Sand-e Sez

Whatever makes language eloquant... is happening here

2010-11-09T10:53:00.001-06:00

Forget the riddle and the rhyme.
Take a side step off the curb of hindering negative experience.
Look both ways because you’ve been struck far too many times by the freight train of deception.
Pace yourself with even strides, let trust build and the garden of budding emotions grow.
Choose a straight path, and avoid the distracting scenery of meaningless encounters.
Wash your hands clean of grime and the dirt accumulated along the way.
Be who you once were in love, optimism and demeanour
The longing for the longing is now obsolete.

The Squirrel that inspired it all

2009-10-15T13:51:00.004-06:00

I’m driving home from work a couple of nights ago on one of three lanes. On the other side of the island are three other lanes headed in the opposite direction. In the middle, on this island, is a frazzled squirrel. He’s scared and obviously out of his element. On either side of this six lane road are trees and grass. Not necessarily home, but definitely a more suitable environment for the likes of him. He’s tiny compared to the vehicles which, to his hypersensitive ears, must sound like roaring monsters. He leaps off into oncoming traffic but quickly realizes that this it is an unwise decision. Perhaps another time… he hesitates for a split second longer and leaps out into traffic again. A second and then a third close encounter with an SUV and then a pick up truck ensue. I clench my teeth and close my eyes in fear at each failed attempt to and from the island but know he’ll soon change his mind and consider crossing the road on my side of traffic. Surely enough a fraction of a second after that thought has crossed my mind, He dashes in front of my car. I’ve been watching him and dreading the moment when he decides to make his move. Panic has driven him into a suicide mission I think. If he could just sit still. I slow down and hold my breath hoping he’d managed get past my tires but at the same time half anticipating the thud and bump under my wheel. As I see him emerge on the other side I let out a huge sigh of relief only to inhale once again almost instantaneously as the realization that, with two more lanes to conquer, he’s far from danger. The lady on my right manages to slow down in time and once again I see him emerge on the other side of her vehicle. He’s good for two out of three. But unfortunately I know all too well that almost good enough won’t quite cut it. The third lane is occupied by a man in his 40’s who is not in a car but rather a boat. An almost extinct model of a 1980’s Chevrolet caprice to be exact. He seems preoccupied with the thoughts in his head or the traffic ahead and as he approaches the squirrel I can’t help but think, even if he does see him he won’t attempt to break. Both fortunately and unfortunately I am right. The squirrel is hit, but not enough to become road kill. He’s still frantic and is dragging his hind legs along behind him on the pavement. The cars have moved on, the squirrel is on the side walk and the man in this car is turning the corner completely undisturbed by what has just taken place.

Several days later, I am still distraught about these series of events for several reasons.

1) The sight of a supposedly wild animal in the middle of an urban area constructed primarily on this animal’s home is of little meaning to the average Joe. We feel as though it is our right to own the roads and occupy them with automobiles that endanger the likes of this creature on a daily basis. It is an extremely intrusive ideology that allows our needs as humans to be categorized with greater importance than those of animals that can not advocate for their own cause. Is this the role was play in the survival of the fittest game? Are these obvious instant rewards in fact attributable to humans being the fittest or will our short sights now be nature’s way of showing us who is fittest after all?

2) In my mind 2 out of 3 lanes constitutes a 66.66% success rate and for the most part, 66.6%. is good enough. The comfort with just enough to get by instead of the expectation of 100% is indicative of an individual who has succumbed to the status quo. The routine. The don’t rock the boat itis!

3) The option of stopping was not feasible if it meant endangering my life or those of the passengers in vehicles behind me. What right do I have to decide that human life is more valuable than that of a squirrel? Surely I need to recognize that in the grand scheme of things I am just as miniscule as the squirrel? How would I feel if my life (as in the case back in the homeland) just as dispensable as this squirrel’s life was to me?

4) I almost expected the squirrel to die even though I was hoping it wouldn’t. Knowing that I was not the one responsible for his death however, made it sit a little easier on my conscience. Which makes me ask, is this what people do when they think of the famines in Africa or the wars fought in far off lands?

5) Something deep down inside me, call it intuition or call it experience, allowed me to see that the man in the caprice would not stop. I was not distraught by this notion in the least. It is not a dark grim world when we as humans acknowledge accept and deal with our own inhumanity as though it were the way of the world?

6) Though unfortunate that the squirrel survived that experience with an injury, I can’t help but wonder what its like to feel those near death intense emotions. Had he not been injured, would he have lived his life any less recklessly? Would there be any sort of guarantee that two days, weeks, months or years down the line he wouldn’t end up in the same predicament?

7) I was reminded of the time I actually did hit a squirrel on the way home from the US. I was traveling at a ridiculous speed and swerving to avoid him/her meant I’d definitely end up dead in the ditch. It was a two way street and there was an 18 wheel truck on the other side of traffic. Regardless, Images of baby squirrels anticipating the return of their mother filled my mind and creeping thoughts labeling me as a killer quickly over whelmed me and eventually brought me to tears. It was coincidentally then that a friend of mine called me. After relaying the story back to him, he casually responded by saying “it was the squirrel’s time to go… if it wasn’t you it was going to be someone or something else. Don’t beat yourself about it.” And just like that… I let go of my reality and accepted his and with it a calmness about the situation. Upon further introspection today, I’m left thinking…my reality is different from the next person’s reality, and if my reality is so different from the next persons’ reality where and how do we draw common grounds between each of our own individual realities?

Ze Confession

2009-09-16T11:11:00.003-06:00

"Je n'ai pas peur de dire que tu me fais peur.
Avec ton espoir et ton grand sens de l'honneur.
Tu me donnes envie de tout détruire et de t'arracher le beau sourire.
Et même ça... n'est pas pourquoi... je me sens coupable.
C'est ça le pire!
Je me sens coupable parce que j'ai l'habitude.
C'est la seule chose que je peux faire avec une certaine certitude.
C'est rassurant de penser que je suis sûre, Ce ne pas me tromper quand il s'agit de la question de ma grande culpabilité.
Je n'ai pas peur de dire que j'ai triché.
J'ai mis les plus pures de mes pensées sur le marché.
J'ai envie de laisser tomber toute cette idée de "vérité"
Je garderais pour me guider plaisir et culpabilité ."
~ Lahsa de Sela

Won't you come again?

2009-04-06T21:55:00.003-06:00

what do i say
on this april day
when my thoughts have gone astray
but i'm thinking about you
and what do i do
when i'm black and i'm blue...
and i'm still loving you
but i know it was meant to end
i'm missing you
or maybe i'm just missing who i was when i was with you

oh love...won't you come again
take me in your arms
and hold me
make me feel new again

and how do i convey
all the words that i could never say
to you when you were around

i'm missing you
or maybe i'm just missing how i felt when i was with you

oh love... wont you come again
take me in your arms and dance with me
make me feel alive again.
oh love...won't you come again take me in your arms and hold me... make me want to laugh and sing
make me want to love again.

My unwritten letter

2009-03-17T14:59:00.003-06:00

Before you I was wide eyed and a believer. Unjaded. A proud advocater of that ever illusive Utopian state of love. Much like the painters perfect hue, I too could see beauty. A third eye of sorts, looking at the world through glasses that allowed me to sense and recognize feel and indulge in that cliched but infinite emotion. I paraded around with my shining yet awkward armor of naivete that seemed to irk most. It was my sense of pride and only form of self actualization. love and be loved. My heaven on earth consisted of nothing more than you me and a requiem for us to engage. I gave you my heart at the expense of my sanity. Continually denied of stability and assurance i never once questioned your intentions or moral character. your Houdini acts of appearance and disappearance only added to the fury with which i craved you. I treated each encounter as though it were our last and hung on to your ability to inspire me despite the facts. Convinced that true love was unconditional I dismissed your ill actions.

I do not know why the heart loves the way it does nor why you of all people were able to move mountains within me.
My only solace I suppose, is that I am a lover of words and you are a most skillful poet, euphoric in their delivery.

I want to be angry at you for not telling me your truths but I know I did not pry enough for them.
I want to be angry at you for making me feel like prying would make you run but I know I did not have the courage to face your absence.
I want to be angry at you for not being more careful with the emotions that seemed to overwhelm me day in day out but know that they were only so severe because they were mine and entirely subjective.
I want to be angry at you because you stripped me of a soul mate but can not deny that you have taught me a life lesson.

I want you to know that these events shook my core, my essence my being in ways i never thought possible.
I want you to know that I was the one who allowed you to have such a strong hold on me and that i have decided to release myself of it all.
I want you to know that I am glad that this was the extent of your damage because i don't think i would have been able to stand if I were in her shoes. I want you to know that I will not allow you the privilege of making me regret loving you.
I pray a day will come when a man can do what you have undone and undo what you have done.

Barcelona never fails to inspire.

2009-03-02T01:45:00.002-06:00

She had reluctantly accepted suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion, and was resigned to putting her feelings at risk. If you asked her what it was she was gambling her emotions on to win, she would not have been able to say. She knew what she didn't want, however, and that was exactly what Vicky valued above all else.

A city of lovers

2009-01-26T12:20:00.001-06:00

A post card at a magazine stand captures a young couple kissing in a window that reads Buenos Aires café. A city of lovers. They are everywhere in this enchanting place. On street corners, outside movie theatres in bookstores in parks and in public squares. This one particular couple specifically captivates me with the innocent sensuality with which they touch each other. The hustle and bustle of the market around them and these two entirely in their own world as though to defy time and space and claim them both theirs and exclusively theirs. The girl no older than 20 and the subject of her affection a man or a boy approximately the same age. She is dressed in what seems to be typical argentine clothing. Comfortable simple plain but classy. And he wears a back pack and holds onto the straps attempting to retain a cool calm and collected aura. They sit on different levels of the steps of the market. Her legs create a sort of throne with arm rests for him. So he sits…. Snug as a bug shrouded by her body as she casually drapes her arms around his neck and teases his ear with her breath and mouth. She whispers sweet nothings into his ear and throws back her head with thrilled laughter every once in a while. He stretches his neck in a slow motion much like a cat stretches after a nap. The girl seizes the opportunity and kisses his neck whispering something then pauses in anticipation of his reaction to her words. She looks at him and her eyes speak to him “ reach me if you can! I dare you to catch me with your lips!” He grins with acknowledgment and acceptance of the challenge brought forth. As I am watching all this transpire I am reminded that this city is flooded with the influence of the tango. So I watched this couple dance with movements of attraction and repulsion slow and quick gestures of desire and tenderness with every touch caress and glance. Suddenly, a cell phone rings, the music stops with a screech of a record, the dance no longer set in motion to the melody of their charm and reality barges in very uninvited. She watches him speak into the phone with such love in her yes, unengaged in the words but rather how his lips and tongue move to create the correct air pressure for the consonants and vowels. She watches how his eyes fill expression as he attempts to process and respond to what he is hearing. He hangs up the phone but she is still lost in all that is him. She is still caught in the whirlwind of visual and mental notes that allow her to glorify him. He tells her what has happened but she doesn’t register any of it and seems to waive it off like it never happened returning to her captivated trance like state before he interrupted her. They standing and facing each other at this point. He is on a step above hers and she, on the one below. The arch of her right foot hugs his left foot and her calf and knee cradle his. Her left arm is raised in the air poised like a dancer and her right gently grazes his cheek and ear. It is bent at the elbow allowing her palm to hang gracefully at the nape of her neck. He puts his phone back in his pocket and returns his hands to the small of her back as though it were a nook carved uniquely for his hands. He draws her near and kisses her cheek as she looks at him with her head tilted to the side. She is attempting to read his thoughts. He lingers and after he’s done lingering he decides that a kiss on the cheek was not enough so he begins another with more passionate conviction this time. He leaves her be as though to throw her to the wind, knowing that being within such close proximity would likely make it impossible for him to leave. He walks away but keeps his eyes fixed on her and smiles radiantly. Ciao Ciao he yells as he waives good bye and blows her a kiss. She laughs at his dramatic cinematic exit and jumps in the air pretending to catch the kiss from far above her head and places it on her heart. She turns around, straightens her shirt and takes a quick second to soak it all in, sighs and off she goes.

Gram'me Good Byes

2008-11-04T12:43:00.002-06:00

I could live here…
Just right here. In these arms…
The arms that taught me the difference.
The difference between the real McCoy and all the rest….

Wrapped so tightly I can feel her pulsing heart beats directly on my chest.
Her cheek pressed against my ear blocking out the rest of the world.
Silencing everything, except the rise and fall of her breath.

With each inhale my lungs fill with the smell of her incredibly soft, ancient, vanilla powdery skin.

She kisses me.
And kisses me
And kisses me some more.

She kisses me with such conviction.
A conviction that makes me doubt her intentions.

These aren’t the casual grandma kisses of vacation good byes.
These kisses are her legacy if need be.

Her gifts….
Her gifts of just in case.

Kisses that want me to remember, that want to be set apart from all the rest.
Kisses that want to take a piece of me with her and leave all of her behind.
Kisses that say nothing but speak volumes.
Kisses that bring tears to my eyes.
Kisses that I fear may be the last of all kisses.

?

2008-09-04T08:21:00.001-06:00

Is polygamy an innate characteristic of the human race?
Is life an eternal struggle to suppress those urges and to stay true to the confines of our society?
Is consequence the only reason we choose to abide by these rules of monogamy?
Are we not rightly justified in claiming that we are insatiable?
Can we deny that we are constantly being weighed, constantly being measured and constantly found wanting?

Many sides of the same coin.

2008-07-25T14:27:00.003-06:00

There are many different sides to everyone.
And in your interactions with certain people, for the most part they only get to see a limited number of sides to your personality.
Your teacher at school never really gets to see the party animal you become on the dance floor when your favorite song comes on.
You friends never get to see the work side of you.
And your co- workers, assuming you don’t dip your pen in the company pot, never get to see the romantic intimate side of you.

Just think isn’t it insane that I know Joe blow in only this light but that on a different day in a different circumstance. Joe blow becomes and is don Juan the foreign exchange student with the sexy accent?

You ever wonder about how many sides of you there are?

And how you are perhaps the sole person that sees all those sides leaving room for critique and self analysis. It’s the interaction between all these sides that is the key. You take that secret with you to the grave.

I may know Sarah as a class mate and a daughter because I’ve seen her interact with her family at study time but what am I to say about Sarah as a student beyond the scope of our class?

It’s especially interesting because it’s these little glimpses that people give us into their personalities that then form our entire perception of the person as a whole.

My mind almost wants to implode when I think about the number of assumptions people and I make about each other, the world and the circumstances in it every single day. So the key is be open minded. Allow for the possibility of an existence of ANY explanation.

The brain is however finite.. there is no such thing as infinite open mindedness. Does that then mean we’re destined to a life of false assumptions?
*********************************************************
**********************Sept 2nd***************************
The many sides of the same coin and then some.....

Further reflection and another first encounter.
I come home and reflect on the evening as I often do with everything in my world.
Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as way too much thinking for your own good.
Alas, I reach the conclusion that the exposition of self should be a delicate and intricate process. Something that we take for granted on a day to day basis.
Take for example the order in which you reveal the many sides of your personality.
Lets say in one encounter you first expose your insecurities and second a bit of humor followed by humility and then your confidence. What picture does the person you’ve just met create about you in their mind? It is human instinct to assume the person before them is on wobbly ground… uncertain of their goals in life… allowing the wind to take them where it may. A person with not a whole lot of caliber. A short sight on most of our parts. what is to be said of the courage of a person willing, on a first meeting, to expose a part of them very often mistaken for a weakness? What is to be said of the comfort level this person has with their insecurities? What is to be said about the nature of the interaction that is being had with the person in front of them? All questions we often forget to ask ourselves regarding our first impressions.

Now take another first encounter where you first expose your humor, confidence, humility and then your insecurities. This, in most circumstances is what keeps people coming back for more. Life is difficult on many levels, whether it be on a personal or professional level. And so to be around someone who is confident and exudes energy inevitably gives us that positive sense of well being as well and so we recreate the circumstance in which we find ourselves in their company. Now throw a little humility and insecurity into the mix and just like magic you become human the confidence and humor that previously might have had you up on a pedestal are now counteracted by these endearing human qualities. But again this too is often a short sight…what people often fail to see is that… there are definite walls being placed in this circumstance. There are things they have deemed too personal or private to share with a perfect stranger. There are issues with trust. Issues of self preservation from hurt.

But what is it about a specific person that unintentionally allows us to pick a specific order in which to unveil all that is ‘you’?
Why is it that meeting one person I can come off as the most arrogant person and to another the most humble? We must inevitably be affected or influenced by something.
What is that something? And wouldn’t understanding what that something was give us great negotiating and marketing power?

