Z

some people i tell you!!! CHEAPNESSS!!!
heart you, you fucking loud, psychotic 'champa haseena'.

*filmi eyelash flutter*

Personal Jesus - Johnny Cash

2006-02-04T16:25:00.000Z

Your own, personal, Jesus
someone to hear your prayers,
someone who cares

Your own, personal, Jesus
someone to hear your prayers,
someone who's there

Feeling unknown
and you're all alone,
flesh and bone,
by the telephone,
lift up the receiver,
i'll make you a believer

Take second best,
put me to the test,
things on your chest,
you need to confess,
i will deliver,
you know i'm a forgiver

Reach out and touch faith
Reach out and touch faith

The Panda and Mani

2006-02-04T14:12:00.000Z

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

whatayy gay one he is...

-

'The Strawberry Milk and the Kitchen Floor'

2006-02-04T06:04:00.000Z

Here it is, my first proper blog. I usually hate doing this, putting down in words all that you feel or have felt or will feel or will never feel. The urge to relate to a song, the temptation of supposedly being in love, the desire to sit down in front of a computer screen and type endlessly hoping that someone might just read how eloquent you've been while you smoke stacks of cigarettes thinking of smart words and long sentences just like this one. But they never seem to think so, they leave cute, snide little comments making you feel just a little worse about yourself, making you feel that just when you thought you could show off your sleek, carefully chosen words to someone you care about and find that look of recognition or make your mother proud of you, you fail. Makes no sense, does it? Its words strung together, one after the other, just like they do in them books. Beautiful writing, Flawless expression and an empty soul. I want to have it all, emotions that would sell, a story that would bring tears to your eyes, a family that believes in you and a matcbox with a beautiful womans number on its back. And then someday you could hope to wake up beside her, look at her and think you made a mistake, and on others you wont wake up at all cause the bullets too deep inside your mind. Then you'll have a funeral, and they'll all be there, and she'll be talking to your neighbour and before you know it they'll be arguing about what color curtains would go with the new couch. Strange isn't it? I'm not even married, she's not even pregnant, yet I'm walking down the tube station with a friend figuring out a way to take the buggy down the escalator. Clean up your room, wash the dishes, watch your friend take pictures of clocktowers in the middle of the night, wipe the strawberry milk off the kitchen floor before your brother gets home, call your best friend and tell him you made out with his girlfriend, find a job and go jack off...

So here you go, my first blog, its not perfect, its not entirely deluded, not ramblings coming from a persons mind who was felt up by his teacher in eighth grade. Someday I hope to be a writer, someday i hope to be a friend and just one day I'll hope to be a failure...just so I can write again..

Here you go guys, let the name-calling begin...

moving blogs.

2006-02-04T03:25:00.000Z

blogspot it is i suppose then?