Fate, its children and I.

I dream.

When the west end of the sky eats the Sun for supper, I will always try to make sense of it all. The dandelions are kissing one another and so are a thousand tragedies before they set on their journey towards my little home. I lock the door with a glass key that breaks in my hand and adorns blood lines across my palm. And when my guests arrive, I offer them tea and tales of comical misfortune.

They laugh.

They laugh so I laugh like we all laugh at the sickest things. Two lumps of sugar and they know who I am. How can ten years with the same person fail to provide you with the clarity that hits you in the skull right now? The very clarity that makes you hate the same person you loved a long, long time ago.

Questions slip through between my toes.

They slither away like snakes down my paisely patterned carpet. The black hole below the arched back of a mad man. My guests are waiting to attack. They are patient like all tragedies are. I am content and recuperating when they strike. Gifted-gashes are presents from the deepest pit of hell.

 

One-a gash two-a gash three-a gash.

My guests leave. The dandelions stop kissing. The glass key is embedded in the form of shards within the soft flesh of my palm. I nibble at the end of a stale cookie while fate takes another bite of my soul.

I would if I could.

I almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days.

Three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

- John Keats

Breathe

Breathe in me hope. I want to reach out to the sky and snatch every star from the hands of God. And when you’re asleep, I want to rest your head on my lap and watch you dream of the impossible. Forgive me when I don’t make sense and forgive me when I storm out of the room. There are moments I have no control over. There are movements I cannot restrict.

Breathe in me compassion. I want to pull the thorns out of your feet and let you walk, for once, in complete peace. And when you’re busy with the world, I want to stand right beside you wishing you the best of what life has to offer. Forgive me when I hold back the best in me and forgive me when I expose you to the worst. There are emotions I cannot contain. There are words I fail to say.

Breathe in me power. I want to heal you and what eats you from within. So that you may smile for me one winter night. And when you’re fighting back demons and faces and feelings, I want to hold you close and tell you it’s alright. I want the power to make things right. Forgive me when I fail to protect you and forgive me when I abandon you at the most crucial time. There are inadequacies in me I have to fix. There are loopholes I need to fill.

Breathe in me love. I want to be happy with me and with you. So that my bliss comes from within my core and reaches out to yours. And when you’re tired and hopeless, I want you to look at me and know that things will change, that life has so much to offer, to look forward to. Forgive me for what my past made me and forgive me for ruining my present. There are bitter things to get over. There is a future to make the best of.

Breathe in me now.

Just another day

Funny little furball.

I’ve never been a ‘cat person’ but a few days ago, this little kitten happened to just come by. She seemed really fun to play with. She was fun to ’shoot’, too. I wish my camera didn’t break last month. Mobile cameras aren’t as fun as the real ones are. I plan to buy a Nikon D90 (or something else) for myself. Life without photography is just plain dull.

By the way: Happy Halloween, y’all!

Dorm sweet dorm

I’m back and things are a little different than before. The guard went through all my bags and a female guard checked (hit) me with a metal detector. The things we do for security.

Got four classes tomorrow and I don’t think I’ll ever manage to complete my Geography assignment. I’ll give you my liver if you could do it for me. And no, you won’t hear me throwing rant over rant concerning the Kerry Luger Bill. What’s going to happen, is going to happen. I rest my case.

By the way: I realize how much my readers hate the current theme but I assure you I intend on changing it this coming Monday. Till then, bear with the ‘politically inclined art’ and ‘weird colors’. Cheers.

Experimenting.

Note: This is before I screwed the custom header. Hate me all you want but here’s what it looked like:

Yeah, one deranged strip.

I decided to give my blog a new look and here’s what (mess) I came up with. The strip you see as the custom header consists of two Banksy paintings and one mind control photograph. Banksy, I thought I’d let you all know, is  one of my favorite ‘artists’ though he claims to be thoroughly anti-art and pro-vandalism-for-the-good-of-the-world. Great point, I’ll say. He remains quasi-anonymous and continues to paint on the walls of Bristol, London. I often wonder what he looks like.