Helios

2008-07-18T13:30:00.001-06:00

A theoretical silence is yearning to be realized and exercised in the real world as opposed to the letters, words and sentences it usually inhabits in books. The use of a Mantra to help keep the mind from doing what it does. Jumping from one thought to the next at a million miles per hour.
“Learn to become aware of your surroundings”
“Listen to the music that is the world that surrounds you”
Focused and with her eyes closed, she notices the inflow of air through her nose, down her neck into her chest. Paying special attention to that magnificent duality at the precise instance where an inhale becomes and IS an exhale.
Contradiction, not only the human condition but the world’s as well. “Sinners and a Saints. Bitches and lovers” She sinks heavier into her breath, continuing to occupy her mind with a mantra and allowing the body to further connect to the ground on which she sat.
The wind flirts with the leaves and they react with a shiver. The sound carries across the dark still water that faces her. A black glass mirror reflecting nothing. An abyss that is awakened by a wind that pretends to be a ballerina pitter pattering across it at full pointe. The small steps shatter the stillness and create reflections of an orange glow in the distance. A sunrise reversed. The sun replaced by the rising harvest moon. A warm orange hue resembling that of iron that is sculpted by a blacksmith stretches its arms across the lake and begins to grow from a distance. With every passing second the glow taking on a more definite unmistakably perfectly round shape. Helios must be confused. Leaving the sun behind and instead dragging the moon across the night sky.
There is a eerie tranquility here.
She comes back into consciousness and allows her mind to process the scene before her. There is slight surprise at the acknowledgement of momentary fear. A surge of thoughts brought on by a mind that is now unoccupied by the repetition of the mantra. “Is this what judgment day looks like? A darkness that is not light by a sun rising from the west? A defining silence that screams solitude, seclusion and exclusion?” The sound of an exhale snaps her mind back from the trenches of negativity and allows her to behold the beauty that is.
The moon.
The lake.
The night sky.
The mantra.
Sub7an allah… allahmduellah… walaho akbar.

Egyptians.. don't you know zem?

2008-07-02T15:34:00.002-06:00

I'm lost in my thoughts and browsing through the mall because it's too sticky outside. I tend to zone out as I ponder all. I reflect on certain situations, how people react or their facial expressions, and think about my interaction with the world and finally draw conclusions. A process that generally detaches me from everything. Sound, surroundings and people. It could be a hustling bustling bazaar that I'm walking through and as long as I'm thinking I'm in my own world. So there I am on the escalator staring off into never never land immersed in thought. When, much like in Hollywood movies, all is silent except for the sound of my resonating thoughts . This is interrupted however, by an insistent sound that triggers the return to reality. I unconsciously resist. It was just like an alarm clock that interrupts your sleep and for a few minutes you're not really sure if you're hearing it buzz or if that's simply a part of the dream. You try to focus and regroup on what you were doing but this buzzing in the background won't let you do it in peace. You drift further and further away from the bubble that is your dream and slowly become aware of your surroundings. I hear a sound of a boy who is approximately 10 years old. His voice isn't very distinctive except for the fact that he has this whininess to him. I listen for a pause in the beeping that is his voice but there is none. I listen for what may be genuine anguish but there is none of that either. He's whining the way a baby does not because it's hungry, hurt nor needs a diaper change. He's whining the way he has learnt to get attention. Its an obnoxious "look at me otherwise I'm going to fill your air with noise pollution that's going to make you wish the world would cave in on you just to make me stop". He had often tested his limits and on this glorious occasion decided to push them right to the limit. Use and abuse the everyone's affection. All these observations and thought transgresses mind you, before I can even see the boy. It is only after I have noticed the intonation in his voice, the constant rhythm of repetition and the fact that he does not stop for air that the word he is repeating finally registers with me. He's calling his mother but is stressing on different letters in the word than most Canadian kids do. He doesn't pronounce the umm in the middle of the word mummy the way someone who was pondering something would while scratching his head. The u sounds more like an a. He pronounces it much like a southerner would pronounce the world Maa. Very slowly and drawn out specifically at the A followed by a quick me. Maaaame. And so he goes Mami mami mami mami mami mami. I held my breath as I ascended towards the voice and counted a total of 17 consecutive mamis. I think it was right at the 9th consecutive mami that I decided with conviction: This kid IS Egyptian!" The lamada, the persistence, the way he's been taught to say the word mummy in a supposedly "chic" way. And surely enough as I start to see what appear to be his feet clad with fancy nikes and a loose pair of fitting jeans topped with a bright typically red Benetton polo style t-shirt my suspicions are confirmed. He's got that bronzed skin tone, the wonderfully fuzzy Egyptian hair that's gone a little lighter from hanging out in the sun as he played soccer with the neighbors, and the sweat that is dripping profusely from his pudgy face. His mother is comfortably plopped on some lawn furniture that's on sale, conveniently placed between the outdoor gardening section and the toy section. She is oblivious to the fact that her son is developing bronchitis as he incessantly repeats the word mami to her without a breath. She sits the way I imagine she would if that piece of furniture was placed in her own living room at home. I kept waiting for the shaghala to walk in with the Turkish coffee and the tall glass of water on a tray. At which point she'd make some remark about not ever wanting her to bring coffee out if the bottom of the water glass was going to leave a ring on the tray. She'd look over at her friend and say something belittling of the poor woman then proceed to offer her friend the coffee like she'd slaved over it for hours. In the distance I hear another repetition only in a higher pitch. I think "OH NO! There can't possibly be two of them?!" I frantically scan the area with my eyes hoping I'm imagining it but to my bad luck… My eyes and ears come to agreement as I zero in on the noise and there it is… The other half of the family. Another boy, relatively the same age as the first. I'm thinking 3 months apart because the newly wed couple didn't really manage to get much baby making practice in sans the baby and couldn't possibly fathom the idea of another pregnancy so quick after the first. That or there was no time to dilly dally with contraception… we are a horny population afterall! Regardless, the second boy is dressed identically like the first with the exception of a blue bennton polo shirt. And of course the variation in his song. The word Paaapi. There was no doubt that these two were brothers.. they looked the same… they were dressed the same… they spoke the same… they refused to breath the same and both their parents had that glazed look and smile on their faces just the same. The kind where they smile on the outside but repeat "think happy thoughts… think happy thoughts… think happy thoughts" on the inside just to keep from killing themselves and ironically being a living testimony to the wonder that is genetic inheritance. They are after all their children! I see this scene and automatically without thinking take a left turn… exactly the way they'd taught us to march as cadets in middle school on Sundays. I get on the escalator going down in shock and disbelief. I exhale and repeat… also without a breath as I descent further and further away from the sound. "astaghfar allah al 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab and allahdmeullah, allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah." I shudder with goose bumps at the idea of having children that create that much noise and want to expel the thought of possibly being punished on earth with such children for any sins I may have committed and immediately thank god for the fact that I don't have to take them home with me the way the poor parents do. That unlike them I could step onto an escalator going in the other direction and shake the thought of them off. I do suppose it is the parents fault after all for allowing that sort of behavior and would like to think that if I were to ever have children their up brining would vary greatly. But….I catch myself laughing when I realize I just finished doing the exact same thing the children had done except internally. I laugh even harder at the thought that I too was once upon a type a similar Egyptian kid!

The wishy washy

2008-06-29T15:35:00.000-06:00

What is it with men?
They're the weight lifters, the career creators and developers, the insanely stuck jar openers, the remote control kings, The gods of WD40 and UHU but ask them to commit to an emotion and they turn to puree.
Actually don't even ask them to commit to an emotion the real world does that for you. All I ever did was engage. Engage in something that I know damn well was good for the both of us. A mental and spiritual connection like no other. So why the delusional attachment to this nonexistent idea of ever fleeting freedom? Why? I have no ball and chain… and even if I did why oh why would I want anyone to lug all that weight around? It defeats the purpose doesn't it? It kills the whimsy of the light feathery feeling that all this is supposed to create.

This is a plea… to all boys, guys and even men.
Please! Please, please, please!
For my sanity and the women around you.
Either man up and admit you don't want the lady in your life so she can move on and do her own thing or keep the bullshit to yourself!

I can understand. I don't want you.
I can understand I don't want this (the relationship)
I can understand I'm seeing someone else.
I can understand this has become more than I can handle right now
I can understand I'm not feeling it anymore there is no spark.
I can understand I don't see this going anywhere

but for god's sake steer clear of the wishy washy, I want you but won't commit fully but partially bullshit.

Look but dont touch

2008-06-03T14:02:00.003-06:00

A week on a resort with only a couple of singles and a majority of old people will eventually land you in a circumstance where you share or hear stories you might not regularly hear from fresh brand spanking new friends.
And so it goes….
My girlfriends and I are hanging out at the pool feasting our eyes on the chocolate eye candy that is a member of the entertainment staff. His muscles glisten in the sun with his every movement as he leads a group of people in an aerobic workout. We just watch and simultantiously let out a sigh.

We turn around with gaga still in our eyes and our new found male friend decides to share this wonderful story:

Brand Spanking new friend: “you know I had a friend of mine that went gaga over a guy in a caribbean beach resort once”
Us: “oh yeah? And?”
Brand Spanking new friend: “well she got jiggy with him and came home with these purple spots all over her body”
Us: “She caught and STD ? ”
Brand Spanking new friend: “yeah you could say that… she went to the doctors to get checked and the doctor yelled at her.. telling her he needed to know who she slept with…. She couldn’t muster up an answer… I don’t remember she said… I was really drunk”
Us: listening intently
Brand Spanking new friend “the doctor threatened to call the police if she didn’t do better than that..frightened from his tone she explained that she’d gone on a carribean holiday.. gotten drunk and slept with one of the entertainment crew… horrified… the doctor explained that the purple spots on her body were due to a bacteria only found on dead people”
Us : UGHHHHHHH! DUDE! YOU LIE!
Brand Spanking new friend: “no lie… serious as serious can be… so do think twice before you decide on tapping that”
My friend casually looks over and goes “Ya sater ya rab.. masdoodon masdooodon masdoood? Ya3ni il wa7id maye3rafsh yetfarag 7ata?! Matfahimoo il 2akh dah inina abide by the look but don’t touch policy why the buzz kill?!”

Come what may

2008-05-27T08:46:00.003-06:00

I want a glance and a smile, a smirk and a giggle, hysteric laughter and stomach pains.
Let me take shelter in your arms and cradle me to sleep.
Allow your heart to beat louder than the silence and overthrow my doubt.
Be a man in all the ways a man should be.
Celebrate your masculinity by exposing the mother, the whore and the child in you.
Wear the robes of commitment and pay no attention to the weight they claim on your shoulders.
Bath me in kisses and shroud me with emotion.
Evoke a spiritual enlightenment and let us rejoice through reflection, deliberation and contemplation combined.
Surrender to the choreography of our thoughts and allow us the opportunity to dance.
Let us leave the tangible behind and let us instead inhabit an ethereal world.
Keep your riches and offer me more.
Allow me the privilege of labeling you mine.

Humpty Dumpty

2008-05-16T01:14:00.004-06:00

All the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again.
He did after all fall of the wall.
Shouldn't he have known better? i mean he's an egg and when eggs fall they break.
simple as that.
what was he doing hanging out on a wall?
sadism?
masochism?

I'm sure a good Samaritan must have seen him up there and warned him about his inevitable crash to a million pieces.
but isn't it always the case with Humpty, Harry, Joe, Alexandra and Jane?
we get distracted by the view? We know that we're walking a fine line... a wrong step in each direction invariably leads to a horrible demise.
But we do it any way, thinking we're the exception to the rule. Thinking gravity has taken a day off for some unknown reason. That this time we'll float instead of fall.
but at the end of the day... we're all alike... we're grounded and have our wings clipped. Just like poor Humpty, the egg, we're all on bound to fall.

A bit of Waking life!

2008-05-12T10:31:00.002-06:00

'You can't fight city hall." "Death and taxes." "Don't talk about politics or religion." This is all the equivalent of enemy propaganda, rolling across the picket line. "Lay down, GI! Lay down, GI!". We saw it all through the 20th Century. And now on the 21st Century, it's time to stand up and realize, that we should NOT allow ourselves to be crammed into this rat maze. We should not SUBMIT to dehumanization. I don't know about you, but I'm concerned with what's happening in this world. I'm concerned with the structure. I'm concerned with the systems of control. Those that control my life, and those that seek to control it EVEN MORE! I want FREEDOM! That's what I want, and that's what YOU should want! It's up to each and every one of us to turn loose of just some of the greed, the hatred, the envy, and yes, the insecurities, because that is the central mode of control, make us feel pathetic, small, so we'll willingly give up our sovereignty, our liberty, our destiny. We have GOT to realize we're being conditioned on a mass scale. Start challenging this corporate slave state! The 21st Century's gonna be a new century! Not the century of slavery, not the century of lies and issues of no significance, of classism and statism, and all the rest of the modes of control... it's gonna be the age of humankind, standing up for something PURE and something RIGHT! What a bunch of garbage, liberal, Democratic, conservative, Republican, it's all there to control you, two sides of the same coin! Two management teams, bidding for control of the CEO job of Slavery Incorporated! The TRUTH is out there in front of you, but they lay out this buffet of LIES! I'm SICK of it, and I'M NOT GONNA TAKE A BITE OUT OF IT! DO YA GOT ME? Resistance is NOT futile, we're gonna win this thing, humankind is too good, WE'RE NOT A BUNCH OF UNDERACHIEVERS, WE'RE GONNA STAND UP, AND WE'RE GONNA BE HUMAN BEINGS! WE'RE GONNA GET FIRED UP ABOUT THE REAL THINGS, THE THINGS THAT MATTER - CREATIVITY, AND THE *DYNAMIC* *HUMAN* *SPIRIT* THAT REFUSES TO *SUBMIT*! WELL THAT'S IT, that's all I've got to say. It's in your court now. "

The Name Game

2008-05-05T13:21:00.003-06:00

I watched the movie Bella a short while ago… and though the movie was total flop in my opinion.. it had me thinking a little when a movie character, who for the most part, looked a lot like Jesus…provoked the naughty in me and filled my brain with not so innocent thoughts.

Am I the only one who thinks that the use of names like Islam, Christian, Mohamed and Jesus should be outlawed? Seriously, what are these parents thinking when they choose them for their new bundles of joy?

Talk about feeling like they have huge shoes to fill…. with a name like that how can a kid dream of being a Lawyer or a doctor? Their only option is that of Saint really. Though it could be argued that being a fireman in a metaphorical sense could quintessentially amount to the the same thing. :P

But really there are many complications…..

What of dirty talk? For the most part we recognize that we do enough shitty things in our day to day lives to heap up enough wrath without necessarily adding blasphemy to the mix why would anyone in their right mind want to get jiggy with an Islam?

Not only that but the name places restrictions on the parents as well.. How many times have we heard our mothers, no matter how pleasant, in a moment of frustration and zero patience say something of a derogatory nature in reference to the father? Huh huh?

And what if little Christian develops a little bullying habit in the playground?
‘Mrs Mrs Mrs that Christian boy stole my lunch money again’

Anyways, long story short I seriously think all those mother’s to be and fathers in waiting should re-think the whole religious name thing. It's totally uncool!

Behold! A King is born.

2008-04-25T11:40:00.001-06:00

At night, the scorching sun, that over powers the air and is slave to no one but its glorious magnificence, is fast asleep.
It is only then, in its absence, that the sea dares to become king.
The waves roll higher and crash louder. They command an authority previously etiolated by their secondary role to the sun. All the while, the infinite vastness of the canvas that is the sky, has been reduced to a mere spectator adorned with stars. It is a thick blanket with just enough holes in it to allow the vivid light of heaven to shine through.
The sand, previously hard at work to stay grounded, succumbs to an evening of dancing inspired by a saucier, cheekier, rhythm divine produced by the waves. The air an assistant and carrier of the amplified sound through the cool night air. The sand mingles with seashells and welcomes all that has fallen from the glorious new king’s grace.
Awakened by all the chaos, the sun stretches its rays of light. Forcing the night blue sky to morph into a spectrum of color as a form of remorse for its poor behavior. The sun expels the moon and beseeches it to return when it is summoned once again at sunset. The order of the day that was once abandoned by all except the sleeping sun is now restored.

Off the rocker

2008-04-21T12:41:00.000-06:00

Its easier to count time when you’re on the beat.. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and…
My newest fetish is Billy talent’s suffering… I heard it once and for the life of me couldn’t figure out what the appeal was…
The lyrics are the usual teen melodrama and the tune not at all that catchy…
But then as I was humming the tune and tapping my hand on the side of my car out of the window it occurred to me! I was thin slicing, as Malcom Gladwell puts it.
My brain was drowning out the words and the fact that the lead singer doesn’t have much of a voice and was captivated by the off beats!
There’s never enough music based on the offbeat!
And often enough, if it’s done inappropriately the listener is left feeling like the melody is rushed or like someone missed a queue somewhere.
So I must give it to them!
Billy might just have some talent after all.

