here's something that's been doing the rounds...things in bold are one's you've done.

01. Bought everyone in the pub a drink
02. Swam with dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said 'I love you' and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Done a striptease
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Stayed up all night long, and watched the sunrise
15. Seen the Northern Lights (its on the list of things to do..)
16. Gone to a huge sports game
17. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
18. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
19. Touched an iceberg
20. Slept under the stars (not all night)
21. Changed a baby's diaper
22. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
23. Watched a meteor shower
24. Gotten drunk on champagne
25. Given more than you can afford to charity
26. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
27. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
28. Had a food fight
29. Bet on a winning horse
30. Taken a sick day when you're not ill
31. Asked out a stranger
32. Had a snowball fight
33. Photocopied your bottom on the office photocopier3
34. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
35. Held a lamb
36. Enacted a favorite fantasy
37. Taken a midnight skinny dip
38. Taken an ice cold bath/shower
39. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar
40. Seen a total eclipse
41. Ridden a roller coaster
42. Hit a home run
43. Fit three weeks miraculously into three days
44. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
45. Adopted an accent for an entire day
46. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
47. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
48. Had two hard drives for your computer
49. Visited all 50 states
50. Loved your job for all accounts
51. Taken care of someone who was shit faced (or incredibly whiny)
52. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
53. Had amazing friends
54. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country (hehe)
55. Watched wild whales
56. Stolen a sign
57. Backpacked in Europe
58. Taken a road-trip
59. Rock climbing
60. Lied to foreign government's official in that country to avoid notice
61. Midnight walk on the beach
62. Sky diving
63. Visited Ireland
64. Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love
65. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table and had a meal with them
66. Visited Japan
67. Bench-pressed your own weight
68. Milked a cow
69. Alphabetized your records
70. Pretended to be a superhero
71. Sung karaoke
72. Lounged around in bed all day
73. Posed nude in front of strangers
74. Scuba diving
75. Got it on to "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye
76. Kissed in the rain
77. Played in the mud
78. Played in the rain
79. Gone to a drive-in theatre
80. Done something you should regret, but don't regret it
81. Visited the Great Wall of China
82. Discovered that someone who's not supposed to know about your blog has discovered your blog
83. Dropped Windows in favor of something better
84. Started a business
85. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken (so far, so good)
86. Toured ancient sites
87. Taken a martial arts class
88. Sword fought for the honor of a woman.
89. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
90. Gotten married (i was 6 yrs old :P)
91. Been in a movie
92. Crashed a party
93. Loved someone you shouldn't have
94. Kissed someone so passionately it made them dizzy
95. Gotten divorced
96. Had sex at the office
97. Lied
97. (the real 97) Gone without food for 5 days
98. Made cookies from scratch (from salman: cake.... well... we TRIED to :P)
99. Won first prize in a costume contest
100. Ridden a gondola in Venice
101. Gotten a tattoo (do bubblegum wrapper ones count?)
102. Found that the texture of some materials can turn you on
103. Rafted the Snake River
104. Been on television news programs as an "expert"
105. Got flowers for no reason (yeah, i bought them for myself :P)
107. Got so drunk you don't remember anything
108. Been addicted to some form of illegal drug
109. Performed on stage
110. Been to Las Vegas.
111. Recorded music
112. Eaten shark
113. Had a one night stand
114. Gone to Thailand
115. Seen Moulin Rouge
116. Bought a house
117. Been in a combat zone
118. Buried one/both of your parents
120. Been on a cruise ship
121. Spoken more than one language fluently
122. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone
123. Bounced a check
124. Performed in Rocky Horror
125. Read - and understood - your credit report
126. Raised children
127. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy
128. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
129. Created and named your own constellation of stars
130. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
131. Found out something significant that your ancestors did
132. Called or written your Congressperson
133. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
134. ...more than once?
135. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge (does drive count?)
136. Sang loudly in the car, and didn't stop when you knew someone was looking
137. Had an abortion, or your female partner did
138. Had plastic surgery
139. Survived an accident that you shouldn't have survived (does it have to be just an accident?)
140. Wrote articles for a large publication
141. Lost over 100 pounds
142. Held someone while they were having a flashback
143. Piloted an airplane
144. Petted a stingray
145.Broken someones heart
146. Helped an animal give birth
147. Been fired or laid off from a job
148. Won money on a T.V. game show
149. Broken a bone
150. Killed a human being
151. Gone on an African photo safari
152. Ridden a motorcycle (not driven)
153. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of 100mph or faster?
154. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced (does stapling your thumb twice count?)
155. Fired a rifle, shotgun or pistol
156. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
157. Ridden a horse
158. Had major surgery.
159. Had sex on a moving train
160. Had a snake as a pet
161. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
162. Slept through an entire flight: take-off, landing, during
163. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours (jet lag zindabad)
164. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
165. Visited all 7 continents
166. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
167. Eaten kangaroo meat
168. Fallen in love at an ancient Mayan burial ground
170. Eaten sushi
171. Had your picture in the newspaper
172. Had 2 (or more) healthy romantic relationships for over a year in your lifetime
173. Changed someone's mind about something you care deeply about
174. Gotten someone fired for his or her actions
175. Gone back to school (visiting, yeah)
176. Parasailed
177. Changed your name
178. Petted a cockroach
179. Eaten fried green tomatoes
180. Read The Iliad (and the aenid....and metamorphases...and ovid...gotta do all that!)
181. Selected one "important" author whom you missed in school, and read him/ her (pah! i read everything in school!)
182. Dined in a restaurant and stolen silverware, plates, cups because your apartment needed them (why is this even a question?)
183. ...and gotten 86'ed from the restaurant because you did it so many times, they figured out it was you
184. Taught yourself an art from scratch (of course, it didn't work too well)
185. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
186. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt
187. Skipped all your school reunions
188. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
189. Been elected to public office
190. Written your own computer language
191. Thought to yourself that you're living your dream
192. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
193. Built your own PC from parts
194. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn't know you.
195. Had a booth at a street fair
196. Dyed your hair
197: Been a DJ
198: Found out someone was going to dump you via LiveJournal
199: Written your own role playing game
200: Lost your Best Friend for reasons of death
201: Fallen in love over the internet
202: Sung in a Barbers' Shop Quartet (how about an octuplet in the superstore?)
203: Eaten a live animal
204: Been able to communicate in a language you barely learnt barely three days earlier.
205: Gate-crashed a wedding and went up to get your pictures taken with the happy couple

these ones are mine!!! (i.e. mina's) :

205: Been so caught up in a book that you kept reading it, even in the shower
206: Run a lap-without stopping- inside the original Olympics stadium in Athens
207: Had recurring dreams
208: Fallen asleep underneath a tree
209: Eaten lollipops every day for weeks
210: Been inside a bombed-out building
211: Ridden a camel
212: Had a book you loved signed by the author

and these are mine:
213: been mugged
214: almost been mugged......if not for the fact that you ran as fast as you could.
215: been shot at.
216: seen a bomb explode.
217: been a plane when it lost cabin pressure.
218: been stranded at an airport with no idea how you were going to get home.
219: gone through an extended period where you didn't know where each evening's dinner was coming from.
220: pretended to be asleep to get out of something you really should have done.
221: spent hours in the shower because you didn't want to go outside.
222: smiled..not out of happiness, but at the sheer ridiculous-ness of something that's got fairly serious consequences.

