28/09/09

Today I woke up with the word "eviscerate" on my lips and in my mind. I have no idea why and no idea what it signifies. Was it a dream I had that I can no longer remember? Strange.

I am a fairytale going wrong.

I used to be a thought soft from the heart of a blossom blooming on a warm summer night.

Twilight stains my cheeks.

I am the neon lights in the letters advertising a motel where humanity goes to decay. To sate a hunger that will not be appeased.

The last flicker of a dim bulb before it loses its life and gives in to the seduction of the darkness. A grand house by the highway with the lights of, dark and abandoned despite its grandeur.

The lone star that makes supplications to the sky for mercy from the clouds so that its shine can reach those who may watch for it.

My hands clutch my words in my palm and ink touches my fingers blue. What love is there in the tar sealed roads that lead to no particular place and I am the red in the leaves of trees that are just beginning to realize autumn.

Happy endings and prince charmings and maidens in the first blush of innocence were traded for a moment. One moment that lingers and the sun sets in my eyes.

Morning will remain a fable. The fairytale is at an end and the song sung now is a dirge.

The Come-Back Blog

I don't usually wake up with an urge to blog. In fact, I usually wake up wanting to go back to sleep again but that's just me. Truthfully, I had envisioned my return to the blogging world would be heralded by a finely crafted entry that detailed everything I want to say with exquisite articulation. Alas, that is not to be. Here I am, three quarters awake, the residual strands of a dream I just had lingering like cob webs in my mind - faces, occasions and feelings I don't recognize, it has to be a dream - and this urge to spill out of my head and into the world. 


There are so many things I should have spoken about but I didn't. It wasn't because I couldn't but because I didn't want to or maybe time was not on my side and that elusive feeling was gone before I could translate it into ink. Thoughts are usually like that. 

I've been growing older and changing which is usually what accompanies the latter. First I fought against changing because I felt as though the world was trying to box me up and categorize me so that I would make more sense with my existence. I refused to be and behave in a certain way simply because I was expected to. But then I felt as though I was wrong in fighting myself and my change. For example the change in my writing style. It no longer drips with passion as was its wont to do. Perhaps it is because I am slowly beginning to find a meaning in this chaos but also perhaps this change is inevitable.


I used to burn with jealousy for my younger self who wrote with such passion and such abandon and took it all for granted; not realizing that some day she will no longer be that person and so will lose that passion. Maybe I'm wrong - I don't think I have lost my passion. Maybe I've just steered it into a direction; towards a goal. I like to think that anyway. 

It's the day before Eid and I'm sure the whirl of the day will rob me of any eloquence I might delude myself into thinking I still have left. 


Fungi have a phase called the absorptive phase. In this phase, all they do is what is suggested. Absorb food, necessary nutrients that will later help them grow. I like to think that I am in one of those phases right now. I'm absorbing life, observing, thinking, experiencing and sometime in the future, I will have enough material in my head to do something concrete with it. Writing wise, I mean. 

I really want to write a post about my trip to Fiji. I have distanced myself enough from it to actually write something not totally unbiased but you know, not as emotionally ridden as it would otherwise have been. Soon. As soon as possible, in fact. For my own sense of peace. 

Talking to Myself

There are several things I have realized about myself in the twenty five years I have known myself and yet everyday something new compels me to stop and rethink the person I am. Recently, ever since I came back from New Zealand and got back in touch with high school friends, most of whom are married either with kids or not, I've been thinking about marriage. And what it means. And whether it is in my future. And if I even want it in the future that will somehow map itself out for me. I was immersed in these feelings of half envy, half scorn and I was trying to make sense of my own single worth.

But then today a friend started talking to me about what's actually happening in this world. Things I have become an expert at turning a blind eye and deaf ear to. The miseries in Darfur, the outrage in Iran, the pain of the Palestinians and the fear in Tanzania. These atrocities are being committed every day in this world I live in, reported by people who are horrified at its happening but unable to stop it and I am immersed in the pettiest of internal debates.

This conversation led me to think a whole lot. About myself as a person. As a person who lives in this world and as a person who is adept at living blind and deaf. I feel selfish that I cling to all my petty comforts and concerns when people out there are doing everything to simply survive another day. Why don't I watch the news more? Why don't I take an active interest in politics and debates and issues that we as a people are facing today? But I feel as if I have wrapped myself in a tight bubble because seeing them suffer, seeing them hurt and not being able to change a thing is more than I can bear. I feel guilty that I can live in a country where I can practice my religion, express myself freely, be who I am without being persecuted. An accident of birth? Why do I deserve to be as free? And since I am free, do I not owe it to the world to try to change it? But what can I change? How can I change it?