Who am I

2008-04-20T21:56:00.000-06:00

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
~Marianne Williamson~

2008-04-20T21:51:00.001-06:00

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance... our long way home.
I was always yours to have. You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out of time.
When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor
I had always loved you more.
You freed your braids...
gave your hair to the breeze.
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....
God...how I love your hair.
You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....
Trying to change our nightmares to dreams...
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out of time. ~Maya Angelou~

Cuba..... Que Linda.....

2008-04-05T18:29:00.006-06:00

I indulge in the glory of now. There is a serenity comfortably grounded at the bottom of my soul. the warm water caresses my feet and tickles my toes. The surf brings with it random thoughts that....

manifest...

linger...

digress...

and manifest again..

lingering just long enough for the water to surround my ankles gently reminding me to let go.

The regression of each and every wave allows for the rebirth of a new thought.... they take with them my meanderings and the traces of the foot steps that once painted my momentary existence on the shore.

A symphony of sound that begins and ends with the breaking of a wave and crescendos with the collision of water upon water.

A rushing towards the shore.....

a subtler retreat and

another crash of water. Every cycle brings with it a new beginning and a brand new clean slate. An opportunity to reinvent myself with more footsteps..... a momentary existence. A re emergence of a different me.

The collision of water upon water again..

a rushing towards the shore...

the eradication of my fluid presence

a subtle retreat.....

and another crash of water.

tea anyone?

2008-02-20T15:42:00.001-06:00

It is the toothpicks with olives on them holding together a perfectly triangular whole wheat sandwich that are my muses this morning. I developed a mini obsession with the need to get the hummus sprinkled with sama2 in the perfect spiral formation over the weekend. Before serving it I looked at it and smirked to myself with jubilant glee.
Visuals of cooking competitions and chefs serving French cuisine consumed my reality and helped me get past the fact that I was in fact a French maid sans the French, the sexy outfit or a pay for that matter. I floated on air serving hors d’oeuvres here and there and picking up china with traces of what was once upon a time something pretty and yummy waiting to satiate someone’s hunger. I so frivolously felt like an elite epicurean. The perfect sprinkle of basil here and the right amount of illustrious chocolate drizzle there are what set my taste buds apart from the masses’.

But unfortunately my fanciful daydreaming and my buzz from the salad garnished with radish flowers was quickly heading for FUBAR status as an 8 year old boy no taller than my waist looked at me with “I am the man you must obey me” eyes and waived his finger in the air to indicate 2 scoops of sugar, and demanding in a demeaning voice“don’t forget to add milk into it so you don’t burn my tongue like you did the last time” I pause for a second and waive him off with a “you’re so funny little man.. you almost had me going there for a second” to which he promptly responded “ why would I be funny. I wouldn’t ask for it if I didn’t want it. Now go make it.” And he turns his back and walks away with a confidence that rubbed me the wrong way. He plops himself comfortably next to his mother, placing a hand on her knee waiting for a signal... some form of acknowledgement or reassurance. She’s in the middle of a conversation, doesn’t look at him but gives him what he’s waiting for by putting her hand on top of his. It was only then that he smiled. The way, I imagine, the devil did when he finally convinced Eve to eat from the forbidden fruit. It’s a condescending “I now own your soul” smile. His strategic positioning had granted him immunity. The little runt could barely see over the counter but was coyer than coy. He, like a general planning strategy for a war, hand carefully thought this through and now was smug with joy waiting to reap the rewards of his intellect and planning. I, perfectly aware of this little miscalculation on my part, wanted to reach down this throat, grab his balls, pull them through his mouth making him curl up just to accommodate the logistics of it all. I wanted to slam his jaw shut over them to hold them in place and consequently force him to roll everywhere like a tire. I knew exactly what the circling animated stars around his little football of a head would look like dancing to the song of a coocoo clock as his pea brain registered the pain. And if that was a little too graphic then a slap aside the head would’ve sufficed. It would be a mercy killing really… A quick decapitation. Time would slow down and the pretty red splatter of his blood would create crimson spirals in the air as they project onto the walls around him. but luckily for him… the screeching sounds of my vinyl conscience quickly stepped in to fend for the mini me version of his dictator of a father.
‘It’s not his fault… just cuz he hasn’t hit the double digits yet doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the right to drink his tea the way he wants it….children are sponges sandy they just mimic what they see at home…. and really mimicry is the highest form of flattery… so if anything this action just tells you how much he loves his father….its all just a reiteration of the beauty and love that children possess… and plus you’re already serving the tea anyways maybe you’re just on edge from all the waiting on people you’ve been doing today’
At which point the evil me surfaces and knocks out my conscience accompanied by a musical interlude labled “hahahhaha wipe out” .

“WTF!?!? Not only are you putting up with this kind of behavior but you’re defending it as well?! this little piece of toilet decoration hasn’t even mastered the art of riding a bike yet and has the audacity to tell you to make him tea?! Who drinks tea at his age anyways? Doesn’t it like stunt his growth or something? Shouldn’t his oh so typically arab father be worried about his son’s sperm count?! What of the family legacy? What would be said of him in the history books? "he was unable to have children due to lazy swimmers?" But then again maybe you’re doing the world a favor by fast tracking his impotence a cause de caffeine thereby contributing to his inability to procreate in the distant future. “SANDY SAVES THE WORLD BY ERADICATING ONE MALE SHOVANIST AT A TIME“ Of course the headlines would have a lot more of an impact if sandy could infact actually correctly spell chauvinist.

2008-02-12T20:20:00.000-06:00

This was taken during a winter festival called Nights of fire presented by a French fire troupe called cie Carabosse in Toronto.

This young gay couple caught my eye because of their expressive body language, awkward giggles and flirty glances. There was something intriguing and captivating about them. It wasn’t so much the idea that they were homosexual but that they symbolized the idea of possibility, the ever illusive notion of love, a phenomenon that transgressed the nature of relationships, heterosexual and homosexual couples alike. Anyone who has ever been in love can identify with the feeling, the rawness of a relationship, the want and hope for it to progress and the dance that revolves around the circumstance of courtship.

You Think?

2008-01-31T13:22:00.000-06:00

Big fish little fish

2008-01-30T13:29:00.000-06:00

Will someone please please please line up the Egyptian soccer team and slap them silly for what just happened?!
HOW oh HOW do we, by we I mean the collective whole of Eygpt, its spectators and wanna be players, beat Sudan… an up and coming soon to be great team andddddddddd
FREAKING CAMEROOON….
Yeah that’s right I said FREAKING CAMEROON but only manage a tie with Zambia?
Zambia people! Zambia!
I’m peeved beyond recognition… It was like watching a monkey try to get a square peg in a round hole! This is what we always do. We beat the hardcore teams… give it our all and then fuck up the little fish… I mean really Zambia is a freaking Sardine compared to Cameroon… or Sudan
Tell me What happens when we meet the big beluga called Ghana?! Or Cote d’Ivoire?
ARGHHHHHHHH…
Meh… sillyness aside I will give Zambian dude mad props for the full fledged gymnastics act he pulled after scoring the goal. How do people jump that high without being attached to a wire suspended from up above? He had some major crouching tiger hidden dragon action going on! It was like a spring exploded in his backside propelling the glistening chocolate brown jack in the boxe into the abyss. Cartwheel after back flip after back flip after back flip and then a grand finale of a ten foot summersault in the air!

Forget trampolines at the local circus.... bring the Zambians!

The Suburban Disease

2008-01-30T10:42:00.000-06:00

There’s this deep routed disease you particularly find in quaint little suburban towns that city people can’t seem to comprehend. It’s a phenomenon that seeps into the veins of its inhabitants and one breath at a time transforms lives. It’s a subtle take over marked by nothing hostile, stark or intrusive but it eventually causes the suburbanite to turn against everything that makes her who she is. This disease is called mediocrity. Having just enough means to sit comfortably in a state of limbo but falling short of enough to achieve greatness. The routine goes as follows
work on weekdays.. for about 8 hours
Nap after work for about an hour
Dinner and clean up about another hour and a half which brings us to 7 or 8 pm…
do a little studying on the side but mostly day dream in front of the books and eventually realize there is no point and so focus on white noise.
A white noise the compromises, for the most part, of meaningless gatherings, movies and books that provoke ZERO thought.
The words I NEED a new blah blah are now common place. And that thought… catching yourself thinking that way… trying to trick yourself into needing something just to give yourself a sense of purpose… well its pathetic…. Not only because it’s a fake sense of security and a flimsy attempt at avoiding to see the scream out loud fact that you are a waste of space and more importantly a decent amount of non perishable food substances that could potentially save an orphan or two but also because when you buy these lame things you try and find joy in them when you despise shopping. What’s to be said about a person who tries to force herself into superficiality. What’s to be said about a person who tries to convince herself that these things make millions happy everyday and so the flaw must be in her way of thinking… that there must be joy in them if only she were to look hard enough. To see myself slipping into that mentality is a frightening symptom… A symptom of the “The this is my life its comfortable and happy” disease. The “I don’t want more disease…” The “I’m bigger than wanting …” “ there is not point to any of it” disease. And while I can agree that to most it is a blessing I should be thankful for In my case I’m thinking its starting to become a shift from satisfaction to statusfucktion. And when the light bulb goes off and you see this its like you’re left feeling like you are the reason for your unhappiness. An internal struggle. You potentially have it in you to do whatever it is you want to do. But the question is… what do you want to do? Where is the passion? Where are the things that will make you want to get up in the morning and how do you find them? But because you have an ok thing going… a decent job, a reasonable social life, a family that loves you and a routine.. you wait…You wait for Godot to come and guide you… but Godot doesn’t come and you don’t toss it all in the air and take a leap of faith… So you’re stuck in an infinite state of suspended limbo. Neither here nor there and let the disease take you over. You succumb to it. And soon enough you’re just a shell or a skeleton of who you once were. And chances are… IF and when Godot comes… you’ll make excuses… a million reasons why you have a good thing just right here.

The land mark forum

2008-01-18T11:30:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine suggested I attend The land mark forum which seems to have completely transformed him into a happy bubbly less self analytical guy. I obliged and went to experience and explore with an open mind and heart and possibly become enlightened. I tried my best not to be skeptical until I started to feel like it was one big huge marketing plan… it almost sounded like they were saying “sign up and forget drugs sex and alcohol.. what you want is happiness… and we have it but question is… how much are you willing to pay for it?” And well as soon as I made that connection there was no hope. It was like the American Embargo against Cuba had positioned itself right between what was being presented and my brain. I couldn’t take what they were saying seriously but alas before fort Knox became secure I took, two things with me and arrived at another two pretty big revelations:

1) There are things you know and there are things you don’t know.
There are things you know that you don’t know but there are also things you don’t know you don’t know.

2) Think of all the things you want to accomplish. Lets say… Career fulfillment. And think of how that would make you feel if you got it. Lets say it would make you feel accomplished.. now think of what would happen if in your mind you threw out the necessity of having a good job in order to feel that way and went straight to the feeling accomplished… wouldn’t that in turn make finding a good job a more pleasant experience and also be a great source of motivation and energy?
[Enter sigh and day dreaming thoughts commence]
3) What if someone told you that you are the shackles on your mind. You are what allows your mind to see more experience more and feel more. What if you became conscious of the fact that you’re constantly trying to mould and fit your mentality into a predefined box and then made a consciencious effort to break free of that mentality. What would you be able to accomplish? The answer would be anything. Impossible is nothing and everything is possible.

4)Be open minded and open to all but be weary that too much open mindedness can have your brains fall out. i.e a search for truth means no boundaries but no boundaries mean you can reach any conclusion… what if you are unable to process that truth?

Modern mantra

2008-01-13T11:25:00.000-06:00

Confidently go where your dreams take you. Live the life you’ve imagined.

Rest in reason and move in Passion

2008-01-09T11:09:00.000-06:00

‘Your soul is oftentimes a battle field, upon which your reason and your
judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite. Would that I could be
the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of
your elements into oneness and melody. But how shall I unless you yourselves be
also the peacemaker nay the lovers of your elements?
Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.
If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas.
For reason ruling alone is a force confining and
passion unattended is a flame that burns to its own destruction.
Therefore let
your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion that it may sing and let it
direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own
daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.

I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two
loves guests in your house.
Surely you would not honor one guest above the
other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of
both.
Among the hills when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars
sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadow then let your heart
say in silence ‘god rests in reason”
And when the storm comes, and the mighty
wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lighting proclaim the majesty of the
sky. Then let your heart say in awe ‘god moves in passion’
And since you are a breath in god’s sphere and a leave in god’s forest you too should rest in reason and move in passion.’
~Gibran khalil gibran's The Prophet

Femme Fatale

2007-12-25T10:34:00.000-06:00

She was everywhere… Buzzing like neon...
I couldn't escape her or brush her off. Denial was doing me no good either. Abandoning one venture and taking over the next to avoid a clash, a show down, a competition that was unannounced. A competition to which I had enrolled myself without entirely being sure why.

And it was as though all my paths led me to her. Indirectly but inevitably with her at the end.

I didn't know her.
I knew of her. I knew her through a subtle jealousy I hated myself for having.
I knew her through a conversation I did not hear but put together by watching her interact with the world from a distance… Perfectly poised smiling with nothing but pleasantry in her eyes. Arm movements that emphasized a conclusion based on a point she made more precise with her gestures.
Facial expressions….Facial expressions that spoke volumes. She laughed lots and contagiously so.
She spoke with a confidence that came with just enough self doubt to make her human.
Human…A person like all the rest…Filled with insecurities we try to over power, negativity we try to offset with whatever we can muster up and a love for life we try to fuel with all that surrounds us. But I can not see her in this light.
I WILL NOT see her in this light.
I will not empathize and put myself in her shoes. I will not be my own devil's advocate. Why? Because its safe being here... in the cozy of my unattached world… nestled in the warmth of my own thoughts.
It's a whole lot easier to create conspiracy theories when you have no proof otherwise. Delve into your theory with an attempt to provide yourself with concrete evidence for the your conclusion and chances are you'll see it crumble.

Especially when....
its based on nothing but emotion.

The one thing you deeply want to know will inevitably be the one thing you won't be able to prove. So...
you keep your distance… I KEEP my distance.
It is because of this distance that I am at ease...

but then the world and all those in it conspire against you.
The stars line up in just the right formation and before you know it you're sitting across the table from her in a quaint little coffee house sipping on a latte. Exchanging compliments...
Chatting….
Laughing….
Listening...
Empathizing...
Sympathizing....
Bonding
and
Confiding….
And some where between your internal battles and the initial awkwardness mingled among the chit chat something happens. Unmarked, unannounced and undefined but it happens.

she becomes human.
someone with all the characteristics that make people people...
like sincerity... a trait I find extremely endearing,
vulnerability.. a necessity for demoting her from the once glorified pedestal I’d placed her on.
and last but not least naiveté... a naiveté that touched my soul in ways I couldn’t fathom. It was this naiveté that made me feel ever soooo silly for having felt threatened by her ever at all.
And now its nothing but smiles... I welcome her with nothing but hugs and kisses..

On Good and Evil

2007-12-24T10:27:00.000-06:00

The god of time, having created the universe, sees harmony all around him, but feels that there is still something very important missing—a companion with whom to share all this beauty.
For a thousand years, he prays for a son. Not entirely sure to whom he prays, given that he is omnipotent, the sole, supreme lord; nevertheless, he prays and, finally, he becomes pregnant.

When he realizes he has achieved his heart's desire, the god of time is filled with remorse, suddenly conscious of how fragile the balance of things may be shattered. But it is too late and the child is already on its way. All his lamentations cause the son he is carrying in his belly to divide into tow. And there u have it... just as good is born out of the god of time's prayers so too Evil is born out of his remorse—twin brothers.

{paraphrased from the devil and miss prym}

Esperanza

2007-10-13T14:33:00.000-06:00

I Went to watch a movie over the weekend with a couple of friends. I must have been buzzing for some reason but for the first time in a while i laughed out loud. I'm not talking the little lol placed in msn conversations or emails to signify a smile at best.. I'm talking laugh out loud knee spanking laughter. The movies wasn't all that funny, in fact i've seen much much funnier but it must have been something in my freezy or in the air that just made me laugh like i haven't in ages. Shits and giggles aside. Th movie featured featured this breathtakingly beautiful resort.

ESPERANZA.

Situated in Cabo san Lucas mexico their website reads...

At the end of a continent lies a tranquil retreat.Where the body is healed, the soul is revived, the senses are awakened and the spirit soars to new heights.A place where sun, sea, sky and earth join as one to form a tropical oasis like no other.A place called Esperanza.

It's absolutely gorgeous!

With pools in individual suits and a spa and a view.... Any vacationers dream come true....

A dream spot.

Except that you've got to come with a veryyyyyyy deep pocket .

Itsy bitsy bits of I love yous.

2007-10-13T13:23:00.000-06:00

People are always looking for these grand proclamations of love. Like the big buzzing neon signs are the only true testament. Why must everything come in commercials and music and catchy tag lines? It’s a tad extreme I think... In the past couple of day’s I’ve had many itsy bitsy bits of I love yous. That, though no one is really counting, add up to a whole lot of love. Family love, friendly love, love love and spiritual love.