have you ever lost your faith?

the first time he did, it was in a concrete maze high above the world, talking to the tops of palm trees, making friends with the wind. then it was anger, resentment at a world which refused to yield to what he felt was his insurmountable will. how dare it refuse to bend? if only a little..just an inch, to reassure him that it was there. it did, ofcourse, not.
one of the greatest tragedies you'll experience is seeing a child with empty eyes.

the second moment was more mundane, more run-of-the-mill, completely in tune with the way life had progressed from so long ago. in a shower, warm water massaging his scalp and forming a dozen little waterfalls on its way to the deep blue floor. he sat there for hours, so afraid to move, to shatter the world of hope,faith,expectations,love he'd so gently crafted all around himself in a web so tight there's only way to go when you are where you've been. in that moment between who you were and who you are, you make the choice to either face up to the consequences of what you've done, or to silently fade away.
it isn't easy. it never is.

wrapped in these fingers, somewhere, is a story. and in that story is a place, a place where all of this comes together, for a moment, before shooting off in different directions again, and it's that place i'll always escape to when i close my eyes.

it's a great story. normally complementary themes, thrown into conflict. five, ten different paths converging and then diverging once more in the only true meaning of 'parallel' when it comes to telling a story. it's a love story, it'll bring a smile to your lips, it'll renew your faith.

maybe i'll tell you, someday.

sunrise walking songs:

bon jovi - dead or alive
bon jovi - blaze of glory
audioslave - gasoline
allison krauss - you will be my ain true love
the beatles - let it be
eric clapton - layla (acoustic)
call - kash (acoustic)
aamir zaki - mera pyaar
matchbox twenty - 3am (acoustic)
powderfinger - my kinda scene
third eye blind - jumper
joe satriani - always with me, always with you
foo fighters - times like these
the eagles - hotel california
goo goo dolls - iris
white snake - love ain't no stranger (acoustic)
the verve - lucky man
guns 'n roses - don't cry (alt. lyrics)
bob dylan - things have changed

on story-telling

there is no such thing as a great story-writer.
this is true.

there are, however, wonderful story tellers everywhere, and that's a subtle difference. because (never begin a sentence with 'because'. ever. unless you really want to.) none of the really good stories are anything so simple as written down. you can't write one, because in some sense the story's always existed, independent of anything. it simply lives itself through you, and most of the time you're just a spectator as it unfolds itself through your hands, thankful to get to be a part of it. characters, spaces, moments exist, have existed forever in a sort of timeless immortality, all you did was provide a channel from here to there for them to take on the sort of permanence we only feel in our own concrete universe.
the universe of stories is a space of drifting moments, encapsulating emotions, and above all a sort of floating feeling of reality where you're not tied down by anything so physically banal as gravity.

who were they? i can't say..they could be you and i.

and this is not a case of lust, you see
it's not a matter of you versus me...

..but my experiment is not getting us anywhere.

its wonderful how you can slip right back....roof-basement-chai. we could live and die this way.

it's that time of year again, ladies...

take me down to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
(Oh, won't you please take me home..)

just an urchin livin' under the street
i'm a hard case that's tough to beat
i'm your charity case
so buy me somethin' to eat
i'll pay you at another time
take it to the end of the line

rags to riches
or so they say
you gotta
keep pushin' for the fortune and fame
you know it's, it's all a gamble
when it's just a game
you treat it like a capital crime
everybody's doin' their time


strapped in the chair of the city's gas chamber
why I'm here, I can't quite remember
the surgoen general say's it's hazardous to breathe
i'd have another cigarette
but I can't see
tell me that you're gonna believe

take me down to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
(Oh, won't you please take me home..)

so far away...

capitain America's been torn apart
now he's a court jester
with a broken heart
he said turn me around
and take me back to the start
i must be losing my mind
"Are you blind?!"
i've seen it all a million times

take me down to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
(Oh, won't you please take me home..)

i want to go
i want to know
oh, won't you please take me home?

i want to see
oh, look at me
oh, won't you please take me home

take me down to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
(Oh, won't you please take me home)

Take me down to the paradise city
Where the grass is green
And the girls are pretty
Oh, won't you please take me home

Take me down
Oh yeah
Beat me down
Oh, won't you please take me home

I want to see
Oh, look at me
Oh, won't you please take me home

I want to see
Boy, I'm gonna be mean
Oh, oh take me home

Take me down to the paradise city
Where the grass is green
And the girls are pretty
Oh, won't you please take me home

I want to go
I want to know
Oh, won't you please take me hooooooome
Baby...

paradise city
guns 'n roses

i remember when they told me about the first one. we were eating dinner when they took him aside and tore his life out from inside him. i still don't know if it was more painful watching his face or knowing i'd never see hers crack open in that grin she seemed to keep just for me.
the second's hand was in mine when they told me, and it changed right there from a hand into skin and flesh and bone. cold.
by the third i was an old hand at it. phone, twelve thousand miles apart. i think i just nodded.
the fourth was a nudge in the middle of the night, and in silence i showered and prepared to dance to that old tune again.

it seems like it's an eternal coming and going, enter, stage right, exit stage left. we're in a perpetual state of motion, of fluidity, where we don't just exist from one moment to the next, we flow.

"immortality is all i seek."

funny, i could've sworn you used to listen to the chords below the skin of thoughts lost in translation.

time makes fools of us all, and for those of us who already pride ourself on being foolish, i'm not quite sure where we've got to go.

any minute now i'm expecting all hell to break loose..

you can run away in the blink of an eye, disappear through the cut, but everytime you do you're taking a little bit more. sometimes..sometimes all you really need to do is to be able to close your eyes and float, without arms reaching, without eyes pleading, without voices whispering, because some nights you'll wake up to the thought that none of those live here anymore.

but.

when your fingers are limp and lifeless, who'll hold you then?

breathe in. breathe out.

i've heard there was a secret chord
that david played, and it pleased the lord
but you don't really care for music, do you?
it goes like this
the fourth, the fifth
the minor fall, the major lift
the baffled king composing hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

your faith was strong but you needed proof
you saw her bathing on the roof
her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to a kitchen chair
she broke your throne, she cut your hair
and from your lips she drew the hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

maybe i have been here before
i know this room, i've walked this floor
i used to live alone before i knew you
i've seen your flag on the marble arch
love is not a victory march
it's a cold and it's a broken
hallelujah.

hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

there was a time you let me know
what's real and going on below
but now you never show it to me, do you?
and remember when i moved in you
the holy dark was moving too
and every breath we drew was hallelujah

hallelujah hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah.

maybe there's a God above
and all i ever learned from love
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
and it's not a cry you can hear at night
it's not somebody who's seen the light
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

hallelujah, hallelujah
hallelujah, hallelujah...