 

The image on the left is Napalm by Banksy. It consists of children singing the rhyme ‘Ring Around the Rosie’ with a bomb exploding in the center. Here’s a larger version:

Napalm by Banksy. One 'twist' in art.

The image in the center is a photo of a mind-control experiment being conducted. I  would hope this is just a fake picture uploaded by a punk online. The man obviously is quite tormented here:

Not fun, no.

The image on the right is called Kids on Guns. Banksy did a mighty good job by drawing war and kids on the same page. One surreal drawing nonetheless.

Kids on Guns by Banksy.

And if I still don’t like this change, I’ll probably go back to iNove or, if I’m in the mood, experiment with other themes. Give me your thoughts. Yeah, give me them.

Pound-a-pound goes my head.

That’s right: This headache here won’t leave me alone. It started last night while I was getting ready for bed. But I’ll spare you the details. College hasn’t opened yet. They say educational institutes may remain closed for an indefinite period. Don’t say yay in front of me or else I will rip your eyes out. We aren’t allowed to go to Liberty Market either since it’s dangerous. I ask you, when was it not?

Anyway. I’ll stop whining and try to come up with a doodle or some uber-philosophical shit. Till then: This is what I look like right now.

Extremely sexy, yeah? Cerebral drilling puts porn to shame.

:D for >:|

You need one.

Thought I’d give you one.

One Terrorised Youth

A double suicide bombing at Islamabad’s International Islamic University on Tuesday killed up to seven people, including the two bombers, an administration official said.

‘Seven people, including two suicide bombers are dead, and 29 injured in the two attacks. Among the dead is one female,’ a senior administration official, Rana Akbar Hayat told AFP at the scene of the attack.

The government of Punjab has issued an order  for all schools and colleges, both governmental and private, to be closed till Sunday due to terrorist threats. The same security order has been implemented in the N.W.F.P and Sindh. Prior to the attack on the Islamic University, two bombs were defused in an all girls’ school in Peshawar.

So that means dorm-students like me, away from home, will have to evacuate on short-notice due to security reasons. But that doesn’t bother me much as it does when students cheer down the corridor, shouting, “Yay! No school for four days!”  It sickens me to see them rejoice a day-off that is, look closer, the consequence of several innocents’ deaths.

Depressing, is the least you could say.  Sometimes I feel like that the average-calculated death of Pakistan’s youth is summarized as “sudden and abrupt”. There isn’t a single day when we feel safe. There are constant notifications on terrorists within vicinity. Paranoia sets in everywhere. And precautionary measures are taken so frequently, we end up missing out on all the fun life has to offer.

I guess my friend  was right when he said we’re just scapegoats. That we are, in the most bitter terms, the experimental body of the government, fundamentalists, propaganda and conspiracy. And it hurts so much, we’re too numb to care now.

Sore wide-open.

It’s like an itch in the deepest corner of my head and my hand won’t reach.  I’ve been running down sidewalks glowing with orange light. And blurred faces float by my shoulder. If lethargy explained my situation, I would’ve closed the topic by now but it’s just not fatigue. It honestly isn’t.

Dense. So when I run my hand through your hair, every strand turns into thick strings that lead to black and brown balls of yarn in a basement I forgot to lock. And the scissors I use to snip them, snip me back. So my arms and my face are lacerated at artistic angles. Take a picture, put it up on your wall, don’t forget me because I won’t forget you.

If I could, I’d say it’s peeling open my core and I hear the things I feel and I feel the things I see and I taste the things I know. I even put together the pieces of your confused countenance’s jigsaw together. You’re no longer the riddle you promised to be. But I still feel warm when you’re around. I won’t tell you. I won’t ever let you know.

Ask time to freeze. I need to capture every moment of this nameless, faceless despair. So when I wake up one spring morning and recall what happened that autumn eve, I’d know who to turn to, who to confide in. No mistakes will be made. No lessons will be learned.

Till then.

I’m suspended mid-air. I’m sepia-toned. And there’s nothing you can do about it.