Itsy bitsy bit 1: My laundry was folded for me despite an extreme rush on the way out to a hockey game.

Itsy bitsy bit 2: Remote control ownership was given up to me despite the airing of a favorite closely followed soap opera.

Itsy bitsy bit 3: The receipt of candid msgs me at work telling me of recent bowel movements.

Itsy bitsy bit 4: Though, tear drenched, slobbery and sniffily, I received a whole hearted hug despite the shirt being brand new and possibly not machine washable.

Itsy bitsy bit 5: An email containing a job posting exactly fitting my skill set.

Itsy bitsy bit 6: Perfectly cut pieces of food on the end of a fork extended right before my lips just so that my palette can experience a new taste.

Itsy bitsy bit 7: The arrival at a movie theatre despite an invite 20 mins before the start of the movie.

Itsy bitsy bit 8: An offer to drive instead of me.

Itsy bitsy bit 9: A wake up call when I have an important meeting in the morning.

Itsy bitsy bit 10: A whisper notifying me of a reference call relating to a job I’d applied to earlier in the month.

Itsy bitsy bit 11: Crossing a red light, a speeding car misses the front of mine by a hair.

Itsy bitsy bit 12: Never having baked eid ca37k before, I’m invited to not one but two eid baking family tradition parties.

Itsy bitsy bit 13: A friend is redecorating and remembers that I’ve taken the perfect pictures for her brand spanking new picture frames.

Mady's mad world

2007-10-12T14:28:00.000-06:00

“Get me out of the house fast!” she’s stomping her feet as she struggles to take her breath. I hear a weezing I’m assuming is coming from the fact that she’s over exerting her self. Her hands are flailing in the air and she’s repeating her self over and over again. She’s lost it. The idea of a grip escapes her. I stumble for my keys and rush out the door. I’m in the car faster than my feet can take me and my mother chases us. “What’s wrong! Why are you doing this to yourself!?! Just breathe Mady! just breathe!”
She’s huffing and puffing and the weezing increases…
“just leave it mum… We’ll be back in a bit. I’ll take her for a walk by the lake and it should be fine”
We drive off and I’m a little scared to speak. The awkwardness fills the air and silence sets in. Mady isn’t my friend… she’s my mum’s. I’ve never really known her as an adult most of our interaction was way back when I couldn’t be at the pool without adult supervision. Way back when he alcoholic husband convinced her to conceive another child almost to spite the on lookers who said having another child would be a grave mistake.
She breaks down. Her sobbing is reserved at first and eventually replaces the awkward nothingness.
She gains her composure but only after she’s managed to wipe away all but 3 tears. She out the window.
“Look out jail cell here I come.”
I’m dumb founded... I was born and raised for the earlier portion of my childhood in that “prison”. But to me, it was an abundance of sunny pool sides and the perfect popsicle flavors. How could a Saudi woman with so much strength charisma and laughter be saying this to me?
I stop and think about what’s brought her here.
How broken she is.
How she won’t let herself fall apart. How I’ve seen her go through worse… a million times worse. she’s stronger than all this… Invincible almost. The hardships of having to raise a child with cerebral palsy in the Arab world. Consistently and continually being accused of being at fault for delivering a child with a disability. She did after all accept to marry her cousin in exchange for an education.

How is it possible that a woman with her own psychology practice who teaches women about emancipating themselves from the chains of antifeminism be this negative about her home, the place she lives and the people she was raised among?

She after all the one with an abundance of energy. The one people leach onto for that emotional boost that guidance and self understanding. She is her job.

I put my hand on her leg and say “ohh come on auntie madie lighten up… it is what give u your kick!”
“Heck I drive every day and no one kicks up a fuss! You get into beamer one morning after convincing a bunch of girlfriends to do the same and all of a sudden you’re a revolutionary”

She looks at me… her spirits lifted for a mili second only to follow with “yes but they arrested my husband for that… I am so “subhuman” I didn’t even manage to proper jail time!”

“Ahh so you want to have your cake and eat it too? That to me was sweet justice! Its about time you had the water bed all to your self.”

She smirks a little.

“Right then! seee! Saudi is what gives you your edge”
“its’s a lot worse this time sand-e… so much worse.. the disease is beyond the cancer my sister died from. Beyond her husband leaving her because she no longer hand breasts. Beyond having to study when everyone was asleep during the night because the house work was more important than my studying…Beyond having to carry all the responsibility an alcoholic husband couldn’t carry and still appear submissive. THIS is beyond all of that!”

I have nothing to say, I’m curious as to what it is that’s happened but frightened to have it fill the air that surrounds me.
I rub her leg and do the best I can to produce a smile that says I’m listening.
She takes a deep breath and looks out the window again. She speaks into the window and the glass gets foggy.
“He’s raping the children.”
My heart stops beating and I can’t hear her breath anymore. She hangs her head and covers her face.
And then…
Like the rolling thunder approaching with the storm… her breath gets faster and louder… faster and louder…she’s sobbing… and….
She explodes!

Stomping her feet and shaking her head convulsively, slapping the side of her head she screams “MY OWN FATHER! MY FATHER! HE’S FUCKING RAPING MY DEAD SISTER’S CHILDREN, MY DISABILED DAUGHTER!”

She pauses…
Sits still for a moment gaining composure.
She looks out the window again.
She raises her arms with what’s left in her.
She wipes the tears and exhales “my dead sisters children and my disabled daughter”

The silence is defining.
The seconds like hours.
The surroundings in slow motion.

What could I possibly do to make this better?
What could a naïve silly girl like me.. have to offer this unsung hero short of having a statue erected in her honor for all she’s had to endure?
Absolutely nothing. I, like her, have no power to turn back time.

I lean over, wrap my arms around her and hug her with all my might.

And what of this?

2007-10-11T00:54:00.000-06:00

He speaks but remains silent still.
I want yet caution and harbour a safe distance.
I expose all yet have confidence in my invisible shields.
There is no stronghold but a tightening grip.

Neither here nor there, he is my inspiration and my writer’s block.
My enigma and my un-riddled truth.

I ache but will not permit agony’s flute to sing my song.
I want to be anger but can not muster fury.

I have no right.

I am sure yet a million miles away form certainty.
He is the concept falling short of actualization. My insides decree with no accord to my mind. Shaking the tree he sits under hoping for a eureka that will not come while gravity’s lateral effects have brought me to my senses and have left my senses to me.

I want but cannot have and have but can not want.

And so it goes...

2007-09-22T12:05:00.000-06:00

?

2007-09-20T10:07:00.001-06:00

Hey piggy piggy

2007-09-19T14:07:00.001-06:00

So it’s just about Iftar time and I’m laying on a couch/bed in the kiddy’s room, they’re a lot more tolerable than the “Iraq has gone to shit ever since the Americans” banter I hear among the adults outside. Susu Cute (Sarah, age 10) and Med school (Ahmed, age 9) are watching some show dubbed cool by god knows who.
I can’t stand the lameness and tuning it out proves to be difficult considering the rumbly in my tumbly. I’m twitching to violently take over the remote control and find something more complex but my conscience gets the better of me.
Where or when did the fountain of my youth dry up?
Though the crackling and tickling in my throat induced by mass consumption of pop rocks could possibly render me a tad on the hayfa side, it upsets me to think I haven’t squealed in delight at the site of a fruit rollup in the longest while.
Regardless…
Refusing to submit to the urge to use my age and “visitor status” as a means to coheres the youngins into changing the channel, I rummage through their stack of books instead.
I haven’t read a story with pretty pictures in ages and this is my ingenious idea to help pass the time. Isn’t it odd how “time goes by so slowly” , insert melody hits commercial here, when you’re aware of it.
And So I stumble on ….

This story was a delight to read. I absolutely loved it! It’s quirky and cheeky as ever.
I was left sympathizing with the poor wolf who apparently wanted nothing more in the world than to make a cake for his grandmother. He whole heartedly manages to convince me that the media once again are to blame for all that is evil in the world.
His story makes me question the whole “big bad” persona we’ve attached to the poor fellow’s name without even thinking twice. It’s unfortunate that wolves are bigger than piggies and that bigger animals tend to eat smaller ones, which often more than not tend to be cute and further down the food chain. With all that said it’s hardly a reason to make him into the villain.
Consumed by his cold and out of sugar the poor wolf sets out to find some sugar to finish baking the cake he’d started for his granny. As he arrives at the first piggy’s house he gets the sudden urge to sneeze and when he does he’s surprised to find that the straw house has collapsed and in the middle of it all lay a dead pig. Now ask yourself this question. How many times have you eaten something just because it’s unfair to the starving children of the world to let it go to waste? Wouldn’t you eat a perfectly plump pig if you were a carnivorous wolf?
With the wolf’s lunch covered and one pig dead he’s still in the predicament he started in. No sugar for the cake. So the story continues till he arrives at the brick house.
Misinformed by the media and what he’d heard about his brothers, the last pig insults the wolf’s grandmother.
So he flips out…. And in the middle of his temper tantrum the police arrive. He ends up behind bars, The last pig lives to tell the story embellishing here and there with the "huffing and puffing”and the”not by the hair on my chiny chin chin”. All the while the TV broadcasters are eating it all up and the truth is lost in the shuffle.

Baz tells it like it is...

2007-09-06T11:01:00.000-06:00

"Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth."

The tummies, birthday balloon and cupcake sum it up nice

2007-08-31T07:59:00.000-06:00

It’s been a year in October now, they’ve all moved on and though I haven’t literally moved… my seemingly static life has changed in a gazillion ways. The tight knight comfort pillow they once provided for me is now gone and all that is left is nostalgia. I miss them dearly… and think of them probably a lot more often than I imagine they do of me. The thought that I’m doing this alone, creates a knot in my throat and fills my eyes with tears. I hold back as best as I can but decide to let go when my radio station conveniently yet ever so dramatically plays a song that brings back yet another memory. She sings “I tried to tell myself you’re gone.. but though you’re still with me I’ve been alone” and visuals of distant far off lands and how things slowly but surely went sour consume me. I can not call them up and tell them all of this, I’ll fall apart…cry it all out and sob about how much I miss them and my greatest fear is that it won’t resonate with them the way it does in my heart...
I miss you guys.
I miss the random photos of feet….
The hysterical laughing and talking for hours on end about nothing and everything all a once….
I miss the sunflower fields…..
I miss laughing at the three hour speech to sponsor a mosque all in Turkish…
I miss body jamming…
I miss commenting about pretty earrings complemented by beautiful colored peshminas.
I miss the word “doooode” randomly placed in sentences
I miss the sarcasm
I miss the great big cups of tea
I miss the pleading to take photos and the joking around about fear of tabloids.
I miss rainbow colored beads that remind me of Sudan when I’ve never been to Sudan….
I miss insisting that the van needs steering wheel fluid to make the noise stop.
I miss making bets to see if she’ll run or not…. I miss her looking back and knowing we’re laughing at the way she runs.
I miss learning the phrase “are u taking the piss?”
I miss loitering at random coffee houses.
I miss baby pictures and screeching expressions of “mimi”.
I miss knowing that should the need arise, I have a go to person for movie trivia.
I miss arguing about entourage dude not being the jack and Jill dude.
I miss “a ooo eeee uuuu” ing in Montréal.
I miss pretending to be on a tv show outside moxie’s and the elbandarado commercial…
I miss shebshib sized shawermas..
I miss poooouuuutines
I miss the book of horoscopes
I miss screaming not to open the sink cabinet in fear of infestation.
I miss singing drumming and dancing to a song whose lyrics leave nothing in my memory but the way the word “shobraaaaa” is pronounced
I miss $5 dollar garbage bags to protect us from the rain.
I miss Canada day in Ottawa.
I miss dawlat getting all hissy when we didn’t turn on her command.
I miss laughing by the sphinx after Bedouin soundclash…
I miss knowing that the order at jacks would involve some sort of spring rolls, fries, burgers and chicken fingers.
I miss being taunted about picking the wrong movie.
I miss sharing beauty secrets about silky smooth black hair
I miss the way we were in the black and white photo of our tummies, the birthday balloon and the cupcake.

In the pursuit of Happiness I strive....

2007-08-15T10:44:00.000-06:00

Me: So this is what it means to be happy?

My response to me: I suppose…

Me: You suppose? Shouldn’t you know if you’re happy?

My response to me: I’ve never really stopped to think about it. Mind you I haven’t stopped to think I’m
unhappy either.

Me: so you’re suggesting that being happy is the lack of unhappy?

My response to me: That makes sense no? We all need a point of reference. Happiness is the lack of unhappiness.

Me: yeah but where does neutral fit into all that?

My response to me: hmm… you’re right… I suppose neutral would be what I just described.

Me: so you’re not happy then? You’re neutral?

My response to me: well no… not really I’d say I’m happy.

Me: how’s that? You don’t have a point of reference like you mentioned to draw a comparison against… well… unless you have a definition for happiness.

My response to me: It changes really. What I construe as happiness today isn’t really what it was yesterday.

Me: So with no static reference and a changing definition of happiness from one day to the next… essentially you could be happy today based on today’s definition but negate that statement about today tomorrow when you change your definition of happiness?

My response to me: yeah I suppose…

Me: Doesn’t that just mean you’re claiming to be happy when you’re not?

My response to me: well not really… why can’t I be happy on a day to day basis?

Me: I’ll accept you saying: based on today’s definition of happiness I am happy.
But when someone asks you if you’re happy don’t they mean in a generic overall sense?

My response to me: Yeah I suppose but being able to claim you’re generically happy would mean you’d have to keep something in the mix constant… seeing as how the circumstances of your life and mood change on a day to day basis, wouldn’t your definition of happiness by default have to assume a static role?

Me: Hmmm… not unless it’s a dynamic definition to which you add criteria as you grow.
something along the lines of :
You’re born: Happieness = Air available to breathe and cry
A few hours after being born Happiness = Air available to breathe and cry + warmth
A few hours later still Happiness = Air available to breath and cry + warmth + food available.
And it goes on and on and on… so as you grow your list of things that must be available for the condition of happiness to exist increase. The fulfillment of all the criteria then allows you to claim “I’m happy”

My response to me: Does this explain why it’s a lot harder to bring joy to an adult than it is a child?

Me: perhaps yeah… that’s a good point…

My response to me: Fair enough but then what happens if one of those criteria isn’t present?
Does that then make you unhappy? Is it an all or non situation? True or false with no middle ground?

Me: I don’t know… sounds like a flaw in the theory….it doesn’t sit well does it? cuz there are instances where you’ve been happy under one set of circumstances and not happy at a later date… hmmm

My response to me:
So we’re back to where we started then… no point of reference no static definition and the presence of a dynamic one is of no value without having a rule that says how many criteria have to be fulfilled in order for you to be happy…. So How does one claim they’re happy?

Me: NO clue… I think therefore I am!?

My response to me: Classic… that’s code for “Managed to fuck myself up and now I’m shit out of ideas”?

Me: haha…. Pretty much…

My wonderfully geeky world

2007-07-05T14:49:00.000-06:00

Would it be incredibly geeky to admit I have a love hate relationship with the ones and zeros of the programming world?
I'm back in the swing of things with assignments, readings and my ever familiar state of procrastination. I began my first graduate course mere Mondays ago and now as the course is near its end I thought I’d take a minute to reflect on the fact that, I've never enjoyed school more. The idea of being able to do it whenever I want and without stringent deadlines or the guilt of missing tutorials or lectures reminds me of how I fell in and out of love with computer science over the years. I reminisce, grimace and smile a little at it all now in retrospect. I remember now why I took that oath to stick to it even though my bastard bitch of a counselor insisted that perhaps I "should stick to the arts instead" with a tone of belittling ridicule disguised as concern. I remember how I hugged the department secretary when she informed me I'd been accepted into the program as she looked at me with wide eyed shock and horror. I remember my mini hyperventilation and sweaty palm syndrome attacks at the thought of an assignment. I remember my many sleepless nights perhaps attributable to my SEVERE procrastination inevitably exponentially increasing my stress levels. I remember tossing and turning in bed not being able to sleep but forcing myself to do so just so I could escape having to face the music. I remember the staple oriental dude sitting in front of me with shiny reflective greasy hair sprinkled with dandruff the size of walnuts in all of my computability and algorithms classes. I remember the gazillion 8 o'clock lectures I missed because I just couldn't keep my eyes open after an all nighter in the computer lab. But set the strict deadlines aside and the need to take 4 other courses at the same time and ohhh ahhh its magic again. And just like that “the Matrix” is cool again. I'm loving it. And why? Why or how could someone supposedly semi creative and living not outside the box but at least with the same exposure as a jack in the box find awe and wonder in programming? Well this is the thing… programming is insanely complex but at the same time ridiculously basic and simple. There's a certain thrill involved in being able to make a machine do things the human brain takes for granted. It's almost spiritual. You realize that even the dumbest person out there is born with a gift incredibly difficult to mimic or duplicate. All the issues with AI are a testament to this. Knowing you have the nuts, bolts and ply wood in your hands and all you need is the imagination and creativity to build wonders is intoxicatingly pleasurable. I imagine this is what painters feel when they are presented with a shit load of acrylics, a red sable weasel bristle brush and a stretched canvas.