Hallelujah
Rufus Wainwright/Leonard Cohen/Jeff Buckley

rain and red brick.

somewhere there's a landing with a sliver of moonlight that divides the light from the dark on nights when you feel like the cold could freeze your soul and you'd shatter the moment you moved.

wicked game is either a burning piece of retribution after a particularly scalding encounter with love (lust?), or a terrifyingly real essay on the condition of human love. Because if you're going to stand there in the pouring rain, with a bouquet in your hand and the ink of that poem you wrote going all runny on you telling me that this kind of love doesn't always involve an element of lust, then i reserve the right to sit on my porch, drink chai, and smirk at you.

there's something about that word...wicked. if evil is a mind bent out of shape, then the wicked are actually twisted in some sort of wire hanger orgy of right angular wrongness.

it's strange what desire will make foolish people do...

the jury's still out. but it does make you want to sit there and listen to it over and over and over again..

almost forgot: prado, driving to hot n spicy, pakola, 3am, at a particularly appropriate moment in life, the universe, and everything.

kody sat down on the avenue
he tapped his feet,
to the humming of the highway
he watched the light shine down on the broken glass,
and thought
i don’t got no reasons, yet
there it is and there it was
it was clear to all of us
we kept this hat of broken dreams
and we pulled them out, when we needed them
around.

so please hand me the bottle,
i think i’m lonely now
and please give me direction,
i think the hurt set in
and i don’t feel nothing

there’s a squeak hinge down on the back gate
it lets us know if he comes around
i don’t sleep that good anyway
if you’ve never heard that silence, it’s a
god awful sound

i don’t feel nothing, no i don’t feel nothing
there’s nothing to feel good about here

don’t much get down to the avenue
i could drive,
but it takes so much to get there
don’t get off all the broken glass,
the cadillac scene,
well
i’ve seen a lot of good things die and i’m
in an over emotional way..

kody
matchbox twenty

funny how words can take you back to suffocating heat through the window, a/c always broken, driving past the sindhi muslim chowk, haiders, fantasizing about mango milk shakes, turn right, take it past the bridge, halfway there, you've got two more songs before you arrive, close your eyes.

this album is history. the notes carry heavier meaning..and up until this evening i didn't even know what each song was called, but i'd swear they were the soundtrack to my life.

i think that the truth is going to hurt
and i dont know why you couldn't just stand with me,
couldn't stand to be near me,
when my face don't seem to want to shine..cause its a little bit dirty,
well don't just stand there.
say nice things to me.
cause ive been cheated, ive been wronged
you, you don't know me,
well i can't change that.
-
she said it's cold outside, and she hands me a raincoat,
she's always worried about things like that.
she said its all going to end, and it might as well be my fault.
she only sleeps when its raining,
and she screams, and her voice is strained..
she says baby..its 3am, i must be lonely,
she says baby...i can't help but be scared of it all sometimes.

the clock on the wall has been stuck at 3 for days & days
-
i wonder what it’s like to be the rainmaker,
i wonder what it’s like to know that i made the rain,
i’d store it in boxes with little yellow tags on everyone,
and you can come and see them when i’m
done,
when i’m done.

i wonder what it’s like to be a super hero,
i wonder where i’d go if i could fly around downtown,
from some other planet, i get this funky high on yellow sun
boy i bet my friends will be
stunned,
they’re stunned.

straight up, what did you hope to learn about here
if i were someone else, would this all fall apart
strange, where were you, when we started this gig,
i wish the real world, would just stop hassling me
-

[ oh my god, what a fabulous room!
are all these your guitars?
this place is bigger than our apartment.
uh, could I have a drink of water?
you want some? huh?
oh wow! look at this tub!
wanna take a bath?
what're you watching?
hello?
are you feeling ok? ]

day after day,
our love turns gray,
like the skin on a dying man.
and night after night,
we pretend it's all right,
but I have grown older,
and you have grown colder,
and nothing is very much fun, anymore.
and I can feel,
one of all my turns coming on.
i feel,
cold as a razor blade,
tight as a tourniquet,
dry as a funeral drum.

run to the bedroom,
in the suitcase on the left,
you'll find my favorite axe.
don't look so frightened,
this is just a passing phase,
one of my bad days.

would you like to watch tv?
or get between the sheets?
or contemplate a silent freeway?
would you like something to eat?
would you like to learn to fly? -- would you?
would you like to see me try?
ooohh. no!
would you like to call the cops?
do you think it's time I stopped?
why are you running away?

One of My Turns
PF

one day i'm going to be an artist. one day i'm going to change the world. watch. one day it won't be about the mortal i. one day this will get better. faith.

oh sometimes i feel like a dog on a chain
people are pulling, but i still remain
invincible.

he dined on my face
and spit on my back
what a tangled web you weave
theres all kinds of people
but people are unkind
forget about them
just dont lose your mind

take, take what you want to take
and try to leave me alone,
'cause i was here before you,
and i'll be here when you're gone.

oh do what you can
to get in my way
i watch you as you fall.
ill just stand back and bite my tongue,
and watch you become
invisible.

smiling as i watch you fail,
just love how we grew,
'cause you'll fall by the wayside,
while i might just be a star.

take, take what you want to take
and try to leave me alone,
'cause i was here before you,
and i'll be here when you're gone.

oh why have you followed me, my little man?
only speak when i tell you can,
don't even dare to look in my eyes,
you'll crumble where you stand.

'cause i was here before you,
and i'll be here when you're gone.
invincible..

invincible
boondock saints soundtrack

<you're trying to go back, to make yourself part of some bigger picture you've never seen. to make this worthwhile, somehow. why you walk this road, i'll never know, and sometimes i don't think you do, either. you'll be bent and broken if you don't whisper to yourself every night, won't you? it's all a big game, and you've been cracking too many jokes lately...the thin veneer is going to give one day, i'll have to pick up the pieces. why do you do this?>

and sometimes it feels like i'm fighting a war, where even surviving through each day is a hero's tale in itself (i'll tell you, someday), and that, of all things, puts me to bed each night.
except that if i'm fighting a war, then everyone is...but what makes this real? perhaps you only realize you're fighting when you start losing.
was never cut out for this..i'm a defective model. watch, i'll be recalled in a second, vanish from before your eyes. a figment of your collective imaginations. i don't really exist.
somewhere, somehow, there is a reason in a collection of madness that drives the cogs in this machine. and somewhere, somehow, i'm lying face down in the mud of a battleground no-one's ever seen before.

good night.

here's a couple of shorter ones for you..

he was walking down the street (any old street in any old town), thinking how much he liked strawberries. they were perfect, really. and so engrossed, he stumbled along with a silly halfsmile on his face. he passed another man, muttering to himself under his breath. for a moment he wondered what and why, but resolving not to let this, of all things, ruin an otherwise perfectly idyllic afternoon, he resolutely thought of strawberries.
somewhere, something was ringing. it came from the phone booth. strawberries forgotten, he picked it up.

she sat in the back of the class, tapping her worn old pencil mercilessly against the desk. nothing was coming, nothing was going..everything was in a state of stasis..just being. it was as if the world had grown weary, finally, and decided to stop for a moment and catch its breath, before continuing again down to wherever it thought it was going. dust hung in the sunlight, dancing to it's own tune. her handbag suddenly buzzed, and her hand lazily fumbled its way inside to escape.

-

always looking for the next way out, even when you think you've got it figured out. we all want that deus ex machina to drop suddenly from nowhere, and take us somewhere..it doesn't matter where. it may not be any better, any worse than where you are today, but it'll be different, and you always take that risk. you have faith, atleast, in change.

peace is when you don't even hear the ringing anymore.

