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?

and it gets to be, sometimes, that you can hardly breathe. its like someone took a rather large rock, and placed it, ever so gently on your chest.
your breath comes in spurts. what do you want? what do you want? where do you want to go? where? what? how? when? panic..panic..escape..escape...please...



it says, in large friendly letters: 'Don't Panic.'
sometimes its the only thing that maintains my sanity, or rather distinct lack thereof.
damnit, slipped again.

it's not fair when someone can write the blog you were going to write, before you write it..

when you break things down to the basics, the very basics, it usually becomes just that simple. in the end, that's all that matters. basically.

it is late. but i cannot sleep.

will you drink of me,
as i drink of you?
will you lift that cup,
press it, lightly, against those lips,
and let me course through your veins?
i feel thinner now,
so thin, you could walk through me,
disperse me.
you could breathe on me,
and my smoky, emptiness would diffuse into everything.
will you drink of me?
will you breathe?
please.


bleah. don't you hate it when all you can do is retch?

its like running your hands,
gently, carefully,
over the surface of the sea
(the and not a,
you understand.)
it is reading
without opening my eyes.
it is feeling,
without thinking twice.
it is falling, slowly, almost imperceptibly,
inexorably,
backwards.
it is letting you waft through me,
like a warm summer breeze,
my arms outstretched,
my bones tingling faintly, as you pass..

it is.

you're getting closer, to pushing me off of lifes little edge,
[...]
you're getting closer, you're holding the rope...i'm taking the fall...


who, or what, are you? what am i pushing myself against? or from? why...is it just innate, or maybe i'm just blind..
it'll never be over, will it? despite all odds, i'll always find some reason to insist on sitting outside, in the rain. i may find home, but i will wish it was impossibly the same as it was...i may find peace, but i'll complain incessantly about how the sky is just the wrong shade of purple...

why can't i find your arms, and just sleep...

to you, and the lives we haven't lived, but remember anyway

hey you, out there in the cold
getting lonely, getting old
can you feel me?
hey you, standing in the aisles
with itchy feet and fading smiles
can you feel me?
hey you, don’t help them to bury the light
don’t give in without a fight.

hey you, out there on your own
sitting naked by the phone
would you touch me?
hey you, with you ear against the wall
waiting for someone to call out
would you touch me?
hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
open your heart, I’m coming home.

[...]

hey you, standing in the road
always doing what you’re told,
can you help me?
hey you, out there beyond the wall,
breaking bottles in the hall,
can you help me?
hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
together we stand, divided we fall.

"well, only got an hour of daylight left. better get started"
"isnt it unsafe to travel at night? "
"it’ll be a lot less safe to stay here. you’re father’s gunna pick up our trail before long"
"can loca ride? "
"yeah, I can ride... magaret, time to go! magaret, thank you for everything"
"goodbye chenga"
"goodbye miss ..."
"i’ll be back"



nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands...

i'm walking on the edge of my roof, you see....way up there, beyond the clouds. beyond your reach. the normal rules don't apply. there are no rules. except gravity. and i live on the edge. i tip-toe now, moving across the concrete, to gain a better view.

except gravity. lets see where the music takes me tonight...

"there's another world inside of me that you may never see,
there's secrets in this life that I can't hide,
well somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find,
well maybe it's too far away,
or maybe I'm just blind,
maybe I'm just blind...

[...]

i won't tell you a damn thing that I could not tell my friends,
roaming through this darkness, I'm alive but I'm alone,
and part of me is fighting this,
but part of me is gone... "


-'when i'm gone', three doors down.

BEIJING, March 14: China's parliament amended the constitution on Sunday to protect private property, a landmark move in the Communist ideology of the world's most populous nation.

But Premier Wen Jiabao, a populist and cautious reformer, has not forgotten the roots of the party, which was once the vanguard of the proletariat but now tries to be everything to everyone.

More than 99 per cent of 2,896 delegates to the National People's Congress approved Wen's work report - his first since taking office last March - in which he championed workers and peasants. "The Communist Party wants to represent everybody," Chinese political commentator Wu Jiaxiang said.

Five decades after sweeping to power, a period during which private property has been nationalized and campaigns have been waged against landlords, China's parliament amended the constitution to add the clause: "Private property obtained legally is inviolable."

"The artist is one who is full of questions, who cries them out in great angst, who discovers rainbow answers in the darkness, and then rushes to canvas or paper. An artist is someone who cannot rest, who can never rest as long as there is one suffering creature in this world. Along with Plato's divine madness there is also divine discontent, a longing to find the melody in the dischords of chaos, the rhyme in the cacophany, the surprised smile in time of stress or strain. Perhaps the artist longs to sleep well every night, to eat anything without indigestion, to feel no moral qualms, to turn off the television news and make a bologna sandwich after seeing the devastation and death caused by famine and drought and earthquake and flood. But the artist cannot manage this normalcy. Vision keeps breaking through, and must find means of expression."

-Madeliene L'Engle

trickles of red,
carving their way along my hand,
down my finger she falls...

wine. tracing a path to nowhere,
aimlessly, darts left
around the bone.
i can make it dance.
left..then right, up and down the ridges.

stretch. A line...my wrist next,
to be bound in scarlet,
branded.
twist,
turn.

splash. which hit first?
the tear, or the drop? we'll never know -
i'll never learn how to play with your blood.

time shuffles by,
beams of moonlight - unable to penetrate the haze,
orange sodium is our guide,
corner to corner,
street to street,
lost little rabbits, caught in the headlights.

sleep eludes thought,
or thought killed sleep,
who the murderer, who the murdered?

in bed.
alone with their faces, hands, voices,
watching, clawing, baying at the moonlight.
is it the pain that makes you real?

