Thursday, January 31, 2008

i've stopped telling her about my dreams.
about the aunt who jumps as she braids her hair.
my son who looks exactly like his father and we high five as to what a good job we've done..bend down to come to his level,hear him talk,laugh and my heart flutters.he really is the cutest thing and I can't believe he's mine.I look at his father and he suggests we try again once more,for his sake,and i straighten his school jacket and agree.
its scary.everything's scary.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

where do you go to (my lovely)?

she sleeps
as the powder falls off her face
and dreams
collect the dust it makes

Monday, January 28, 2008

anyone lived in a pretty how town

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

Monday, January 21, 2008

hbm

i think he has the coffee-house blues.
thus the irish mocha cream.(or something like that)

what are you?

i'm a photographer.we're the people who take pictures of hearts that stopped beating.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

anyone else but you.

the ice monster quietly makes its way across to trees,bees,humans and roofs.


i put the ring back.it didn't match with my dark,brooding nailpolish.or my dark brooding self.he doesn't know i write so vigorously.or that i dream in many colors and listen to music that sets some part of me free.


'I like your shoes' he said.
'Thanks.They match my earrings' she said.
something inside him exploded,making him smile in bewilderment.'never saw that coming,' he thought to himself.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Konami code

Yes,I hide.Yes,I don't want to do this anymore.Yes,I will be 'that' girl,I'll be an outcast,I'll the girl who regrets about everything she had and everything she lost to gain,in essence,nothing at all.Maybe a tall white chocolate mocha frappucino.Maybe I'm bored and maybe we're just into this so so deep that there's no way of digging out.Now I know how F feels (if he felt this way at all).If I gave you what you want,that would mean I'd have to give up what I want.That could range from living in a van,to living on Upper East Side,to swimming with penguins in the Great Salt Lake to sitting in the snow in boy shorts.There are endless possibilities to what grown-ups do to distract themselves.


This could be the best or the worst thing in my life.This could take me back to square one,or help me get out of it.Sure I won't be able to talk to him about the same books,or the same music or the way I feel when clouds descend on Heathcote.But it'll be different.And thats what I need.Maybe you're right.Maybe this is all too simple.

current mood:weird fishes/arpeggi-radiohead

Friday, January 18, 2008

like/want/need

it's not infatuation. it's somewhat borderline obsession. and, like i have said before, i have no idea what it is about you, but there's SOMETHING about you, that makes me want to know everything about you.



-
you can leave me
on the corner
where you found me
i'm not for sale anymore

cocorosie-not for sale

Thursday, January 17, 2008

l(a


l(a

le
af
fa

ll

s)
one
l

iness


e.e.cummings

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

ramblings in another country

these are writings (not connected) that i scribbled during winter break.i blog in hopes that no one will know exactly what i'm saying and why,thus i'll be pseudo-literary and say its open to interpretation.

Its an unusually hot December.The excitement is slowly but surely fading away.Reality is stiff in the neck and dust is collecting on my nails.I hear my brother laughing at things uncommon in our part of the world,and I suppose its okay.As long as there's laughter,its okay.Alice Smith playing to drown out all the colorfulness,the nonchalantness.


Ungodly hours are for pondering.For looking gaunt and feeling useless cuz the world's off doing bigger,better things.Sleeping,partying,take your pick.


Everywhere I go,rooms get smaller,people get weirder and I'm stuck somewhere in the middle.Phupho asked me to take pictures,but I'm just taking it all in for now.The plasticity and earthiness all rolled into one.


And this is what I like.The chase.Which builds up adrenaline for now but will soon fade cuz there'll be nothing to chase.


People-watching does not apply here.There its quiet,even normal.Here,its mutual and scary.I feel like I'll bump into my old self somewhere.The lady next to me is mighty intrigued at me scribbling away busily.Ooh tired.Nappy-nap time.


Jetlag sucks.Makes way for meaningless thought processes that leave my brain feeling like ground meat.


In all honesty,I'm impressed.With the unorganization and the trust and the bustling around Uncle Aurangzeb.Inventor of PS2 memory chip or something,on his way to dusty Lahore straight out of Silicon Valley.I don't know what makes me keep coming back,now that I have you feeling exactly the way I want,I'm waiting for the butterfly-effects to go away.Like they always do.One night,or several,and that will be it.All those things I say I won't do,I just might end up doing them.Not because I want to,but because I can.Lacey's right,revenge is oh-so-fucking-sweet.


Silver E-notes and overcoats.


Pencil stains,hippie hair,spot and dots and rots.


Everything's going by in a blur.Pimples,boots.


Love in the time of way is a rare,confused thing.Moreso cuz of the unsurity that ensues with such feelings.I knew all along that it was going to be an interesting winter.To be in the midst of long shadows,national tragedies and cheating lovers brings forth situations nothing short of interesting.There is a new sort of everything.Stories,friends,materials that you will bring home with you,then write about in an unfamiliar journal.You will wait and snuggle,take pictures and crowd,kiss and sleep.F bites lip cuz there is so much that can be done but no way to do it.Thinks about C's thing that was supposed to happen and laughs.


It wasn't as bad as I presumed,but the entire ordeal did leave me a bit..worried.Its true I don't believe in words but there are limited other substitutes that can be used to communicate with.I want to refrain from saying too much in case this falls into sneaky hands,and since I'm not terribly good at keeping secrets,it might as well be so.Very few days left till another chapter ends with uncertainity.Goldfish named Princess,hair too long,flab too much.Don't know/care what he thinks of me at the moment.It'll tug at my heart strings for a while,but like everything else in life,I'll let it slide and say 'koi baat nahin'.