"either get busy living, or get busy dying."

the shawshank redemption, one of the classics.

it's like its this big adventure, right? and you're constantly getting surprised by the things you do and the people you meet, the places you go and the things you do. just a big adventure.
yea..but this is your life. don't throw it away like this..
who's throwing? i'm living...and the interesting thing about that is in order to do it right you need to feel. feel up, down, all around...live with intensity, and don't hold back. throw yourself at whatever you're climbing today. hey, if it doesn't work out, atleast you learned something. it's alright to be wrong sometimes, as long as you can say that, even if just for a moment, you felt alive.
you use a lot of commas.
i want you, here with me, seeing the things i see...can't see why you've got to be on the other side of the moon, staring abjectly into space letting me get on with it.
you realize that you could end up a complete waste.
absolutely. thats the risk we run. but atleast i'll have had my adventure getting there. nothing ever ends. there is no thread, no words, no epilogue, no final whispers into unfeeling hearts, no period at the end of this sentence remember that, if you remember nothing else

degrees of separation

its cold outside, she said, but i know you won't come in. do you want me to make you a cup, she asked tentatively. he'd already turned away, having said what he'd wanted to say, heard what she couldnt. half way up the twisted stony path he stopped for a moment.
yes?
nothing, he said, hurriedly. i thought i left something inside. its right here.
what is it?
but he had already turned the corner.

he had left something inside, but he knew that if he went back to get it he'd never leave. he'd be stuck in there, with the door plainly in sight but endlessly running around in a maze he'd helped her construct in the otherwise defunct second bedroom of the apartment. it had been fun, he remembered, deciding where to put the walls, and then spending weeks, months busily sawing away, the hours slipping by like nothing while the hands were working. that project had ended, ofcourse. they'd thought of making a loft next, nice place for a couple of beds and a tv, which they later re-arranged to be just a single rather large mattress and bunch of throw cushions for company. things had been simpler when they were busy marking off layers of the sky as their own.

a gust of air jerked him back to time. it was cold outside.

*

do you know what we're really looking for, she asked suddenly, propping herself up on her elbow that sunday morning months ago.
warmth, he mumbled, and grabbed at the blanket she'd dislodged.
oh come on...how long can you lie there?
all day, honey...watch me. but..just to show you my dedication to our cause, i will get up, now, and answer your question.
magnanimous of you.
isn't it?, sleep seeping away from his eyes. now what was it you wanted? that's right...what we're really looking for. now if i were the popular culturalist, i'd say what you realllly want right now is a house out in the hamptons, with a bmw parked outside. you want to be free, you want to cut yourself from the rest of the world, and just be, and every sinew in your body is trying to get you there at every moment.
but you're not, then?
no, 'course not. popular culturalists are necessarily children of a culture i don't particularly agree with. he grinned, here, that particular smile that arched across his face revealing only slightly crooked teeth, but a serenity you could dive into.
so what do you think, then, oh smartass?
me? i don't know, shrugging. maybe all i'm really looking for is peace. maybe that's all anyone's looking for, really. but how do you define peace? it's not just one thing..and its so fragile..so transient, you hardly even notice its there before it suddenly isn't. blink, and you missed it.
mm, i know. we're always so busy running around from A to B to C through to X, even if we do hit peace somewhere in the middle its hardly for long enough to notice. we don't settle, anymore...no-one wants to settle. we want to keep moving, to keep 'evolving', to play our own little part in the rat race out there.
even if we don't know it, eh?
even if we don't know it, we are the shiny (not yet finished) product of humanity, and we've got to prove that we're worth the title. and so we run.
further than has been done before, just to show we're better. it's so competitive..where does peace fit into any of that? it's like our way of life has structured itself around dangling a piece of cheese in front of our noses, enticing us to yet greater depths, providing fuel you couldn't match, but we never really get there, do we? I mean if we're to fulfill our roles in the evolutionary ladder we can hardly just sit still, can we? and when we run, we hope that by achieving something we may someday be able to sit down and rest for a while, but it never quite works out that day, does it? when you start running, you keep running. to stop now would be murder.
murder?
you'd be killing yourself, and everything you've done, by resting on what you've got. if a human being is measured by his worth in terms of how far and long he can run as compared to anyone else, stopping is quitting, and quitting is akin to shooting oneself. you no longer exist in the race..the human race.
sounds gruesome. why do you always make everything seem so hopeless?
hardly hopeless, love. come here, i'll show you something.
she rolled over to his side of the bed, and he shook the covers free and put his arms around her, enclosing her completely. they were nose to nose.
look into my eyes. what do you see?
her face cracked into a grin. what kind of overly dramatic question is that? i feel like i should say something like 'i see everything', or something equally absurd.
what do you see?
i see..me. my reflection..and i see..hmm..i can't put my finger on it. you're..you're happy aren't you?
what do you feel?
warm.
that's all the peace you need, sometimes.

-

what i'm really in love with, he said, is your stomach.
oh really?
yes..its beautiful. perfect.
great..so many in the world, and i had to find one with a gastroenterological fetish.
smile. let me explain this to you, then. come 'ere. now sit next to me. right. notice how my arm fits perfectly around that waist? its amazing.
i suppose now would be the time i tell you that i'm in love with your arm, she grinned.
funny how we pick body parts.

they sat there, still, for hours without words or movement or drifting silences, in an elongated moment of intensity.

yea, it is funny. sometimes i wonder if its just the stomach that you need, she confessed, finally.
only as much as you need the arm.
but what happens if, one day, you don't need a stomach?
everythings based on need..we do what we need to, whatever it is, with whomever it is. maybe it's just time, maybe its just circumstance, maybe this..all this, that tree, this ladybug who's about to jump to the next leaf, maybe they're all just a sort of constructed reality based on a need felt by a human being. maybe you don't even exist at all. maybe i'm just a figment of
your imagination. maybe even both of our imaginations, giving each other what they need when they need it.
you didn't answer my question.
didn't i?

-

i don't love you, you know, she said, hands on hips, with that particular look on her face with lips pursed that let him know that this wasn't a drill.
don't you?
no. because we knew what love was, once, and i don't know where you are anymore. where were you?
out.
on the one hand i don't want to take your escapes away from you, and on the other as an escape i feel i've a right to know if you're going to run away from here, so that i can atleast pack.
im not running away. i just need to be away, sometimes. how can you escape from an escape?
you can't. not unless you stop using it.
there's that. he paused. so you don't love me?
no. i can't. not like this. you should know that better than anyone.
i don't belong to you, you know..you and i both know that we need our space.
theres a difference between walking away and running away. ive grown accustomed to walking from you.
im not running away.
liar.
are you leaving?
where would i go? i live here.

-

i can't breathe, he said to her once, out on the porch.
what's wrong?
nothing.
liar.
that smile, again. don't worry. i'll be fine. you said you were going to head out in a few minutes..take my car, your left front doesnt have enough air in it.

it wasn't as much fun as i'd thought, she said. but the band was great. met up with some great people.
cool..knew you'd have fun.
yeah. you coming to bed, or are you going to sit out here all night?
i'll be up in a while.
whats wrong?
nothing.
liar.

how was your reverie, oh king of the dramatic loners?
same as ever, queen.
good night.
'night.

-

could you keep it down?, she said, head poking through the gap between door and wall. i'm trying to talk to a friend of mine, and he can't hear me over the music.
that alright?
a little lower.
can't go any lower..i start losing my place in the song.
well then i guess you can't go any lower. we'll be done in a while, you can practice in the living room, then.
his fingers were already moving around the board.