Stretching and tweaking my approach to a problem I’ve fully understood gives me this high that's difficult to find elsewhere. Though extremely frustrating, I love the resolution that is reached after I’ve over come the bleakness that arises from realizing I've exhausted all my options in the route I’ve chosen to take in order solve the problem. It’s when the light bulb goes of in my head and I see something I hadn't in the beginning that I’m thrilled. It ignites a fury of possibilities.

It is perhaps because my first recollection of an epiphany was associated with computer science that I have grown so attached to it. Sounds like a mile high of bullshit but it’s my truth.

It was absolutely perfect. I'd racked my brains trying to come to a solution and had what I thought was the perfect idea except for a single glitch, a glitch that could cost me having to redesign the entire program. I thought and thought and thought and in the midst of it all I fell asleep. I had a dream and though the logistics of the solution weren’t presented to me, I saw something that gave me an idea. I woke up and scratched down some pseudo code. I slept like a baby. I’d convinced myself that I’d solved the problem and could sleep. The next morning I see the note pad but dismiss it.

“How silly are you? What? You actually think the solution came to you in your sleep?”

After I’d spent endless more hours trying to get my solution to work I thought what the heck look at it. Read it. Try it out. Lo and behold it worked! It was as though the clouds in the heavens parted and the rays of golden sun filtered through the air upon me and the sound “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh” could be heard all round! Absolutely magnificent! A prophetic experience. So there u have it. My moment of epiphany and extreme clarity. My want to recreate and relive that split second where it all made sense despite the chaos in my head and on paper. And that I suppose on it’s own is justification enough to love my wonderfully geeky self and world with java in it!

The big wheels turn

2007-06-25T11:04:00.001-06:00

You ever pick at yourself and wonder what or why a person you held dear decided to up and leave, plainly and simply gave you up? The reasons are inexplicable and the arguments non existent. You, naturally wanting to understand, retrace your steps, wonder what you possibly could have done or could have said to cause such a reaction. Unable to get at anything worthwhile you simply conclude that you were too YOU. Not necessarily imperfect faulty or intolerable but just you. And you twist and turn and agonize at not being able to have that person in your life and after you've had your share of mourning you do the only thing that is in your power to do, you let go and you move on. There is no sense in crying over spilt milk longer than is necessary. But ages upon ages later the Karma police kick in and then it's like sweet satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction that’s not of any use to anyone but your own. And no I don’t mean the kind that begets huge calamities on said fleeing party’s life but the kind that lets you know you did no wrong. They remember you for the good and its like the blind has been lifted and all of a sudden you can breath a little easier because you both realize that though they’re out of your life and at a distance they still value you and you them.

People are cunts

2007-05-17T12:56:00.000-06:00

People are cunts he says. He is poison to you. You’re just too naïve to see it but will bitch and moan about it to me later. You’ll expect me to put up with your self indulgent whining bullshit except of course I won’t because I’m warning you now. We’ll fight. You’ll wonder why I couldn’t have just listened without being such a “looser” and I’ll wonder why the fuck you can’t get it through your thick head that loser is spelt with one ‘o’. We’ve been over this time and time again. I want nothing to do with it. Run your stupid escapades and go out with the fucker but know that I will be right. And know that if you get hurt I won’t hear of it.”

A walk by the lake and a very decently priced weeping yogi statue are what started up this mess. I couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t want a statue to carry their burdens for them? Damn it wouldn’t you want him to weep so you could rejoice? Wtf? Why is that such a bad thing to want for someone? I most definitely would want someone to want it for me. The mere thought of them wanting that for me is gift enough. And though I don’t by into the mystic healing crystal crap people try to sell I couldn’t help but want this statue. Not for me but for someone else.
This is what I do. I buy stuff for everyone other than myself. This time, much like the travel care package I’d once sent to a person I hadn’t met yet, I knew at the back of my head this was above and beyond.

It’s the above and beyond I’ve come to notice that people don’t trust. Like it’s not humanly possible to nice to someone without wanting something in return. People look at me in that way. With questioning eyes, with these thoughts that kill the joy in giving. Looks that make me feel like I have to defend myself. “no I really don’t want anything from you I just thought you’d like it… I saw it and remembered you so I paid for it and brought it here”

You think four weeks after the initial “I’ve got something to give you when are you free” sms I’d have picked up that I wasn’t a top priority?
Sandy’s drunken Jiminy cricket: Of course not! Shame on you. People are busy. They have things to do and lives to lead. It’s not a big deal.
Sandy’s muzzled sound of reason: Yeah but you live in the same city about a 5 min drive. Wtf are u thinking. Why does dude even deserve a gift?
Sandy’s drunken Jiminy cricket: It’s not about deserving, its about my want to give. Since when do people give gifts cuz the recipient deserves it?!

So patient and excuse after excuse giving I was. And about 5 weeks later after I’d flipped out and told dude I no longer wanted to give him the gift that it is now devoid of meaning and utterly anticlimactic, many failed attempts to meet up, and an out of character mean spirited social embarrassment initiated by none other than moi, I gave dude the gift.

And as I was sitting there watching him talk to some other chickie on the phone as I waited to dig into my calamari hoping it wouldn’t get cold, trying to keep myself busy by drawing on the paper cloth, thanking the creativity gods for Crayola and the ingenious person who came up with this idea, desperately humming a tune to a song that didn’t exist just so I wouldn’t have to hear what he was saying, not letting any of it get to me. And then something clicked. And just like that… the noise around me drowned out and all I could see were his lips moving devoid of meaning devoid of words. “I deserve better than this.” Not because he’s not a smart enough or witty enough or polite enough or charming enough or charismatic enough but because cell phones need to be turned off at the dinner table! And should they happen to ring whilst still seated they either need to be ignored or answered and hung up quickly. Such a stupid insignificant thing but indicative of many things none the less. I made a face. This was the last straw. His last benefit of the doubt.

Sandy’s emancipated sound of reason: He has consumed all his chances. Chances he should not have been given. The signs were there. Signs you chose to ignore hoping he’d prove you wrong. You were right. Your friend was right and now you’ve gone and forfeited your right to bitch and moan. And this fucker smugly sitting in front of you, arrogant with confidence, blind to who you are, won’t give you a second thought.

He hangs up the phone, an inquisitive look comes over my face and I ask rhetorically “would you agree that people are cunts?” I look away….
and let the words sit in the uncomfortable silence I’ve unintentionally created for him as I ponder the question.
…
….
…..
…..
I smile whole heartedly as I come out of my deep thought. “I’m sorry my thoughts escape me sometimes. That was entirely out of context… try my calamari its fantastic.”

My shrapnel clad pavement

2007-05-08T14:45:00.000-06:00

My pulse beats still.
I’m here though not all there.
Fragments of the person I once was at some point in a dimension of time I now question ever existed.
Carefree no more yet resilient to the contradicting state of translucency vs. opaqueness that characterize this very familiar hue of jade.
I’ve decided the remedy to my idleness is ill reason.
Callus and cold to logic and rationale, I’ve cast them aside.
Today I take off,
I soar and I pray to the Gods I catch the wind in my sails.
I forgo the encounter of the twists and turns of fate whose acoustics will inevitably echo a thud, spit, crackle and pop as I not so gracefully meet my shrapnel clad rock bottom.
Embracing all I am and who I’ve become…. Wiser but perhaps not so wise… older and perhaps still not so old… A forced student of realism but still perhaps a resident of never never land… I take a leap towards all that is “emotionally irrational” so hold my breath and you the door for me.

How sweet it is!

2007-05-07T09:00:00.001-06:00

You know it’s going to be a good day when the perfect song plays on your car stereo, the sun bathes everything in its glorious warmth and the colors in the red breasted robin’s feathers contrast the dull grey of the highest single point on a lamp post after you’ve found the closest parking spot to your destination.

sacred prostitution

2007-04-13T15:05:00.001-06:00

Can you get closer to God through selling your body? Is there such a thing as sacred prostitution? The sacrifice of one’s self and body for a divinity. Maria’s Ralf brought up an interesting point this morning. “The great historian, Herodotus wrote of Babylonia: ‘They have a strange custom here, by which every woman born in Sumeria is obliged, at least once in her lifetime, to go to the temple of the goddess Ishtar and give her body to a stranger, as a symbol of hospitality and for a symbolic price.’" Ralf goes on... "later on though during the Roman Empire, another goddess, Vesta demanded total virginity or total surrender” It follows suit then that eventually total surrender was dropped and total virginity was the way it went. It's strange that a concept that lasted not for centuries but millennia was replaced by a mentality that labels sexuality and religion as mutually exclusive. It's also interesting to me that various religions handle sexuality in different ways. The dominant world religions treat sexuality as (at best) a distraction from the spiritual path. On the other hand, some spiritual traditions integrate sexuality into their spiritual practice. Some regard sexuality as an integral part of life, a gift to be honored and enjoyed while other view it as an evil that must be avoided at all costs. And somewhere between the total enjoyment of sexuality and that of abstinence lies the middle ground of rules that govern sexual activity. I drew upon all I’ve encountered in the past and how they relate to this concept and realized that it is very much viewed in a different light depending on where you’re coming from. Whether it be Christianity and Islam’s vow of celibacy outside the context of a marriage, Socrates’ persistence that the body hinders the arrival at truth because of sexual desire, or a Jehovah’s witness I met on a bus once who proudly proclaimed he was dating 7 girls at the same time to fulfill his religion it slowly started to dawn on me that this definitely wasn’t a black and white issue.

Ma bookstore lacking on bullshit

2007-04-10T15:03:00.000-06:00

The bookstore is out of “on bullshit” again and I’m starting to get the sense that acquiring and reading this little essay is going to prove to be extremely anti-climactic after all this “waitin…. and wishin… and hopin… and prayin” (sung to a tune of a musical or movie or something whose name eludes me now). I bought “Fear and Trembling” by Soren Kierkegaard instead who asks: “If there were no eternal consciousness in a (wo)man, if at the bottom of everything, there were only a wild ferment, a power that twisting in dark passions produced everything great or inconsequential; if an unfathomable insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair?”. I’ve been toying with all sorts of basic philosophical ideas but am finding within them extreme complexity. On my last visit to the bookstore before today I picked up a little golden book that read “Truth”. I will admit that though any philosophy lover knows the topic has been done to death and the chances of reading anything “new” on the subject are slim to none, I couldn’t resist the urge to own the little cute thing. I wanted to own the golden “Truth”. Strange on its own everyone knows you can’t really own truth and if for arguments sake you could there wouldn’t be A golden truth, they’re subjective. Regardless, though pretty, as anticipated, the book delivered absolutely nothing new. Examining the reasons why we value truth and how the lack of it in our lives creates a disorder, a realm where nothing is verifiable, where outcome can not be predicted and trust is lacking. Giving credit where it’s due, I should say that the author did touch on ONE interesting point however. Is truth out there and waiting to be discovered or is it internalized relative to our reality? This made me question if anyone can really arrive at the truth or are we all constrained and controlled by our innate nature and belief system. Can anyone really find a truth they are unwilling to see when they do not have the belief system already in place for them to arrive at a conclusion extremely different from the one they were previously at? Or was Socrates completely right when he said that in order for us to attain the truth we must rid ourselves of the hindrance that is our body? …..

Purgitory

2007-04-10T13:21:00.000-06:00

Call it extreme enlightenment or boredom, whichever suites your fancy depending on your personality's inclination towards the hole or the doughnut, it occurred to me that the Eagles' hotel California and U2's Stuck in a moment are both strokes of genius. Not because they've been played out to death and the melodies are resonate in your mind long after the song is done but because of their ability to capture the "in between". Its easy to write a song about your masochistic love affair and how u drilled a wire through your cheek (blue October), or about how you decided to teach your cheating boyfriend a lesson by digging your key into the side of his supped up 4 wheel drive, carving your name into his leather seats, taking a Louisville slugger to both headlights and slashing a hole in all 4 tires (Carrie Underwood), or how with every word, every smile, every glance, every caress you come closer to the water drinking your lovers kisses (Lhasa De Sela), or how when she kisses you everyone sighs and though u close your eyes you see la vie en rose (Louis Armstrong). BUT how many times do you hear a song, or read a book, or watch a movie about the calm between the storms, the dullness between the winter and spring, the uneventful mundane between amazing success and subzero failure? If you think about it you’ll be able to relate this idea of purgatory to different aspects of everything . You’ll soon see that we spend most of our lives neither here nor there. Toying with shades of grey. Not 100% happy nor a 100% dissatisfied. We linger between the photos we take capturing one memorable moment and the next. We reminisce about relationships that have long since left our lives. We hang out watching the tide roll away and in the midst of it all babies continue to cry over spilt milk. In the comfort of realizing that all things stall, idle, pause and linger I have discovered a new found affinity for the "in between".

"Bechara" Ned (Poor Ned)

2007-03-16T14:32:00.000-06:00

Conversations of pets and animal habits over coffee last weekend reminded me of a story from my childhood I’d totally forgotten about. I’d engaged in many ridiculously WRONG actions and I figure it’s time to confess.
So… voila:
I went to boarding school from grades 7- 9 here in Canada while my parents lived across the Atlantic somewhere. My brother and I would make this journey across the seas twice a year, once at Christmas time and once during the summer. My little sister, way too young to be at boarding school, remained with my parents and would miss us immensely. So the first summer back my brother and I convened at the shopping centre to buy a gift for our younger sister. I must have been 14 at the most and he was 11. We scoured the mall for hours upon hours in an attempt to find something within the budget we’d set out for this endeavor. One can only imagine this amount was peanuts. So after coming to the conclusion that we couldn’t afford anything of value we decided to step into the pet store to check out the puppies. To our pleasant surprise they had hamsters on sale for exactly $6 dollars. Mind you these were vermin who had over fluffed fur but we didn’t care at the time. AWWW how cute its soft and cuddly and its alive. Our excitement reached its peak when we realized with our change not only did we get food for the furry fellow but could manage to get a shiny red cage for him/ her as well! We got back home just in time to catch our shuttle ride to the airport. Bags packed and cage wrapped, my brother and I faced an unplanned obstacle. How would we carry this hamster into the airplane across the Atlantic and into our parents home? Being the “genius” that I am, I figured I’d give it a sleeping pill.. put it in a make up bag or something of the likes in my carry on luggage and life would be good! Course a full sleeping pill might kill the poor thing so I only gave it half… it worked like a charm… we got past airport security don’t ask me how this was obviously pre insanity associated with air travel… buts still I absolutely have noooooooo clue how I managed to get past the sensors without being told that this was a crime of sorts. So there we are on our cross Atlantic flight enjoying the food that comes in those wonderful tin containers when all of a sudden I notice the pouch moving… I immediately start panicking… shiting my pants actually. But I figure the bag is heavy duty enough and it should keep him or her in place till we landed… Having put my “genius” self at ease with this faulty logic, so I decide to take a nap. All of a sudden I wake up to this commotion in the air cabin and my brother is literally in mid air as he pounces on something that is running on the ground. He lands on top of the poor thing and manages not to hurt it.. But the cabin crew has noticed that something is fishy is going on and so come over to see what the commotion was about. I still don’t understand how no one saw the thing run across the floor. Or how no one screamed. Either way, he gets up and goes… “ I was afraid my teddy would fly away” at which point the stewardess smiles with this “he’s so cute with his big eyes” look on her face and brings him back to the seat. He exclaims “you should have given it the whole Pill!” he’s left holding the hamster the rest of the way which, luckily, was approximately half an hour. We land… get out of the airport without a single person questioning the fuzzy ball in his hand… we get home and give the hamster to our sister who is ecstatic. And so we feel this sense of joy come over us as we we’d survived a difficult mission. She named her Ned. She wouldn’t have it any other way even though we repeatedly mentioned the fact that she was a she not a he. A couple of days later we started to notice noises in the middle of the night. It was “Ned”. She was gnawing at the inside of her cage attempting her next escape and in the process keeping us up with the squeaking and scratching her teeth would make on the metal. That summer I d remember distinctly making evil du3a2s every night before bed about that poor thing. When it finally died 2 summers later I couldn’t help but feel responsible. My sister mourned the death with great emotion. She planned a funeral and a ceremony and everything. For two years to come she’d remember the day she died and say she missed her. I have never had the heart to tell my sister about all the horrible things I’d wished upon Ned.

cause for concern?