I must be sick...I want to suffer. Not because I want your pity, but because I want some escape...God, from this guilt! If i were them then maybe, maybe I wouldn't feel this way. People are dying for no reason!! theres never been justification for it.....never, ever. not this way.
if i can't help them, God, atleast let me die! anything, something, to rid me of the feeling that I've only got to this life by stepping through the blood of those before.....let it be my blood. How do you escape a fate you have no control over?

I used to be able to skim past it....

Two Iraqis die in Mosul attacks
MOSUL, Feb 22: Two Iraqis were killed and three wounded in separate attacks in the northern Iraqi city of Mosul, including one against the home of the provincial police chief, the police said on Sunday. ...

Palestinian suicide bomber kills eight
AL QUDS, Feb 22: A Palestinian suicide bomber killed eight people on a crowded bus here on Sunday on the eve of World Court hearings into a controversial barrier Israel says will ensure its security against such attacks. ...

Post-poll clashes claim seven lives
TEHRAN, Feb 22: At least seven people have been killed in southern Iran after sporadic violent clashes followed the announcement of results of Friday's parliamentary elections, reports and officials said on Sunday. ...

Massacre in Uganda
KAMPALA, Feb 22: Ugandan rebels shot and burnt to death 192 people in a camp for displaced civilians in their bloodiest attack in years, a local official said on Sunday. ...

In the matter of a single page of newsprint: 209 dead, 69 injured. I used to be able to read past it. When I was a kid. I'd go straight to the funnies, and delight in Garfield and Bizarro and Ziggy, and then complete the Jumble and feel smart. Then as I grew older I'd start reading the front page...but the numbers, they'd never register. "Eleven dead in Karachi violence." The numbers meant nothing...it was just like it hadn't really happened. Eleven people. Died. Khatam. The End. Never meant a thing to me. I must've seen the blood of thousands of people on those pages. When did people lose their respect for life like that? When did it just become information? Why did they die? Was their rhyme & reason, or was it just 'maktub'....haha. maktub. ways to explain things we don't want to. it was 'their time'. how do you know that, mr.must-lessen-guilt? Maybe it wasn't their time at all. Maybe it was time for one of those seven people in Iran to go back home to a wife and kids. Has the thought ever crossed your mind. It is not OK for people to just die...for no reason at all.

Anger. Resentment. Frustration, above all else. It's understandable that Death is inevitable, but must it be inflicted by Man on Man, must it be suicide? How can you say nothing's wrong when this is happening. Look around you. People are dying. For you. If you can't live for yourself, atleast live for the dead - the lives they never had.
My life is not my own. It belongs to you. And to the dead.

3 weeks ago it must have been, I wrote to blueroses. More and more lately, I find myself re-reading my own words, trying to believe them again. I did it once. Deep down, I still do. But in the here and now....why are people dying?

"
[......]

We should be happy, shouldn't we? I mean look at us...going to these nice, shiny colleges. I'm living the dream. When i get out i'll be a money making machine....except for the tiny, detail that i don't want to be. we never were the content ones...
i don't know..when i started writing this mail i had all these things to say to you. now i'm just drawing a complete blank.
*silence*
don't feel guilty about living your life, br...why? just because you haven't got your chance yet? it's one thing to be miserable about things now, but quite another to consign oneself to being miserable forever. I don't feel guilty about where I am, or who I am. I feel responsibility, yes...tremendous responsibility, but no guilt. hmm..responsibility? to whom? to lots of people, i guess....ami, abu, baji, papa, myself, not least of all. And the kids named Asad dying in a back alley somewhere in the ghettos of karachi who never dream of anything but tomorrows meal.
Someone spoke to me while i was in karachi. she goes to a college in lahore...has this friend who's in college in georgia, but really isn't sure he should be there. "I really don't believe you'll end up doing something you don't want to do for the rest of your life."

life doesn't give us just one chance to do anything....if you want something badly enough, br, you'll do it. you'll sacrifice everything for it...but only if you want it badly enough. we take baby-steps towards our goals......right now even thought is rebellion. belief is outright war against life as we know it. and if you believe, you'll live the life you want to....doing all the little things you can, and waiting for the big things to come. baby-steps.
"wait for the opportune moment."
you get a cookie if you remember where thats from.

I will not change the world today. I will not change it tomorrow. I may never change it....may. But I hope i will....i do not banish the asad ten years down the line who may be in a position to do that to a place in a cell crying about the injustice of life...he will have his time. right now it is my responsibility to him to keep living. somehow. some way.

we walk that fine line....dying, living. you can switch anytime you want, kid...its just a different point of view on this crazy,stupid,constantly amazing thing we call existence.

"Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistable pastime
I took a heavenly ride through one silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life"
-Coming Back to Life, PF.

it sounds better in the song...ill make you listen to it sometime. we are not alone, br. Others have walked this road...they've felt this. they survived...somehow...some way. i believe that...i have to, because im not conceited enough to believe that im the only one capable of feeling the way i do.
you'll never be alone.
[...]"


How am I going to survive this?