-

i wish you wouldn't do that, she said.
do what?, hanging his coat on the rack.
go out on your own so much. you know how dangerous you can be.
i can handle it.
oh i'm sure. you'll handle everything perfectly.
what's that supposed to mean?
nothing.
liar.
don't kill yourself.
hardly what i'm doing. look at my face, if you don't believe my lips. do i look like i'm going to slip over an edge?
sometimes i can't tell anymore, it would seem.
guess not, he said, bounding upstairs.

she didnt come to bed till he was already asleep that night. an old friend called, and they caught up.

-
the thing is, he said, that life's like this big..nothing. theres nothing quite like life, is there?
nothing quite fits, no. it's like a jigsaw, different pieces from different places.
except that with a jigsaw you know what it is you're constructing.
and hence its not quite like a jigsaw, either. quod erad demostradum.
you're really proud of knowing what that stands for, aren't you?
'course.
this isn't any old jigsaw, though..it's huge, for one.
well yea..it's a little intricate, if thats what you're getting at, but then what'd you expect? you're trying to describe something that most of the time you shouldn't be worrying about.
just keep building, don't worry about it, eh?
exactly..why do you insist on dissecting it? do you really need a 'theory'?
'need' is always a strong word. but it's nice to have something to fall back on when you feel its falling all around you, isn't it? and its hardly as if anyone lives without his or her own personal little theory about the way things work. the real conflicts, the conflicts of self, arise when we find something that we can't explain in any terms. the human being is a very egocentric creature, you realise. it must feel that it has a certain degree of knowledge over a situation. knowledge, ofcourse, doesn't always equate to control, but it's a start. and what's the most paralysing feeling you've ever felt?
she bit her lip. helplessness.
exactly. when you're helpless you just have no idea what's going on, and you don't know if theres anything you can do to change things.
well that isn't exactly true. you can more or less understand what's going on in a situation and still be helpless. what if you were being tortured, and i were locked in this room and couldn't get out, but i knew you were being hurt in there? i'd be helpless, but i'd know what was going on.
yes, but your lack of knowledge now moves over to a more active dimension.
translate.
you don't know if theres anything you can do. you don't know how to do what you want, which is, presumably, to stop me from being tortured. a stretch of presumption, ill grant you, but there it is. he smiled.
yes, quite the stretch, egocentric creature, she said, and grinned. so what you're saying is that everyone comes up with their belief system, morals, everything, based on what they consider to be their theory of life.
exactly. its all about being able to explain things. we want to be able to tell what, why, when, where. naturally curious, even naturally egomaniacal, to an extent.
except that theres no such thing as 'natural', ofcourse. it's all a social construction of reality based on the society that surrounds us.
be that as it may, the society does still exist around us, and so the social
construction holds.
so your rules won't work on an island community of koala bear worshipping community-based hunter/gatherers?
precisely.
nifty.
don't you think?
now there's a loaded question.
well someone's in quite the mood tonight. well i'm headed off. need to get outside.
want me to come along?
if you'd like.
that means no, doesnt it?
smile.

-

one night he came home to an empty house. mustve got tired of waiting, he thought, and went around each room checking, just to make sure. that's what happens when you push people too hard, he added to himself, as he played the blues piece he'd been working out in his head all week.
you're getting better, she said.
didn't hear you come in over my noise. where were you?
out.
hope you enjoyed yourself.
we did.

he started playing again, then. she sat and listened a while.
finally, he stopped midway through a scale he had just gotten down.
i get so tired, sometimes, he said, and put his arms around her, enclosing her.
i know..it's alright. she didn't move, or resist.
you're cold, he said.
i know.

-

psst..come closer, i'll tell you a secret...

..you can't touch me.

don't worry about me, i'll be fine. always am, always will be. been through a dozen forest fires worst than the largest burn you've ever felt, been strolling through a hurricane worse than any whirlwind your mind can imagine. and me? barely touched...not a scratch. been playing this game too long to trip now, been walking this road too long to let any of it even dream of approaching. it's a neat trick, if you can do it. go ahead, do your worst, and i'll still be walking down that little path of mine. you can't touch me.

victim? hell no. martyr? don't make me laugh. you've seen a million like me come and go. but not one quite me.

and when that last tree falls, and the final wind blows, and you breathe your last, hold your last hand, whisper your last secret, i'll still be walking.

tired? maybe one day.

i am folded,

and unfolded and unfolding

...i am fine.

somewhere between the pages, sentences, words, letters of volumes unwritten lies what we truly mean.

i am a one way motorway,
i’m the one that drives away
then follows you back home.
i am a street light shining,
i’m a wild light blinding bright,
burning off alone.

it’s times like these you learn to live again
it’s times like these you give and give again
it’s times like these you learn to love again
it’s times like these time and time again

i am a new day rising,
i’m a brand new sky,
to hang the stars upon tonight.
i am a little divided,
do i stay or run away?
and leave it all behind?

it’s times like these you learn to live again
it’s times like these you give and give again
it’s times like these you learn to love again
it’s times like these time and time again

Times Like These
Foo Fighters

another raining-outside-cup-of-chai-in-your-hand song : )

it's funny how on some days the first thought to go through your head when you wake up in the morning and lazily rub sleep out of your eyes is

"i can't wait for it to be night again"

twisted between
the layers (like skin,
so warm to the touch of a stranger)
of words unspoken
and sights unseen,
i thought i heard you sing
to me,
once.

and walking down red paths,
in cities we've never seen,
marvelling at sights that no-one else knows exist,
i spoke,
to you,
once.

and that,
that is all that matters.

everytime..it's like meeting an old love, except that this romance never ended, never begun, never went through the intricacies of entrapment or falling, never went through separations, never wavered. background music, always attracting my senses so much more than anything placed squarely before my face and underneath my eyes.

i can stare at you for hours.


i speak, ofcourse, of rain.

yes..that's right, i steal. i also lie and cheat.

funny, always thought that you already knew that.

and it's just a little funny,
how your face cracks open into that wide smile,
so easily.
enough to make you want to cry,
really.

i wonder, sometimes, if this space doesn't give me a level of indulgence that's just a little unhealthy. like that strawberry cheesecake i can't stop dreaming about..beautiful, pure, innocent, white cheesecake, with that layer of deep red (you could sink into it). heaven.

Nightblindness

there was a time when he wasn't frowned upon. gentle downturn of the lips, perhaps, but never an outright flexing of those particular 23 muscles that'll transform your face from smooth lines to harsh creases. creases that'll etch themselves into the bone, held long enough, boring deep into your mind and leaving an imprint of what you see before you, now, and leaving it forever as the only image you'll ever be able to conjure up when you hear my syllables uttered.

he was free.

but he lived in a box.

even so, when you're young, and if the box is large enough, you don't even realize it's there. boundaries are far off conditions that can be safely ignored in the here and now, when there's so much else to do. so many people to see, to talk to, so many hills to climb, so many beaches to make castles on, so many roads to bike down, so much air to breathe.

the trouble is, he never really got it. had it. made it. while you were exchanging a walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage (thank you, PF), he was idly ambling through crumbling cobblestone roads in the old quarter of berlin. and as it came crashing down around him, he thought 'i wonder if it'll hurt to die?'. that's how he grew up, wondering how it would feel to die. would it hurt? would it burn? and when the final stone hit and knocked him unconscious would he conveniently fall and fill the space in your creases?

dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, dark room, dark notes hanging in the summer breeze for an instant, before being carried down the way and to the left. blue-white light, burning, brightly, so very intensely underneath a layer of skin, flesh and bone. burning everything around it, neatly enclosed in a little box with a gold clasp and a beautiful silver lock, with no keyhole. curtains drawn, tightly, wrapped ever so lovingly around a shining blue flame. blue. white. blue. white.