2007-03-13T14:57:00.001-06:00

I’m not certain if I should be a little concerned for how I oogle, ohh and aww every time I walk into a camera store.
I often catch myself salivating at the sight of a beautifully endowed 8 mega pixel Kodak or Nikon. Mental comparisons of size versus zoom capabilities leave me flustered and a little embarrassed when my thought process is interrupted. I get caught up in this whirlwind of imagination and possibility. The glimmering silver and sexy black casing has me inebriated with glee. I can’t help but feel like the LCD screens look at me with yearning as if to scream out “Use and abuse me! I’ll satisfy you”. I'll often ask to see or hold a camera I like in my hand. I play with it like I'm taking a photo sideways, diagonally and vertically. It's precisely at the moment when my heart skips a beat and I decide "I MUST OWN" this camera that i feel bad for the camera I have back home. It's treated me so well. So what if it's a little out of date and clunky. I haven't fully learnt to appreciate it. There is a wonderful comfort that comes with familiarity.... Why then do I take that for granted? And as my heart fills with empathy and fondness for my camera I give back the sales woman the newer shinier, prettier, quicker, more technology savvy one and walk away. I instead smile at the prospect of perhaps filling a picture frame with the fruits of my trustworthy baby.

Tagged

2007-03-07T15:58:00.000-06:00

I was tagged by N ages upon ages ago:
list 5 things we dont know about u.

1) Nothing grosses me out more than a fallen strand of hair on my wet skin after a shower. I involuntarily make an Ekhhh face and convulse as I get 2ash3areera/ shivers down my spine.
2) I’m terrified of becoming a has been that’s never actually been.
3) I once slept for 2 days and one night straight.
4) I used to have two orangutans as pets. Sam and Sheila.
5) Hands are my one vice. My one superficial condition. They say so much about a person’s past and present. I can forgo anything but a man with prettier, better kept hands than mine or conversely entirely unkept hands is a definite turn off.

The universe

2007-03-07T09:50:00.000-06:00

The universe has this wonderful way of setting you straight sometimes. Just when you stop expecting and come to terms with your reality it finds a way to make a mockery of your understanding of how things are or how they should be. It’s at moments like these that I love the universe most. I haven’t quite figured out if this its way of balancing the scales and giving everyone their fair share or if I’m just far too much of a dreamer, over reader and over analyzer. Do the events really fit into a grand picture or is it just random chaos? Better still is it chaos ruled by order? Comes off as an oxymoron of sorts but I think I like this description best.

I hate myself this morning

2007-02-27T10:02:00.000-06:00

I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress

I hate myself this morning for crying on the phone
I hate myself this morning for letting you know that I feel alone
I hate myself this morning for depriving myself of sleep
I hate myself this morning for conversations far from deep

I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress

I hate myself this morning for ending up where I said I wouldn’t
I hate myself this morning for doing what I always thought I couldn’t
I hate myself this morning for selling myself short
I hate myself this morning for not sticking to mission abort

I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress

I hate myself this morning for being caught off guard
I hate myself this morning for my blatant disregard
I hate myself this morning for being such a suck
I hate myself this morning for not wishing you good luck

I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress

I hate myself this morning for thinking I’m Doctor Seuss
I hate myself this morning for being your ego’s devout masseuse
I hate myself this morning for words I twist and contort
I hate myself this morning for all the deceit that needs a sieve to sort

I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress

I hate myself this morning for being angry at the world and it being cruel
I hate myself this morning for playing the role of the pandering fool
I hate myself this morning for feeling this crappy way
I hate myself this morning for letting the drama ruin the play

Je me souviens

2007-02-22T12:26:00.000-06:00

Here's to seeing again..
and again...
and again...
and again...
and again...
etc....

Forget

2007-02-13T15:07:00.000-06:00

Forget Cadbury,
Hallmark,
De Sade,
Brad Pitt
and Ahmed Ezz.

The calories,
corny lines,
sleazy eroticism,
chiseled chins
and the kissable lips.

Forget commercialism,
Forced emotions
And the pressure to give

The Dutch roses,
Marquise diamonds
and lingerie you’ll surely outlive

Forget construction paper,
stickers and glue.

The dusty scrapbook,
pictures and
the nostalgia that fills you

Forget the search,
the road to elderado
and Aphrodite’s spell

Forget stories of love
you might not live long enough
to concoct and tell

Forget the tantalizing,
shiney crap that Hollywood trys to sell

They’re nothing but fantasies
that from the shelves of reality fell.

So forget Cadbury,
hallmark,
de Sade,
brad Pitt
and Ahmed Ezz

You and I both know
that if love chose a home,
The Abyss of ur heart and soul is where its bound to exist.

Fun as Fungus can be!

2007-02-05T16:02:00.000-06:00

I get home last night to the sound of a typical documentary voice. You know the type, a bit of an accent from somewhere or the other (I’m assuming it’s fake or put on), usually a male’s voice who, in the back of his mind I’m sure knows that everyone listening to him wants to reach for a shotgun in order to create a master piece of blood and gore on the strategically placed wall facing the TV set. I momentarily block out his voice and am drawn to the scene captured by a camera that seems to be traveling up the trunk of an endlessly long tree. It was kind of like that cartoon based on jack and the bean stock, where jack climbs the gigantic bean stock past the clouds and all sorts of levels of heaven before getting to the giants house.
“Oh wow! How tall is THAT tree?! Ha! That S%*t is whack!” Mind you I’m alone in the room at this point and so random thoughts and questions thrown at inanimate objects make perfect sense. And in response I hear a voice that goes. “Isn’t that crazy? It grows up to 8 meters a year and they say it lives for ages too.” I don’t give a second’s thought as to how or why I got an answer when I spoke to the TV but instead ponder the possibilities of a fridge that comes in the same make and model.
“Where’s the mayo?”
“second row on the left.”
I laugh to myself as the thought “puts a whole new spin on the words full options...doesn’t it?” lit in neon lights dance around in my head. Snapping out of the oblivion that is my mind, I am fixated on the beauty of it all. More and more drawn to the images of the rainforest and the fact that these trees, these gorgeous endless miles of green, are what both consume gallons upon gallons of water but also create it as well. I allow the voice of the presenter to infiltrate my ears and he is no longer white noise.
“The rain forests receive up to 2 meters of rainfall a year, and the trees create half that amount”

It was after I’d developed this bond with fake accent presenter man and the incredibly well shot documentary that I learnt lots and lots. I find it’s not so much what I see or hear that shows me the world from a different perspective but it’s my taking it all in and reflecting on it in comparison to the world around me.

There was this one scene of a pack of chimpanzees that reminded me of human atrocities committed in times of war. Moving in perfect alignment through the foliage enroute to the scene of an ambush where another pack of unaware chimpanzees were going about their business eating their fruits. They stopped and listened all at the same time. One chimpanzee traveled up ahead to check out what was going on and with a nod of his/her head signaled to the rest of the pack that it they needed to move forward. Their strategy was to create as much noise and commotion as possible when they attacked. Screaming and banging on the trunks of trees they seemed like a cocky crazed enemy invading a country with way less men than could possibly over through the current rule. Rape and pillage were the only way to describe it. A female chimpanzee was lucky to have escaped with her life only after being rapped. Another young chimpanzee was killed and most disturbing of all eaten just to set an example I’m guessing. When you see these things in a rainforest you can’t help but think it justifiable because they are animals but the comparison and similarity of which they reminded me of people was most unsettling.

With a moment of silence and a musical interlude fake accent presenter dude’s attention shifts to the coolest fungus out there! Mr wilson’s cabinate of wonders describes it like this:

“Large ants survive by foraging for food among the fallen leaves and undergrowth
of the extraordinarily rich rain-forest floor.
On occasion, while foraging for food ants will become infected by inhaling the microscopic spore of a fungus from the genus Tomentella, millions of which rain down upon the forest floor from somewhere in the canopy above. Upon being inhaled, the spore lodges itself
inside the ant’s tiny brain and immediately begins to grow, quickly fomenting bizarre behavioral changes in its ant host. The creature appears troubled and confused, and presently, for the first time in its life, it leaves the forest floor and begins an arduous climb up the stalks of vines and ferns.
Driven on and on by the still-growing fungus, the ant finally achieves a seemingly prescribed height whereupon, utterly spent, it impales the plant with its mandibles and, thus affixed, waits to die. Ants that have met their doom in this fashion are quite a common sight in certain sections of the rain forest.
The fungus, for its part, lives on. It continues to consume the brain, moving on
through the rest of the nervous system and, eventually, through all the soft tissue that remains of the ant. After approximately two weeks, a spike like protrusion erupts from out of what had once been the ant’s head. Growing to a length of about an inch and a half, the spike features a bright orange tip, heavy-laden with spores, which now begin to rain down onto the forest floor for other unsuspecting ants to inhale.”

Its crazy… totally totally crazy. So out of a scifi movie check it out.

On being girlie and such

2007-01-19T14:23:00.000-06:00

Reason to rejoice for being female.

The inexplicable joy found in a brilliantly shiny coat of fresh nail polish.
The choice between shorts, pants, skirts, dresses, overalls, t-shirts, blouses, tank tops, tube tops, halter tops, flip flops, stilettos, boots, penny loafers, slip-ons and sneakers.
The option to add color to ones cheeks or bring out the color of their eyes.
The satisfaction of knowing you have an unsurpassed threshold for pain but are ok with sobbing shamelessly should you feel the need.
The ability to multitask.
The ability to function on minimal sleep.
The ability to make things pretty.
The natural mastery in the soothing powers of being tactile.
Experiencing the miracle of having something grow inside you.
Having a purse that contains something for any kind of emergency. Wet wipes for sticky situations, a tide pen for messes and spills, a book in case of severe boredom, candy in the case of low blood pressure and last but not least a pen to write the words “help me” should you find yourself in a taxi cab that refuses to stop.

Reason’s to curse the day you discovered you had no Willy.

1) Hair removal and the male’s inability to understand just how painful this damn process is.
2) Body parts that manage to get in the way each and every single time you hope, pray, desire whatever you spill misses you on its way to the floor.
3) Having to pee sitting down
4) Never knowing the feeling of having someone bounce off your chest, should u decide to take that approach, without having them smirk lamely when you step up to them and go “don’t mess with me”.
5) Knowing that the inevitable end to having something grow inside you is having to force it back out again but with the added perk of it being a gazzilion times bigger. Think Water melons and lemons.

A Hypothetical "what if"

2007-01-15T15:44:00.000-06:00

Short but sweet.
100% out of a book I read somewhere but can’t remember where in order to properly give props. I should say I tweaked it a little for fun in order to inspire my creativity. Let’s see how you do with it. The scenario goes like this.
Imagine the effects of a deadly disease that is both incurable and smart. Much like different strains of the flu bug it warps in form and so makes the development of a vaccine impossible. This disease however varies from the regular variety because it is carried through sound. Fluctuating in pitch it can essentially be transmitted through anything humans can hear. What are the effects of such a disease on present and future society?

Here are some of the things the author came up with:
· Commercialization of sound. We’d have to buy our news and music from a secure source with labels that read : Do not listen if seal is broken.
· Every day things like the hum of a fridge or the popping of popcorn inevitably carry a threat.

What I came up with:
· We become more and more isolated as individuals and further play up the idea that we think we’re alone in being alone.
· Expressions of anger, happiness or flintiness no longer have a toll. We’ll have to find other ways to express ourselves.
· Verbally expressing yourself will be considered vulgar and low class.
· A mass subculture of unfiltered music junkies will emerge, people will meet at shady places to get their fix of unfiltered sounds
· Musicians will become equated with serial killers and I imagine they’ll soon supersede dentists and become the profession with the highest suicide rate.
· On the long run the extinction of music will inevitably have an effect on our history. Many a nation have carried on tradition in song and dance.
· People at nightclubs will be viewed like those tribes that gather round the fire to shake to the beat of a drum
· The entertainment/cinema industry will have to resort to alternate methods like vibrations in their chairs or quick flashes of light. People eventually pick up on a language that denotes “I love you” with a long buzz then two short ones and anger with a large bright sudden flash of light.
· Written music will become like Latin, audibly long gone but still present on paper.
· If you’re an evolution believer then we’d eventually evolve into humans without ears. A body part that serves no function will surely become useless. Except for balance purposes that is.
· We’d have to find a way to muzzle every sort of animal that makes noise in our lives. Not only would be implementing the rules on ourselves but now we’re interfering with other species’ forms of communications.

Intangible for a reason

2007-01-08T15:39:00.000-06:00

The next time someone asks you why they can’t find or have the perfect life, job, lover, car or outfit run this by them. Ideas of perfection are only perfect until they materialize. It’s almost as though perfection and existence in a TANGIBLE form are two characteristics that are never found in application to the same idea person or object.
Take the perfect circle as an example. It’s only perfect as an idea, a thought, or a definition. Attempt to put your pencil down on a piece of paper to make visually existent and it instantly becomes imperfect. There will never be a pencil sharp enough, a compass accurate enough, or a sheet of paper flat enough to create it. Seeking perfection is a lost cause.

The neu yeer rezolushions

2006-12-29T13:48:00.000-06:00

I’ve decided not to resolve to go to the gym more often. If shamoo got along just fine I’m sure I can manage aswell.

I’ve decided not to resolve to find happiness, I spend enough time as it is looking for my keys. It just doesn’t make any sense to be wasting the rest of it looking for something I can’t even define. I’ll do something more productive. Two letters! TV. “Time well wasted”.

I’ve decided not to stress about the “what am I going to do and where do I go from here” and because I tend to forget about this, I’m gonna use the incredible hulk as a visual reminder that the push and pull of a constipation face are accompanied with, but by no means justification for the popping veins, arteries and stretch marks that are bound to make an appearance along my neck with age.

I’ve decided not to let my chiwawa imitating cubicle buddy’s snoring deter me from taking the shorter path past his cubicle to the water cooler. Sayantandamo ila the ho-hum white noise that surrounds me at the office.

I’ve decided that being a “lady” doesn’t mean I can’t swear to express myself. Tthere is absolutely nothing wrong to resorting to having to slip a “motherfuckin” ever so quickly and so often in between words of “imprortance” like annual and report to blow off steam. I’ll mimic the splicing of porn images through out chuck palahniuk’s fight club. You never know if you actually saw/heard what you did but it’s in there! Was it your mortherfuckin imagination playing tricks on you again or did I just actually say “motherfuckin”?

I’ve decided that not resolving is just the same as resolving and so I will resolve to abandon the resolution process or lack there off.

P.S one more: I’ve resolved not to knock curling as a sport.
Play It! Don’t watch it!

The scenic route gets you there.

2006-12-27T15:57:00.000-06:00

I haven’t posted anything in forever, and every time I write something it’s on a diskette somewhere and never lands on here. Usually nonsensical ramblings in my mind and so perhaps better that way. But today is different. Today I have something to share other than my ever-present nonsensical whirlings of thought.

I went to a conference on the weekend with a girlfriend of mine that I hoped, as the name mentioned, would “Revive my Islamic spirit”. I’ve never actually been to one of these events in all my years in Canada and will admit that I’ve had a bias towards them that wasn’t entirely based on experience but largely on prejudice. I’ve always just assumed that such events like this would be a lot more hardcore than I could handle and that I’d come home feeling worse about myself and my practice than I did going in but, I was more than pleasantly surprised. It was refreshing to see so many Muslims gathered in one place in the most wonderful way. Lots of salaams, loads of smiles and best of all no chaos. The website was updated throughout the weekend, the sessions were on time, the bazaar was full of reading material from Rumi to Ghazali and hardcover picture books of ancient Islamic architecture to children’s stories lined the tables. The washrooms were magnificently maintained and the audio levels alongside the visual displays were impeccable. You could hear the speeches wherever you sat and could clearly see the speakers on the big screens. I also finally managed to land myself a CD with solely the nay on it. I’ve been hunting for this sort of thing for my Sunday bubble bath for ages now to no avail. Even better still, not only did I make the acquaintance of an incredibly sweet Turkish uncle who makes the funkiest jewllery but I also discovered that he could hook me up with some nay lessons! I ran into almost every single Muslim I’ve ever met since I moved here, I chuckled at the mc’s introduction for Ihab tawfik’s asma2 allah il husna performance. Cuz there is absolutely nothing funnier than an mc struggling with the words “sa7rany”, “tetraga feya” and “ya salam” as he pretends to be an announcer for the wrestling federation moments before Ihab busts out into anasheed deneeya. The screaming higabi and niqabi teenagers at Outlandish’s performance was also a refreshing flash of reality and helped me realize that perhaps we’re all in the same boat. A boat where it’s not so easy to keep the faith the way each and every one of use would like and that everyone slips here and there surrounded by temptations that are way more accessible than is sometimes good for the average human. And though the speakers were wonderfully eloquent and delivered speeches about modesty and finding a middle ground between assimilation and integration it was the rabbi that gave me something to think about. First and foremost, I thought it was incredibly clever for the organizer’s to invite this gentleman to speak at the conference along side one of the most influential shaykhs in North America. The visual image of them sitting side by side alone projected a message that for the most part the world does not get to see. They both spoke about the same topic but each in their individual respect and from both their speeches I think I was able to draw my own conclusions. The rabbi‘s speech tickled my fancy and gave me just enough to make me see that I know close to nothing about Judaism and that perhaps It was time to unveil the shroud of ignorance. I crack me up with my extreme sense of drama! Who says that? Unveil the shroud of ignorance? It’s too good… its got nuts and cheese written all over it. Anyways back to business. The rabbi spoke of the word YHWH, better known in English as Jehovah, four letters that are not to be pronounced in Jewish tradition. This concept on its own has profound meaning and in it extreme wisdom as well. It is typically human to want to label things. Our need to identify and point a finger is what gets a lot of us into trouble seeing as how it is the basis for stereotypes. Place a label on something and you limit it to the capacity of that name or more specifically people’s ability to comprehend the full scope of the idea or the object. Take away the right to put things in a box and doing so you allow the idea or object to retain its meaning or attributes. I think I’m onto something here….