They're not human.They're made of something else.They provoke dreams and visions,of a tattered white dress trailing along a barren landscape.Of falling into grey ice water and of falling to pieces.Meaningfully meaningless dreams that make no sense the second you wake up,so you wish you could sleep forever.And dream of her.I don't know what it is,but I think my mind speaks to me and all I want to do is jot it down.2nd wives,bad makeup,blowjobs,anarchy and sugar-free cookies.They all make sense once my eyes are closed and I am removed from myself.I am he,she,whole sale markets and French lovers.There is something so personal about this and it all comes from the cerebrum.I wonder if I ended up donating it,would that person then become me,and scrounge about in pursuit of all the same things I want from life?


Hindu cosmology,Rumi,cigarettes,gas heaters,the importance of being real.There's so much learning that has gone into these past 3 weeks.Stuff I'll write on foggy windows and then erase.He will be my husband,this I am sure of,and a good one.I have no complaints most of the time,he loves me too much.He's been tried and tested and much to my annoyance/pleasure,has almost always passed.Here's to hope and feeling bottled up and not making the right decisions but ultimately depending on luck so things end up turning out better if not okay.That should be my motto from now on,'I have no complaints'.And I really don't.Its like God put sugar in my mouth,so everything I taste is bittersweet.


At this point ( its almost most definitely cuz I'm post-pmsing),I'm content.I look at things and frown and laugh,listen (and judge),and be moved.


The optimist gathers dirt from the ground he's sitting on to enhance the fire in his tin can.


My foot gets twisted in concentration and I don't realize it till the nerves send signals to my brain.And I hate how I can't sleep even though my stomach is full of bready stuff and kachoomar omlettes.


I am not arrogant.I'm vain.And there's a world of a difference between the two.I don't personally extend my vanity out to people,nor do I try to make it obvious.If it happens,oh well.

A very skinny Nabia calls me fat in the cheeks.We're sitting next to metallic poles,both in white garb.I think white is an extremely significant color to me and I don't know it.Even in the other dreams where Bush is kidnapping and putting people into concentration camps.Making them do military/naval work,brainwashing them so they think this is the only thing they've ever known how to to do.We're all wearing white togas.I remember kissing Abdul and the woman in charge almost hits me over the head with a ten-foot pole.I ask her when was the last time she ever felt the delicate gentleness of kissing a friend because there was so much undefined connection,and that kind of shuts her up.Then I'm suddenly toga-woman or something,creating an underground anarchy coalition and silently planning to stab Bush.It was very 'Equilibrium' and 'V for Vendetta' all rolled into one.I woke up and it made me wonder when the common man will rise,and whether it'd make any difference or not cuz we're all assholes at heart,really.



Wow,I felt so pent up,I think I can breathe now.



Me?I think I'm just going to stop trying.The emotional pessimist in me just rises from time to time and there's no where to go,nothing to do except just sit and sulk.



With them,I never know where I stand.What do I say?No words will help me redeem myself or make them remotely respect me.Oh,and Rs.750.Thats helluva lotta money for 4 cans and other random junk.Right,so I'm definitely going to stop trying.Right now,I just want to go home.Where everyone is far enough to miss and near enough to push away.I started reading 'Beloved City',compiled stories about Lahore.It couldn't be more apt in its description,language and preciseness.



Sex does ruin things.And load-shedding.But see I always thought people never fought or wanted to fight after they'd been inside each other.You were one.One.The most powerful number of all time,the number that started it all.But its all just a scam like everything else.Maybe God is just a big fat liar and He's probably laughing cynically right now.(But I mean,I still respect Him.I mean,why the fuck should I not?)This is all very draining.I think of the grey January I have to go back to and my heart sinks.To -4 C,winter pond-water.



We all want to live in a place where innocence is in short supply.And where everyone can find their way home and then be happy with it.Not go scrounging aeound lookinf for discomfort.
Dear helpless,depressed,confused little boy.I love you.Not only because you have no tact,but because you shattered your glass bowl of being just to see what it would be like to be with me.And now that you know,you hold steady your dam of thoughts and feelings.I've always wanted to be someone who just appears and disappears and leaves enough of an impact to write a short paragraph about.



Great.So.I'm leaving my country and all I get to do is stare at the fancy clock dance in all its splendor.My hello or goodbye won't matter,I know.Or it won't that much.In a few minutes I will be gone from this place that smells of heavy plastic and melted butter,and that will be that.If you're lucky,you'll seldom hear from me and I from you.But as Johnny Depp says in 'The Secret Window',its only the end that matters' (heavily paraphrased).


Something I notice about all men is their knuckles.The bones of the hands are so exquisitely beautiful.Detailed,smooth.



You know,if I was a whiny piece of shit,I'd have a good sulk about how I think he totally used me and then never called again because he was bored.But I won't say any of that.Why?Cuz I got the silver chain.And ten/twenty/forty years down the lane,I'll still be the girl who got that silver chain.I kept the box.And I'll remind him of the chain when the time comes.



Mani smells like Dubai Airport.Like the Arabs smelling of exotic flowery scents and airplane fuel.They scare the fuck out of me btw.Like,I swear I'm deathly scared of Arabs.They're too burly and too driven and always smell nice but not in a right way,you know?Pretzels and Irish music go well with ginger ale.I think I'm making up for lost time by being fully functional after only 2 hours of sleep.Dubai airport was a blur of pretty,too bright lights and lots of people who could speak many languages.



I know he will always be waiting for me,chin resting in hands,wan smile.I know what I do is wrong,but having to leave someone you love more than you think you know is gut-wrenching.Its a small crime,and I've got no excuse,and is that alright,yeah?



Definitely coming back to London.People aren't as colorful as they are in the States but they're definitely more civil.Especially the black population.Goodness are they suave.Scarves and hair in place.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

lahore lahore hai.