he spoke with his tongue, but he implored with his eyes. under carefully arched eyebrows (a maneuver he spent so long perfecting) you could just about make out what he really meant. blue. white.
he told you to move on, but he begged you to dig deep. he closed the front door, but he begged you to find a way through the back. he told you to stay on the warm, safe, sand, but he begged you to feel the water swishing against your ankles. his right shook your hand, and his left held on for dear life.

at night, he was free. at night, he was me. at night, he was alone, and at night he could gently lull himself into sleep, whispering into his own ear how it all wasn't so bad. he didn't have to die today. he didn't have to believe any of it. he couldn't help himself, but he saved himself every night. one tugging, the other pulling. blue. white.

half-awake, he'd walk around the paved roads in your shiny city, whispering to himself constantly. this is where you went to work today. it isn't real. this lamp was flickering earlier. it isnt your fault. she was already gone, you never pushed. he knew what you meant, it's alright. it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault..it's not your fault.

alarm clock, the world's coffee black and egg white again. switch. chop, change, don't forget to hear me whispering in your ear. i'm always there. don't forget. don't believe them. they only look at your clothes, the same old threadbare jeans, faded to white, worn away at the knees. don't listen..hush...it's alright...it's ok..trust me. trust in me. i believe in you. i have faith. listen to me..i'm your candle flame. focus on the wick..focus........keep watching. it's not your fault.

and will music save your mortal soul? 
funny how it always seems to. carries you, shapes that lingering thread in the back of your mind, toys with it, and gives it a voice to listen to. gives it a thought to latch onto, gives it memories to throw back to, gives it futures to imagine, gives it an empty road and a full tank. 
 
all i can say is that my life is pretty plain.
i like watchin' the puddles gather rain.. 
and all i can do is just pour some tea for two,
and speak my point of view,
but it's not sane, it's not sane. 
 
i just want someone to say to me
no, no, no, no,
i'll always be there when you wake.
ya know i'd like to keep my cheeks dry today,
so stay with me and i'll have it made. 
 
and i don't understand why i sleep all day
and i start to complain that there's no rain
and all i can do is read a book to stay awake,
and it rips my life away,
but it's a great escape escape......escape......escape......  
 
all i can say is that my life is pretty plain
ya don't like my point of view
ya think i'm insane its not sane......it's not sane. 
i just want someone to say to me
no, no, no, no,
i'll always be there when you wake.
ya know i'd like to keep my cheeks dry today,
so stay with me and i'll have it made. 
 
(i'll have it made i'll have it made
 you know we're really gonna,
really gonna have it made
gonna have it made.) 
 
No Rain
Blind Melon 
 
mm..here's an old favourite.. 
 
[...] 
 
and you can't fight the tears that ain't coming,
or the moment of truth in your lies.
when everything feels like the movies,
yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.. 
 
and i don't want the world to see me,
'cause i don't think that they'd understand.
when everything's made to be broken,
i just want you to know who i am..
 
 [...] 
 
Iris
Goo Goo Dolls

a roof song if there ever was one..this next one's a gem, too.  
 
mera pyaar tum hi ho,
tum hi to ho..
meray saath tum hi ho,
tum hi tou ho.. 
 
nice bass line. simple, strong song. 
 
ae ajnabi..desert song. train song. a song for the lost, who lived, once, a few steps down the way. silent streets, partings, disconnected reunions, unfinished conversations.  

bleah

A collection of escape routes

from guests in PECHS
you move from the tv room to the second door to the bathroom (the one that was supposed to lead outside before they built the annex). shake it violently a couple of times so that the chatkhani drops, and then sneak into the middle room. keep low, so as to avoid being seen. now, swift as a shadow, bolt from the front door of the middle room to the front door of the house. this is the riskiest moment..don't hesitate, run. out the door, you're home free.

from school
i'm sick..*cough*, *cough*..what do you mean i can stay if i promise not to watch any tv?
honestly, your best bet is to go for a stomach bug, tho. easiest to fake, easiest to get away with.

from studying
lock the door, giant 'do not disturb' sign. put a/c on. snuggle in bed with a good book. keep textbook handy, lying around, in case someone should ever come knocking.

from pain
find a roof. room to walk around is essential. a discman is an added bonus. if you're in karachi, you've always the wind for company.

to blue skies
read above.

from trivial/meaningless/banal/nothing-to-say online conversations
away, away! you have been banished! (name that song..)

from guests in zamzama
make sure you're involved in the design of the house, and then make sure you live in the basement. *evil grin*.

from boredom, blades
"i'm going to go 'practice driving'."

from the roof
route one: get on a chajjha, lower yourself via the wooden jaffri onto the ledge outside the first floor windows. jump onto the top of the boundary wall. be careful, this is tricky. jump down, you're away.
route two: use the cemented top of one of the drainpipes at the back of the house to jump onto the neighbors' ledge. lower yourself onto their back balcony, run down the spiral staircase, and out their front gate.

you can escape from anywhere. almost.

quoting a quote:
"'How do you say goodbye to the peepul tree, Karim? How do you eat your roots?'
you don't. keep me grounded, keep me breathing, keep me standing, swallowing the sky."

so..tell me something, do you believe in the basic good in people?
have to.
have to?
no choice..i can't believe anything any other way.
and is everything, eventually, going to be alright?
yes.
and do you believe that you're not a horrible person, and that you might possibly not end up as one?
i believe i'm a person..and i believe in the basic good in people, even me.
so then explain...how, and why, are you cynical?
here's the really clever bit...watch for it: I'm not. sometimes what you walk & talk like is secondary to what you feel, breathe.
Do you believe in god?
i have faith.

ouranophobia - fear of heaven

the large red mark on my left calf burns. friction. tomorrow morning there'll be perhaps dozens of tiny little scabs, formed around pinpoints i can't even see. mmm..
a little further up is a red dot which bled for longer than you'd think before exhausting itself, where i tried a little too hard.

i love how we have this fascination with cuts, bruises, gashes, scabs, burns, wounds. gingerly picking our way around them, examining carefully the extent of the damage just inflicted. even more fun when you've no-one else to blame for them but yourself..that only serves to distract you with anger from where your real focus should lie: another mark.
what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger.

and i'll always pick away at my scabs..not because they annoy me, particularly, but just because they're there. if you pick at one too early, you can see a pinprick of blood oozing out from underneath it.
i love the taste of blood. not too much, but just a dash..just enough to leave that taste in your mouth.

when i was three i managed to stick a piece of glass into my left knee. they had to stitch it..six, maybe seven. big, gash-like, scar of smooth skin. it's been a constant companion.
speaking of companions, there's a tiny shard of glass in my left hand..just below the base of the pinky. when i ran through a french window. small bump reminds me it's there. always will be.

bruises are always interesting creatures, if only for the constant entertainment they can provide if viewed at regular intervals. it's a constant change in colour, and ,if you move your skin this way and that, shape. they're never the same next morning.

sometimes pain only reminds you that you're alive. which is better than nothing.
what's the line?

when everything feels like the movies
and you'd bleed just to know you're alive...

it's time for a lesson in family history.