Labels limit that which is being labeled to the scope of how those who identify it understand or define that label.

And so the letters in the word Jehovah, written YHWH, are symbols. The first letter indicates the future tense and the last three denote the present. The idea, as this rabbi put it, is that the word for God is a power capable of transforming that which is now into that which it should be in the future. There is sheer brilliance in such a definition, it is abstract in nature yet extremely expressive. It allows room for each to draw their own specifics not limited or constrained to things that limit the soul and imagination. And after reflecting on the nature of the word and its lack of constraints I came to the conclusion that this too is how I relate to Islam. All these rules that sometimes seem stringent are generally those placed on ourselves through the projection of what these rules mean to others. The arrival at this thought was strangely liberating for me. Seeing the guidelines as means of empowerment as opposed to a means of suppression or repression has me walking on air. The rules are what I make of them. I create my own reality. And as long as I don’t go around killing or stealing then I figure I’m fine and that it’s all relative. It’s strange that it was the rabbi that indirectly helped me see this fact. Another interesting thing I learned through my follow up reading was that the word Elohim used instead of Jehovah is a Hebrew word that expresses concepts of divinity. In a grammatical sense it is a plural noun governing a singular verb in essence a plural that refers to a single deity. A concept that I could best relate to the many names of Allah. And in all this comparing and contrasting between religions and beliefs I’ve just reiterated and made tangible in my own head the fact that we are all the same. Much like the unique branches of a tree each filled with leaves swaying in the wind at their own leisure but all quintessentially from the same root.

Just add water

2006-12-11T15:39:00.000-06:00

As I get older I’ve started to notice that I’ve developed a refined taste for the sort of outings I enjoy. The excitement of getting away with the regular run of the mill loitering at random places specifically prohibiting casual lounging doesn’t seem to cut it for me anymore. I have needs damn it! There needs to be substance. I need to come home feeling like.. ahhhh I’m glad I got dressed. I mean really all the freaking bending over to put my shoes on and raising of arms to get my shirt over my head needs to be justified somehow. I need to be brought home with a rejuvenated sense of self and energy and I’m not talking that little kick you get from too much wasabi. I’m talking a good high. The kind that doesn’t make you want to kill yourself because you’re so far removed. And so I set out to recreate the perfect soire.

Number 1) Avoid outings with girlfriends that are confused about your relationship. A girlfriend that cries because you not calling her enough is a sure sign you don’t love her is probably a tad more drama than the average common folk can handle. Should you find yourself in said situation however, trust me when I say, hugging and reassuring her that she’s just being overly EMO and that that surely isn’t the scenario will in all likeliness encourage the behavior and increase the volume of the sobbing. Point being, you need company that’s comfortable in the skin they’re in. It not only reduces the amount of drama but also the amount of showmanship and fake flattery. There is nothing worse than being complemented on your fabulous eye make up skills when attempting to camouflage a mosquito bite. Also, remember that while talk of how walking by a mirror stopped another girlfriend dead in her tracks long enough to thank god for all her beauty and the debate on whether or not the spaghetti strap is indeed more risqué than the normal sleeveless shirt may have you laughing or entertained for a couple of minutes it inevitably gives you that feeling like you get when you upchuck a part of your food and swallow it again accidentally. You’re grossed out by yourself and can do absolutely nothing about it but cover up the taste. It is vital that your chosen company be able to thoroughly engage in intellectual conversation on a level deeper than name throwing and hand flailing. Minimizing the casualties when every single drop of mascara in the house runs out is hardly a battle to be raving about. Bells definitely need to be a ringing ages before you’re told to step a little to the left because there’s no sense in both of you being tanned, might as well help protect your fair and lovely milky white skinned friend from the sun. Long story short… make sure the thorny crowns of drama are left at home.
People who can take things at face value, don’t take themselves too seriously, can laugh, talk about random things that don’t revolve around their lack of relationships, abundant relationships, sexual frustration, restructuring of the organization they work at, THE budget, financial strife, or how the kids are teething generally get the job done.

Requirement number 2) you need a mission or purpose as your ultimate goal but recognize that it may not be entirely achievable. And I mean a true mission that doesn’t revolve around satisfying the rumbly in your tumbly. Something along lines of the adoption and implementation of operation save someone’s life by contributing a whopping dollar or to two at the art gallery hosting an auction where the proceeds go to amnesty international. You need to completely believe in the mission and its importance no matter how insignificant or dismal.

Number3) Have a severe disregard for your expertise in the horology department, take Salvador Dali’s exploding clock on as your mascot and pretend like time doesn’t exist. Stressing about getting somewhere on time just takes the fun out of ze journey.

Hope for Good weather but if not then make damn sure you have a good pair of gloves.

And last but not least don’t go out expecting to have an amazing time. LOWERED EXPECTATIONS can make a trip to the Laundromat feel like a day spent on roller coasters at your local theme park.

And voila! If you’re not an overly anal person, that’s my recipe to instant good times.

Procrastinators Unite!

2006-12-08T15:51:00.000-06:00

Does tommorrow work for you?

Could this be my fetish?

2006-12-07T11:54:00.000-06:00

I think I’ve developed quite the fetish for talking to random strangers. It gives me this sense of freedom, this sense of inspiration and this sense of security. I feel like I could essentially reinvent myself each and every time. It’s totally crazy how not being able to anticipate the other person’s judgment gives me this sense of security. They have no pre conceived notion of how I think or what type of person I am. And I could essentially become anyone in their eyes… of course the novelty wears off after the first conversation and eventually people catch on that you’re not super mean, self absorbed or dim witted But its oh so much fun while it lasts. Of all the persona’s I’ve taken on in the exploration of my fetish I’d have to say that dim witted is my ultimate favorite. It’s amazing how people light up when they feel like they can teach you something you don’t already know. They give themselves value or credit for setting your knowledge straight and in that process I feel a sense of confidence come over them. The fun part about this persona is keeping it within reason and not going overboard… keeping it believable. People start to look at you funny if you’re totally empty upstairs … they wonder how on earth you’re where you are doing what you do given the lack of amazing good looks but just enough dumbness creates a comfort zone for most people.
Another fun personality is the continuously obnoxious laughing type. This persona totally puts people on edge pushes them to the max and exposes the person within. At first they’re not sure if you’re laughing at them or with them and when they figure that its not at them they grimace and crinkle their eyebrows.. they’re passive in their listening and will do anything within reason to end the conversation. If the person is tolerant they smile politely and nod in agreement but often times people will dismiss the laughter. They’ve labeled you as unworthy and would much rather conserve their energy for something else.
The deeply troubled, extremely sad persona is what brings out the gold stuff in most people I find. They listen to every single word… every sentence trying to grasp the reason for all the sadness. Unable to produce empathy most will do the best they can and at least provide sympathy. The “lets fix it” instincts kick in and all of a sudden you’re presented with a world of solutions to your “problem” on a silver platter.
If nothing more, these little experiments teach me a lot about people. They’re quite amusing and usually harmless if it is only a one time encounter.

I vunder

2006-12-05T16:05:00.000-06:00

1-Do the crazies know they are crazy? Does the questioning of your craziness make you a little sane?

2-Why do soap dispensers in public washrooms make you want to chop off your hands because the soap smells like stale vomit with chunks in it?

3-Is self marketing all it is made out to be? If you tell the world you are all that and a bag of chips do they eventually buy into it? Or is that just a mechanism to make people feel better about themselves?

4-Does the making of pretty necessarily indicate a lot of spare time? Isn’t it one thing to look nice and presentable and another to constantly look like you’re going to a wedding? Or should that be attributed to a magnificent ability to multitask?

5-If high maintenance is a piss off then why do we actively seek it out?

6-How can conversations with random strangers bring so much satisfaction compared to those with people who know you best?

7-To own someone’s heart in a much different way than they own yours is a privilege all too often taken for granted. A power all too often abused by the undeserving. How do you stay true to yourself, to that heart and the way of the world all at the same time?

8-I survive on the breath you are finished with. gag inducing or tear inducing?

9-How do you avoid the drama when its in your head?

10-How can stagnation be that much more powerful than change?

11-What if jack Nicolson was right and this is “as good as it gets”?

12-Why can’t I ever find Osheen at block buster?

13-Why were the subtitles in a lame color that blended into the background when I found the one episode?

14-Is it possible for someone to snap into reality overnight? And become an entirely different person?

15-Perhaps a major tragedy is in order to get the engine jump started? With great loss comes change?

16-What if I’m living my dreams and dreaming my life? For someone that barely dreams… shouldn’t that thought scare the crap out of me?

17-Can you force yourself into adulthood? The state of limbo leaves you neither here nor there no?

18-For the life of me I can’t see the art in Inuit throat singing. The rhythm I suppose is kind of cool but really other than that where is the appeal?

19-How do you get captain Majed “inahom yal3abon korit il kadam b 3onf” from captain Tsubasa?

20-Why is the ChaCha so difficult to master?!

21-Why didn’t the instructor visit the dentist when his teeth started to turn a dark yellow?

22-Why didn’t Escher use color? It’s kind of Ironic his name being Escher and all. Add a “sk at the beginning and we’re set.

A vision through Santa

2006-12-04T15:37:00.000-06:00

The long queue of children and parents at Santa clause land in the mall this weekend got me thinking about how lucky these children are. Here they are laughing and excited at the thought of meeting Santa clause, A “terrifying” yet fictional character. I can’t help but get visual images of a boy I saw crying on a news station with the exact same zeal. Except his fear wasn’t based on a fairytale or his imagination his fear was real. A boy crying not because he doesn’t like the sound of the ho ho hoing but because he is now partially deaf in the after math of having had his house brought down to rubble with his family in it. I am constantly surprised to find that children no where old enough to remotely understand the dynamics of politics are the ones who understand the wars best. Their emotions are raw and so real. They do not know who did what to whom or who started how but all they know is that the “war” that the adults speak of… claimed a friends leg making it impossible for him to play soccer on the streets with the rest of them. This “war”, has them playing soldiers and school kids instead of cops and robbers. They do no see that these wars have taken away their childhood and forced many of them to become adults way too soon. That it has forced tears down their cheeks. It has managed to break them in ways unfathomable to many of these kids prancing around santa’s helpers. That this war has made them orphans and worse yet callus and indifferent to the brutality. Its only fit that a picture of a child, namely Hanzala be the visual symbol of the injustice.
“His hands behind his back as a symbol of rejection to all the present negative tides. 'Hanzala', the brain child of the late political cartoonist Nagi el-Ali, has been adopted because he is affectionate, honest, outspoken, and a bum. He is neither beautiful, spoilt, nor even well-fed. He is barefoot like many children in refugee camps. He is the symbol of a just cause and the official logo of the Commission for Freedom and Justice Through Humor, a recently created arm of WATCH and an affiliate of UNESCO.

I’d forgotten that

2006-11-22T16:00:00.000-06:00

… there is a frenzy that takes hold of shopping malls around this time of year.
… once Remembrance Day is out of the way it’s consumer madness to the bitter end.
… the carols are now absolutely inescapable.
… the only plants of color for the longest while are the pretty Poinsettias and the balls of holly
… clothing decorated with snow men, reindeers and bells are now no longer a faux pas.
… long drives now have a new found purspose that of which entails ohhing and ahhhing at pretty lights with hot chocolate in hand.

But its coming back to me now and I love it!

It should be fun having Eid roll around at approximately the same time, be able to join in on the festivities and have it relate to something personal. I rather like the idea that three of the world’s major religions will be united in their celebrations!

A picture is worth a million words

2006-11-21T15:37:00.000-06:00

I was browsing through some of the week in pictures on some news or media sight when I came across a photograph of three soldiers fully dressed in all their protective gear. Helmets and riffles in hand. The one soldier was lying on the ground with his arms at his side seemingly unconscious or severely injured. While the second soldier is hunched over pulling him by the collar “out of harms way”. This soldier’s lower back was slightly exposed, his shirt was un-tucked due to what could only be the struggle of dragging his fellow comrade’s entire weight across the ground. In the distance… There was a third soldier, his boots dusty from the rubble, his rifle perfectly positioned under his arm, his forehead soaked in sweat, skin bright red from some kind of a struggle and most expressive of all he wore a distressed but in control look on his face as he ran past the other two soldiers courageously towards the conflict and at the same time perfectly facing the camera. A paint by numbers horror war scene wouldn’t you say? A man down, another trying to save him and the third facing the fury of the enemy. I couldn’t bear to imagine the horrific scene that the running soldier was willingly and consciously running towards. As I was about to flip to the next photo I got this itch of curiosity as to where the photo had been taken and by whom. So I’m glancing over the text around the photo when I read a TINY caption that read “an Israeli soldier helps a friend after being injured by a stone thrown by an 8 year old boy”
This image was what allowed me to truely grasp Noam chomsky’s “indoctrination”.
Much like the partial blindfolds placed on a horse so as to control its straying from the middle of the road, I was lead to believe that this poor man had been injured while heroically defending the policies and rights of his people. What a crock of crap that turned out to be. War just like everything else has now become commercial. The news stations sell nothing short of propaganda. They don’t lie but don’t present the whole truth either. They only give you the portion that will naturally lead any rational person to the same conclusions they(those in charge) have arrived at. And that being

This is a necessary evil. This is a legitimate Cause. We are not only fighting for our personal benefits but for those of humanity as a whole.

And so like the partially blind folded horse that they are, people go out and buy bumper stickers that read “support our troops” and go around deeming anything remotely related or similar to their invisible monster as a threat. And because it is this form of media that keeps them “informed” and gives them a false sense of security they return to it time and time again jonesing for more. Information junkies addicted to a drug that eventually will cause nothing more than massive internal hemorrhaging due to misinformation. And so the launch of the English Aljazeera has me giddy with excitement. Their visuals are impeccable and their presentation in English makes them harder to ignore. Why you ask will this media source differ from the rest? How do we guarantee we’re not seeing only a part of the truth. Well the answer is simple. We don’t. But given the circumstances under which this little channel surfaced I’m tempted to think they have no prerogative or agenda. Unlike CNN’s financial dependence on it’s sponsors, who can’t be blamed for perusing their own interests, this channel is owned by one prince with loads of money to spare all with the intention to simply have his people heard. Some ways down the road I suppose It potentially runs the risk of being a personal agenda campaign but as it currently stands… I’m enjoying the alternate stand point, the variety in story coverage and the multi cultural staff.
From the very few stories I’ve seen on it so far It is clear that hiding the ugly is something they don’t want to do.
I imagine it’ll be closed down fairly soon due to some sort of legal mumbo jumbo but in the mean time I think its about time CNN and the BBC got a little run for their money and dealt with some competition.

Married manitis!

2006-11-19T13:00:00.000-06:00

Is it possible to emit these magnetic forces from some sort of device embedded under your skin without even knowing you’re doing that?
I’m honestly starting to wonder if I’m in some Truman show movie replica where the twist is that married men are the way of the world.
Why does it seem like every corner I turn introduces a wonderful but “unavailable” man into my life?
How is it humanly possible for this many similar incidences to occur without me having some sort of premeditated intention to want to recreate them?
Is it true that you attract the type of person you think you can’t do better than?
I’ve seen it a million times. Girl thinks she can’t be with anything better than a drunk so all her boyfriends have a bit of a drinking problem. It’s like a self fulfilling prophecy of sorts. Cuz really, if that’s the case then Sand-e has some serious issues to deal with wouldn’t you say? How screwed up is it to think you deserve and in turn attract men that aren’t emotionally available and even more fucked up belong (in a metaphorical sense) to some else?! How sad is it to realize that, should I, under some sort of impaired frame of mind, agree to be in this sort of relationship, that that in it self has some huge bearings on my stance on polygamy? Maybe I’m overanalyzing and hyperventilating for no reason. I have after all made it clear time and time again that this sort of thing, if not for my sake but for the wifey’s sake, is entirely unacceptable. I’d hate to be with a man and find out that some other chicky is cool with him being married to me and being with her at the same time. The Do unto others as you’d have done unto you totally applies in this case. Not to mention that alongside the psychological and moral issues that such a situation presents there’s the inevitable trust issue. How can I possibly be expected to trust my and someone else’s Mr. Johnny bravo if he was in a “committed” relationship with a previous Mrs. whose bond of marriage provided him no sanctuary from temptation or desire? And in all this analysis and thinking I’ve come to feel a little naïve. The proposals are entirely preposterous and insulting at the same time but surely there are signs in body language and conversation that should tip me off. Red bells and sirens need to go off that read “this man has no understanding of the word commitment!” “He’s Married and chatting u up!”