Peace is not something we are too familiar with. Materialistic things we understand and obey, but this mythical peace? I cannot claim to speak for other people or even know the true perspectives of other people but peace to me is unattainable as long as we exist. It's an unrealistic goal set by people who should know better. But how long are we to be the whims of a certain group of people who keep us in the dark from the knowledge that pertains directly to our own well being. And how long are we going to accept the decay of our own humanity?

I really don't have any answers to any of my questions which seem to fold unto themselves and increase in number. But I keep feeling that I should be doing something but I know myself too well. I will do my best to forget every bad thing I hear, telling myself that it can't happen to me, happen here but knowing anyway that I am wrong, that it can and when it does, if I'm not helping anyone now, who will help me then.

So much for consistancy, Mr. Heart

I have a feeling that being myself will someday lead me into deep trouble. Who I am and how I am are so much at odds with each other that it is a miracle in itself that I haven't folded over in half just from the pressure of keeping me awake.

I have noticed something about myself recently. I have no stomach for violence. Even if it is in movies. Honestly, what kind of world do we live in that we watch people fight and die as entertainment? What does this say about humanity that some of the bestselling movies showcase wars in intimate detail? Doesn't that make you upset? How can one person hurt the other? Of course I understand revenge and anger but how can you hit a person, shoot a person and hear their painful whimpers and then not die a little death yourself?

This was not mean to be a sermon about what's wrong with the world. Everyone knows that there is plenty wrong with it. I am just attempting to castigate myself about my placidness with the way the world is going. Some soul searching so to speak. What can I do? How can I accomplish the purpose whether imagined or real that I have of existing.

I know I exist for a reason. I have something to do. Everyone does. It's like the world is a great play and everyone's got parts. We are God's entertainment.

To revive this dead thing, I name myself a Necromancer

There is a colossal anger simmering inside of me. It is as though everything that I have stored in me, every pain, every injustice, all the ire that these things made me feel individually have accumulated inside of my body and I feel the anger thrum in me. I am angry. Truly angry. And I revel in this feeling because it makes me feel so alive. The frown that has planted itself in between my eyebrows and the bright glitter in my eyes, these all serve to remind me that yes, I am alive. That yes, I feel and yes, it is good to feel.

I have heard from so many people the past few days and they all invariably end up saying the same old thing all over again. "You look like you are doing better."

Mm, do I?

I must have some unknown talent in acting. I effectively pushed all thoughts of despair aside and moved on, determinedly walking through life. I lost the poetry - yes, I did and it was okay. It will come back when it wants to.

You don't recover from the death of a loved one in mere weeks. I am learning this now. You simply don't wake up one day and feel okay. You don't accept it all of a sudden. There is no time limit for grieving. And it's not something that your friends can help you with.

I don't blame them.

I'd get tired of the same uncomfortable topic if I were them too. It's such a sensitive thing. How do you console someone who has lost someone to death? What words make them feel better - let me tell you, it's certainly not 'they're in a better place.'

I wish I could strip away the frivolities in life and live it as simply as possible. That I could exist linked from one moment to another and these moments would shape my life the colour of a sunset. I find myself thinking macabre thoughts. Fearing that every single day I come closer to losing someone else. I would much rather die than lose someone else.

That's it, I think. As far as catharsis goes, I believe this place is the best.

"If less I ask," tear blind she mocked, "I may be less denied." - Fannie Heaslip Lea, The Dead Faith.

A Sleep Deprived Cache of Words

The perambulations of a somnambulant soul. The repercussions of a forced oblivion. A transient existence hinged upon the firmness of thought. The molten thoughts of a fae wind grappling with the boundaries of a tomorrow today never meant to let happen.

A phantasmagoria playfully creates life out of the distinct sounds of the morning traffic. In the moments between pulses, you take a chance and seek a reason. In honor of the illusory purpose some higher power granted you so you would have a reason to be.

A few photons culminate into a ray of light that shines its way into my deepest secret – where is my soul? A snap of his fingers and it would rain effervescence. But my soul is somnambulant and my eyes are wide open dreaming an existence that soaks the colours out of the days.

Sometime in the autumn of my soul, as leaves do I will cleave gently from that tangibility and tear myself away from that reason and promenade the cobbled pathways of a sublime that is etched in the spirals and towers of some distant aerial city.

I always hear you when there is silence.