my grandfather was born july 1st, 1919, in Agra. he was the son of a powerful man in the city..the mayor, in fact. there's a road named after him, runs near (or nearer than i am, at any rate) the prison where my father was put in solitary after he tried to escape from a prisoner-of-war camp.
this is true.
he was an electrical engineer. worked in the telecom industry, and traveled to europe to seek his fortune. was hired by ericsson, and with them he stayed for the duration of his working life. worked in sweden, england, iraq, lebanon, syria, oman, saudi arabia, pakistan..all over the middle east. eventually he was made the head of middle-east operations for them. he took his family everywhere with him: my mother had studied in 9 different schools by the time she eventually did her A levels, from kgs, in fact. his son studied in boarding school in england from grade six, or thereabouts. he hasn't come home since.
he was known to be kind, but forceful. he smoked a pipe, in his day. was the picture of the successful man..sitting in his chair, reading the paper, one of the very first models of the TV running in the background while he chewed meditatively on his pipe.
he died november 28th, 2003. Karachi.

my grandmother was born in Aligarh, on christmas day 19-..im not sure. in the 20s, i think. she completed her primary and secondary education in the same city. a normal household, they were middle-class at best. i don't know this, exactly, but i can feel it, sense it, from who she was and what she did.
she did her B.A from government college, lahore. studied at the same time that mr.iqbal was involved with that college. she knew him, in passing. she married, and moved to karachi..where she did her B.Ed from karachi university. later, during their travels, she did her M.Ed from the american university at beirut. she's taught all over the middle east, and in pakistan. my grandfather didn't like her working. i imagine it was because of his pride. but i wouldn't rule out the fact that he wanted her around more. he had twin personalities that ran more or less parallel to each other, doing the same thing for different reasons.
she was an exceptional woman. one of the most well read (in both languages) people you'll probably ever come across, she had a certain air about her of knowing so much more than you do, but keeping quiet in order to let you ramble and figure it out on your own rather than having had it told to you. she was a tall, very thin figure. short, curly hair..which she'd maintain meticulously with the aid of plastic curlers, and a round brush which i always found fascinating. she was slight..you always got the feeling that you could blow on her and she'd fall over. later in life her arthiritis would limit her movement, and that's another thing i'll always remember.
she was singlehandedly responsible for my learning, both reading/writing and appreciation, of urdu. we would sit for hours and pore over mahawaras, grammar exercises, writing exercises, letters, essays, literature. she was my best friend, alot of the time. and my room-mate..i shared a room with her for alot of my life. we would play rummy endlessly, almost every afternoon.
she was also a talented artist..scattered around my house are all sorts of things she'd made. vases, painted tiles, paintings, ash trays..i'll point them out to you next time you happen by. we would make flower arrangements together. and i remember one arrangement we created out of dry flowers that we were so in love with we didn't take it down for months. lay in the entrance of the house in islamabad for ages.
when i was down with a flu, she'd make me methi ki chai.
she died December 19th, 1997. Karachi.


i never really knew my other grandfather. at all, really, and the only person i could sit down and grill about him is..lets say unavailable. he worked in the civil service, both pre-partition and post. provided for his family of seven, they lived in north nazimabad for most of their time settled in karachi. later, they moved to a house in PECHS (my house) which he'd constructed and given out on rent to foreign diplomats and businessmen.
he died sometime in the 1950s. Karachi.

his wife was left to fend for herself, and her five children (the youngest an infant, the eldest 13yrs old). i have limitless respect for this woman..as did so many other people. ever since i'd known her she cut a very frail figure..very weak and bent-over, but a lifetime of struggling will do that to you.
she was from Faizabad, lucknow, btw.
for the longest time she was the head of our family...the eldest survivor of that generation, she was Amma to not just us, but to a whole swathe of people. inner strength..if there was one trait she personified, this was it.
for years she would make us unday ka halwa and pooris every friday (do you remember when friday was the holiday?). before she died, she made sure to teach me how to make it myself, because she knew how much i loved it. she taught me much, much more.
respect.
she died December 19th, 2003. Karachi.

tongue-twisted,
around so many syllables.
knots remain unspoken.

ugh..retching,
wretched.

speaking around each sentence,
words wrapping themselves,
lovingly
around my eyes.

incomplete.

and for those, in here
out there,
who feared,
felt,
i,we,me,
was,were,are
lost
we are merely *misplaced*


i can't explain, you wouldn't understand,
this is not how i am..

but then, who are you? sometimes..sometimes if you walk, talk, smell like something, it doesn't matter what you feel, breathe. it's no better now. waiting for a miracle...always hae been. how long can you drift before you die?
die.
how many hands will you grab along the way, greedily? and how many will you drag down? and how long till you realize you're just a pile of mud, wrapped up in a sickly skin, thrown out there to the blind, for them to fool you into believing, for that moment, that you are worth the air that you're breathing at this very moment?

so which is it..breathe, or die?

what'll you do when you get lonely,
and nobody's waiting by your side?
you've been running and hiding much too long.
you know it's just your foolish pride..

layla, you've got me on my knees,
layla, i'm begging, darling please,
layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind?

i tried to give you consolation,
when your old man had let you down.
like a fool, i fell in love with you,
turned my whole world upside down.

layla, you've got me on my knees,
layla, i'm begging, darling please,
layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind?

let's make the best of the situation
before i finally go insane.
please don't say we'll never find a way,
and tell me all my love's in vain.

layla, you've got me on my knees,
layla, i'm begging, darling please,
layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind?

layla
eric clapton

funny how some songs just get stuck in your head in the morning, and never really let you go. i've been humming you all day, singing you on a rooftop over a cup of chai, but you've still got me.
i'm not seeing it. there's something, right there, staring at me with those wide open eyes, and i'm looking right past it. and sometimes you want to escape so badly, to just be able to drop it all and walk..run..into the distance, where no-one can find you, and no-one can touch you, and none of this is real anymore.
but there's something, always something, tugging at the sleeve relentlessly, pulling you back each time you finally make up your mind to go.

somewhere in this darkness there's a light that i can't find,
maybe it's too far away, or maybe i'm just blind..
maybe i'm just blind

ah. line's been cast, we're asail..where to, and why, it doesn't matter. it never matters. running away has always been the easiest thing in the world, and i've always found myself taking the easy way out. that doesn't make me the best person you'll ever know, but i'm just trying to live..

someone's sitting in the car, worrying. baccha..nothing's being thrown at you.

i have no answers for you..
..answers, answers..always running, always searching, always claiming.
always running, never caring.
haha, haha.
drift, drift..like little barks tossed here and there in the perfect storm.

this idleness..it does strange things to a perfectly (un)sound mind. what is a sound mind, in any case? physically..you couldnt find one better. all systems exactly where they're supposed to be, nice and proper.
a sound mind...capable of logical thought? dunno..not sure..each mind has its weakness, where logic goes flying out a cleverly disguised wall which is, in actuality, a window.
wondow.
random association is always good.

i find it hard to explain how i got here..
i think i can,i think i can,
but then again i will falter,
dream.

nice verse. dream little doggie, dream.

spinning..tops..tops were always fun. used to play with mine for hours, outside in the driveway of C-23, islamabad.
islamabad: great place to live growing up, not such a great place to visit for extended periods. much greeness..cool. lots of places to go on short treks..cool also. many wild boars..not so cool. biking trails into wilderness..still cool.
and, ofcourse, ready access to the mountains. islamabad is like a springboard..its the first stop before you head off into the hills.

and we're all headed to the hills. where else would you go? its either the dizzy heights, or the sands of places you can't get any lower at..water gently lapping at your ankles. nathia gali, the hot and the cold one.

acha. that seems quite enough.

let it rain, let it rain..

i'm so tired of being here.
suppressed by all my childhood fears.
and if you have to leave,
i wish that you would just leave.
'cause your presence still lingers here,
and it won't leave me alone.
these wounds won't seem to heal,
this pain is just too real,
there's just too much that time cannot erase.
when you cried i'd wipe away all of your tears,
when you'd scream i'd fight away all of your fears.
i held your hand through all of these years.
but you still have...
all of me.
you used to captivate me by your resonating mind,
now i'm bound by the life you left behind.
your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
your voice has chased away all the sanity in me.
these wounds won't seem to heal,
this pain is just too real,
there's just too much that time cannot erase.
when you cried i'd wipe away all of your tears,
when you'd scream i'd fight away all of your fears.
i held your hand through all of these years.
but you still have...
all of me.


i tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone.
but though you're still with me,
i've been alone all along.

when you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears,
when you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears.
i held your hand through all of these years.
but you still have...
all of me.

my immortal
evanescence

nice song..a song for silent streets, for wandering alone with at night.
and people insist on hanging on..sometimes i can't understand it. how can you hold on to something that no longer exists? it's gone, just by virtue of the fact that the other half has changed. one is necessarily a part of the other..the memories, feelings, smiles were all there not just because of who you're with, but who they were at the time.

remember the good times. don't hold on..don't force the other side to compromise, not like this. in the end, that's all i hope for..whoever you are, i hope i'm not making you compromise.

ha. look at me..i speak as if i've seen the world.

its amazing how simple the things you miss can be..yea, you had it right: its the physical intimacy of us that we miss most...theres so much you can't say, without labouriously typing out *grin*..a shoulder squeeze, a smile, a shrug..bilingual..

my scripts still lying on the floor, wind flicking the pages.

dove, shove, above.

the artist attempts to paint the world the way only (s)he sees it...whether the medium be words, paint or film, each piece attempts to tell a story only the hands of the teller can see.
we move through pictures, words, two-dimensional depictions of three-dimensional life..each trying to get closer and closer to what we see...what is reality to you?
and as it comes in fragments, what we're really doing is constructing our own reality.

-escape artist.

it sounded better at 5am, lying flat on my back staring at my fan go round and round and round

the highwayman

part one
i
the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
the road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
and the highwayman came riding-
riding-riding-
the highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

ii
he'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
they fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
and he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
his pistol butts a-twinkle,
his rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

iii
over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
and he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
he whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

iv
and dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
his eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
but he loved the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's red-lipped daughter,
dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

v
"one kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
but I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
then look for me by moonlight,
watch for me by moonlight,
i'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

vi
he rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
but she loosened her hair i' the casement! his face burnt like a brand
as the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
and he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

part two
i
he did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
and out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
when the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
a red-coat troop came marching-
marching-marching-
king George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

ii
they said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
but they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window;
and hell at one dark window;
for Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride..

iii
they had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
they bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
she heard the dead man say-
look for me by moonlight;
watch for me by moonlight;
i'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way..

iv
she twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
she writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
they stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
cold, on the stroke of midnight,
the tip of one finger touched it! the trigger at least was hers!

v
the tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
she would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
for the road lay bare in the moonlight;
blank and bare in the moonlight;
and the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

vi
tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
the highwayman came riding,
riding, riding!
the red-coats looked to their priming! she stood up straight and still!

vii
tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
nearer he came and nearer! her face was like a light!
her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
then her finger moved in the moonlight,
her musket shattered the moonlight,
shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

viii
he turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
how Bess, the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

ix
back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
with the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
when they shot him down on the highway,
down like a dog on the highway,
and he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

x
and still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
when the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
when the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
a highwayman comes riding-
riding-riding-
a highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

xi
over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
and he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
he whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

-alfred noyes

its 4.20..

it's been 4.20 for the past three hours. its a peculiar property of sunday afternoons, this.
so hot it seems to have gotten under your skin..so you're baking alive, but from the inside. the winds blowing its merry way, but not this way. jack and jill have gone back inside..the hill's for another day. tell me, is this the way we once lay?
strawberry cheesecake.

...its still 4.20!!!!

the interesting thing about memories, or atleast my memories, is i almost never recollect them. i do, however, live each detail out.
i'll explain..ask me to tell you about some crazy thing i've done with my friends..and i'll stare at you. draw a complete blank.
but as i look at that curve in the road, i can't help but think of the time we went down to the beach for someone's birthday, racing each other like maniacs. i see my neighbors house, and i'm throwing stones at it again, from the shadows. i walk into my kitchen and i'm drinking chai, sitting down with an old friend after a semester of college and comparing notes on how we survived the big bad world.
it's a fine line. and in the end i wonder, drinking chai on my porch, staring at my green gate, if i'm living two lives, or killing one. fondly recollecting, or frantically escaping? fine line.

escape is one thing. but you can't keep running away. in the end, you draw lines between what's real, and what isn't. But you never stop remembering. You also never stop adding to things to remember when you're old, withered, and sitting on a chair staring out towards the horizon.
(just because it looks quaint, and someone is bound to happen by and take a picture)

dark bitterness. it starts in the back of your mind, travels throughout your body, stretching you out, spreading you over too much bread, and then it hits the back of your throat.
we're so utterly spoilt. completely. we don't even live real lives anymore...understand, a real life does not exist in a bubble. life in a box is no life at all. so distant from whats really going on, so fascinated with the latest ways to fight our boredom with pretty lights.
its dark outside.
so transfixed by the sounds that can transport us so far away.
..people hearing without listening..

wow. isn't that great? i'm a spoilt little rich kid, trying to find his place in the world. should i do engineering for a living? should i buy this car, or that? should i build that annex to my house? should i buy the fucking big television of my dreams?

yea. i'm the rich kid who's got everything he ever wanted, or should ever want. i write to exorcise myself. catharsis through the written word, metaphors set me free, images give me wings. ..but my soul still aches.

shit load of good that does anyone.

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
oh, won't you please take me home
oh, won't you please take me home..


just a' urchin livin' under the street
i'm a hard case that's tough to beat
i'm your charity case
so buy me somethin' to eat
i'll pay you at another time
take it to the end of the line

rags to riches, or so they say
ya gotta-keep pushin' for the fortune and fame
it's all a gamble when it's just a game
ya treat it like a capital crime
everybody's doin' their time..

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, yeah

strapped in the chair of the city's gas chamber
why I'm here I can't quite remember
the surgeon general says it's hazardous to breathe
i'd have another cigarette but I can't see
tell me who you're gonna believe..

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home, yeah..

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, yeah!

so far away
so far away
so far away
so far away

captain America's been torn apart
now he's a court jester with a broken heart
he said-
turn me around and take me back to the start
i must be losin' my mind-
"are you blind?"
I've seen it all a million times

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home, yeah

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh won't you please take me home

take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, home

i wanna go
i wanna go
oh wont you please take me home
i wanna see
i wanna see
oh won't you please take me home

take me down
take me down
oh won't you please take me home
i wanna see
i wanna see
oh won't you please take me home

take me down
i wanna go
oh won't you please take me home

-Paradise City, Guns 'N Roses.

wonder if she'll remember me?