....

2006-11-17T16:10:00.000-06:00

N: “So things look pretty good with respect to getting that job after all but I think they’ll require you take a couple of courses first. Two more should suffice I imagine.”
Me: “Has the fact that I’m leaving escaped you?”
She continues to flip through the pages of her magazine and smiles a little.
Me: “I don’t understand why no one is taking me seriously? I’m so going to do it! I will! I’ll do it and you’ll see! Do you think I’ve been going on about it just for the sake of going on about it?!”
S laughs and knows exactly why N is laughing but I’m seething and in an attempt to dampen the fire he goes: “are you hearing this? She says she’s leaving. Don’t do the thing you do where you’re ok with it until its time for her to go and then all of a sudden there are all these reasons and restraints to hold her back…If you’re not cool with it you should tell her now.”
N: “Let her be… She’ll go only to realize she’s coming back”
Its amazing how just like that they’ve managed to deny my existence in the room and they’ve carried on conversing as if I was a part of the furniture.
Me in an attempt to regain my presence: “Or she’ll find what she was looking for and rejoice because she had the guts to make it happen and decided to go”
N: “You think you’re so smart Sand-e? Everyone wants to be where you are and you… you’re running from it”
Me: “I’m sure there are a million people that want to be where I am but just the same there are millions of other shoes I’d rather be wearing. I’m not happy here! Why can’t anyone understand that?”
N: “It’s not where you are Sand-e. It’s who you are. And you Sand-e… you want but don’t act on it….Everyone needs to want… everyone needs to have a purpose… What makes you think being somewhere else will change all that?”
Me: “I don’t know that it will. I just feel like my mindset will get a jumpstart and consequently bring on the change”
N: “I wish you’d see that there is a world here that you’ve been too scared to explore. You live your life like those that require someone to put them on the ladder’s first rung. You need to be one of those looking for it! Where is your sense of exploration your sense of self worth and your sense of adventure?”
Me: Sigh… she’s so right… she’s sooo right that the thought of it alone makes it hard to breathe. I live in a bubble. I have blinded muted and made myself deaf to the world around me.
N: “You need to realize your potential and bloom… its time to bloom Sand-e. Let the rivers flow and get rid of all the stagnation. I can not give you that! You have to want it and want it bad enough to find a way to get it”
Me: “Well that’s what I’m doing. This is what I think will fix things for me. This is what will give me the oomph to want with grandeur!”
N: “But you’re fixing one problem by replacing it with another. What’s the use of wanting at that point if you don’t have the means to achieve?”
Me: “I think I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.”
But what if she’s right?
What if I’m crazy to leave?
What if she knows best?
And worse still what if she knows me more than I know myself?
Why can’t I find the peace of mind I need here? I so wish I could.
What if I can’t make it happen and just as always get too scared to leave?
What if I leave, find out it was all a sham and come back empty handed?
Not only empty handed but less the hope that I might have at one point had a solution.
The waiting game and the logistics are clouding my vision. The anticipation is killing me and the outcome of it all an oh so personal mystery.

And so it happens...

2006-11-17T15:31:00.000-06:00

A relationship that did not exist, a break up that did not happen
a good bye that did not jade my heart, a wall I did not allow to crumble and a pride I did not offend.
Today I am worthy.

we have lift off!

2006-11-09T23:54:00.000-06:00

I finally managed to launch a decent looking photoblog.
I'm hoping it'll inspire me to create stuff on a regular basis and in the process highten my awareness of my surroundings. Be apart of my world and check out what
Sandy Seez
.... dan dan dannnnnnnnn

2006-11-09T14:58:00.000-06:00

Jester’s “ monthly ranting” coincided with some of the things floating around in my head lately and instead of leaving a long winded comment on the poor fellow’s blog, I've decided to post it here.

Side note: I hope jester is in fact a fellow... me thinks my memory serves me correct and he is... but if not then I hope she forgives me for the whole heshe bit.

My cousin held a birthday party at some fancy shmancy coffee shop where they served alcohol whilst my parents were on vacation in Egypt last week. Upon their arrival, in our casual exchange of what went down while they were away, they made mention that a small part of my cousin's guest list included girls who were veiled. They told us how, after the party got underway, the owner of the place approached the two girls and asked them to leave. This of course instigated a lot of aggression from the guys who in turn ruined the evening for my cousin, the girls, and the owner in an all too typical brute 3alaya w 3ala 2a3da2y fashion ( which I guess best translates into kamikaze mission). The discussion naturally became about whether or not their actions were justified and inevitably about the owner’s right to ask the girls to leave with a “we serve alcohol here and this is no place for you”. I found it strange that I could, on some level, identify with both parties. On the one hand I could understand that this was a private establishment and on that basis one could argue when in Rome do as the Romans do or better still and more to the point "my house my rules". Just like certain places have a dress code whether it be the basic shirt required, the no jeans or even the snootier suit and tie required I found it generally acceptable that this man control the type of attire his clientele bring into his establishment. Question then is...are we being over sensitive just because the scarf is in itself a symbol of religion? And on that note did the 6pack boys react the way they did because they intrinsinclly object to the owner’s re-enforcement of the all too familiar faulty inequality ,higab != shiyaka/ more loosely modern thinking that exists in Egyptian society0 today or was this just a misguided display of who is bigger than who?
But on the other hand I am enraged by the fact that a country packed to the brim with people who take Islam on as a faith of their own would allow such behavior. I mean really how disappointing is it when people who don’t embrace the practice are being shunned for their actions, namely France, while this sort of madness is going on at home? I think what this whole scarf thing boils down to, as a friend of mine pointed out, is that being a higabi is a part of who you are just as is being of color, Middle Eastern descent or short. Shouldn’t there be rules and regulations to prevent this sort of thing? With all that mess out of the way…What then is to be said of mean coffeeshop owner’s assumed position of piety? Who is he to say to a higabi or a non higabi where she should or should not be? Is it not her decision? And since when did religion become something between two people? Last I checked it wasn’t this umbrella that gave every tom dick or Harry a carte Blanche to pass judgment, preach and control!? But I think if nothing else this thought experiment has tought me that there are 2 sides to the coin.

Ala MasterCard

2006-11-08T14:08:00.000-06:00

Brisk walk in the mall during lunch time…………….........…. $0
Fashion accessories for new black dress…………...…........... $21.99
Long distance calling cards…………………………………........…$10
Bottle of Coke……………………………………………..............……$1.15
Bag of white cheese Kernals popcorn……………………..........$3.75
Realizing you have a piece of popcorn nicely nestled in
your ever so slightly exposed boobage after having sat
across your boss during your annual employee evaluation
meeting for a good half and hour........……………………....…. $ Priceless

The best things in life are for free but luckily for everything else there’s MasterCard!

Retention no more

2006-11-08T09:33:00.000-06:00

My brother and I used to play these games when we were little in the car to keep us entertained. One of those games was to hold our breath the entire length of a cemetery. We’d turn red and grasp onto the car seat and window as we watched the tombstones go by. It was a challenge. Each of us holding our breath in and desperately trying to beat the other at a game we’d deemed a notable cause. There’s all this mental work involved before you take the deep breath. You slow down your breathing and think I’ve gotta take as much air in as humanly possible and retain it for as long as needed. You inhale and hold not trying to think about how much longer you’ve got but focusing on the fact that it’s a do or die sort of situation. The graveyard would pass and in a great exhale all the air would rush out. We’d gasp for a bit but would smile with glee none the less as the words “I won” shimmered in our eyes. We’d do this for all sorts of things. Train tracks… the rule was to keep your feet as high off the ground as possible without allowing the bumpy tracks to make you loose your balance. At the pool it was how many laps you could run without taking a breath, my personal record 2 laps and a half. At the amusement park it was if you could keep your hands lifted through the biggest dip on the rollercoaster. All these things have a few things in common. A challenge we’d placed on ourselves, a big breath that would need to be taken, a dramatic release and finally a high from being able to let go. After writing my test last night it hit me again. This was one of those things, not exactly as much fun but similar nonetheless. There is this big inhale in the form of information retention, a holding on till the test then the quick release of all the information as I frantically wrote away hoping my memory wouldn’t fail me. The fun part in all this was by all means the high from being able to let it go. Until about 12 pm last night I was on a high…. From what? From the release. And so perhaps my accounting test, the graveyard, the rollercoaster, the train tracks and the pool have taught me one thing… in order to feel the high of letting go I’ve first gotta make the decision to hold on, challenge myself no matter how silly and later reap the rewards of conquering it and letting go.

All things peachy

2006-11-06T15:49:00.000-06:00

I ask too many questions and play too many games within the vicinity of my mind.
My self discipline plays hide and seek with temptation and desire.
I do not utter any of these uncertainties and dare not ask confirmation of the certain.
I know what I am to you, and you, just as I, know what you are to me.
Unable to bring down the walls for obvious reasons it is reason that has cornered us here.
It has managed to mold our interaction into this slowly tightening mould.
I shed my clothes and with them most of who I am. Self respect detached and dilapidated on the floor, mental stimulation no where to be seen and imagination and inspiration out the door.
Everything I want outside the scope of this moment is left behind.
There is a burning desire that motivates but will not sustain.
I am momentarily moved.
I have given you the benefit of the doubt. Unearned and perhaps undeserving.
I have given you more than you can appreciate and in the process have unconsciously allowed your value to depreciate.
To you I am the giver of attention, the seeker of naughty, a means to an end but by no means an end.

why worry?

2006-11-02T16:11:00.000-06:00

I’m jonesing…
Nine inch nail’s closer.
Nickle back’s Figured you out
Nirvana’s Rape me
Blue october’s Drilled a wire through my cheek
And Johnny Cash’s Hurt are on all the menu tonight!

Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

2006-11-01T08:49:00.000-06:00

8:37 I made it in to the office just in time to get a cold stare from good old Jerry the receptionist. I’ve totally decided that Jerry is so in the wrong business. I think he was kidnapped from one of those military camps that secretly doubled as a hooked on phonex commercial… “b rrrrr ennn daaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh mooooo rrrrr iiiiiiis sssss please call 5862 breeeeeeee ennnnn ddddd aaaaa hhhh moooorrrr iissss please call 5862”. He’s the sort of fellow that makes people answer a page just to get him to stop calling their name. Rocking back and forth in the fetal position on the floor they go… make it stopppppp make it stopppp. You’d think he’d get bored or put two and two together and figure you’re out of the office if you don’t answer after the 5th page… la ya lolooo la! laysa howa tilk al rajol! He’s the sort that perseveres till the end! And not the smart sort of perseverance either… He’s the kind that walks into a glass door and keeps walking into it just because he doesn’t stop to think that perhaps or just maybe the bump on his forehead is indicative of the fact that he’s not Patrick Swayze from ghost. Jerry my love, you need to open doors to walk through them! I bet you people have gotten fired because of his incessant nagging over the PA system. I’ve tried to make my peace with jerry. He works like clockwork… and follows rules to a t. yeah ok he blushes and gets all awkward when I joke around with him but when he really to each their own. I’ve managed to deal with his need to teach me the rules of being at the lobby and his need to maintain order at all times. I keep wanting to shake him silly… DUDE RELAX!
The other day I come down to pick up a package and so instead of waiting my turn after all the “customers” were out of his hair I buzzed myself in… picked up my package and left quietly. Later on that day I get 7 messages on my phone from jerry sounding like he’s hernia ting and in dire need of surgery. “Hi sandy this is Jerry from reception(like I’d confuse him for some other hooked on phonex Jerry) please call me back its crucial” I kid you not… he left me 7 messages within the span of my lunch hour. I get back to my desk and of course think there is a calamity that has befallen him. I run downstairs dually noting where the gurney is should the need arise for me to tow him to the hospital. I ask “what’s wrong? Is everything ok?” He casually looks at me and goes “you had a package here. You musn’t buzz your self in without informing me first. The hand book says blah blah blah blah…you musn’t this u musn’t that …section this states section that states. I look at him nearly about to choke him but force a smile because I totally understand that this poor guy probably hasn’t been laid in years and really all that build up makes a person anal. How can I possibly blame him? After all the rambling about “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” I’ve just remembered that my point in all this was to vent about why my morning was a bee with an itch but I’ve now lost my umph to do it hardcore. Soooo…..Softcore it is.
First off um kalthoom (my alarm clock) decided not to sing this morning and so I basically got up in a state of hysteria instead of my usual state of wondering “ana feen wel 7ob feen”. So I started off running around like a headless chicken thinking it was 7pm and that I’d slept through Tuesday morning all together. I must have made 3 unsuccessful trips to the washroom before it was finally my turn in the queue. My toothpaste ran out so I had to use that shitty apple kind…. How do the good people at crest expect me to get that minty fresh squeaky clean feeling without the mint?! The taste of my mouthwash clashed with the crap apple wanabe toothpaste and I unintentionally found myself hugging the toilet looking at last night’s dinner! Which, according to my cheeky sister, was lacking garlic. If it weren’t for the chastity belt that my father back in the home land held the key too I’m sure I’da been hyperventilating about possibly being pregnant. WTF is all that about? No clue myself… random crap that comes to me out of thin air… anywayssssss I managed to shower in nearly half a second but slipped on my way out and rammed my shin on the corner of the tub. I got stuck behind 2 school busses and wanted to run over a mother that was keeping the second bus waiting as she tightened the scarf around her obviously roasting son. I nearly slammed into a tow truck who decided on a whim it was ok to pull out of a gas station at full speed. I stopped at every single traffic light from my house to the office which made the trip take a whopping 20 minutes instead of its usual 7. I am running in when I loose my shoe in the middle of the parking lot and have to limp back to get totally allowing me to fully fathom the feelings of a dog with its tail tucked in between it’s legs. Like the looser that I am I walk in and think 7 minutes…. Not bad… maybe no one will notice… but alas I’m greeted by good old Jerry with that look of “I’m onto you and I’m not amused” on his face. There was this stare down for a couple of seconds as I tried to figure out if he’d been publicly announcing to the world that I was running late on the PA system and while he gloated in the glory of knowing that had he really wanted to he possessed that kind of power. I smile and break the silence with a “CRAIIIIIIZEEEEEEEE morning Jerry crazy morning” He smiles because he thinks he’s intimidated me into giving him an explanation and I smile because otherwise al inte7ar or murder are the 7al.

Procter has no gamble on my ramble

2006-10-26T11:18:00.000-06:00

Slurred and broken nonsensical but real
I am told and I hear… but I lend a deaf ear.
The words do nothing.
No power to move mountains.
No euphoric high.
No butterflies and absolutely no hope attached.
Those three words tucked away, muted and restrained by reality
only now unleashed by the loss of inhibition.

I can not echo the sentiment nor turn a blind eye.
To you these words are genuine.
So genuine they are…
they are the sounds and letters that bear no weight.
The dal segno al coda brings with it, you think, a sure road to empathy and a sure way to make me see.
But I’ve been in these shoes before. I’ve stood behind these walls in the cozy of my own.
I’ve heard many come and go.

I cherish the words… but can not let them in.
Apathy and guilt however, are an entirely different sin.
Come in have a seat… but be sure to outstay your welcome.
I am angry and I am jealous!
I want to posses what those words have given you.
I want to bask in their glory and give in to the lack of control.

Circumstance is a shitty thing.
And a brain that recognizes it all is shittier still.

There will be no screaming for ice-cream today!
I can not live atop your sugar coated mountain lined with candy apple trees and shaded by your pink cotton candy clouds.
I will not suffer the pains of reality and later bear the crushing weight in order to temporarily frolic in denial.
I will not dance to out of tune keys and grimace at the lack of harmony.
I need rhythm and I need rhyme.
My mind needs to support my heart and my soul needs to absorb the beauty of tandem.
The soothing sound a white noise I will not do without.
I need that circle to exist and need it to exist for you.

So forgive me when I am told but do not hear.
And forgive me when I smile and lend a deaf ear.

CubicleWars and the like.

2006-10-18T15:12:00.000-06:00

After my little incident with zee chi wawa noises yesterday I found myself daydreaming and a little nostalgic about the good old days. My through the wall buddy and his notes a la V for vendetta are no more. Bless him he got the physics of projectiles down to a T. He actually drew me an intricate drawing explaining his strategy with vectors and formulas once.
Oh so charming Mikey thinking he was the Don waging a prank war with me had a run for his money. Unplugging the speaker to my phone and having paperclips fall out of my overhead compartment paled in comparison to his shrink wrapped cubicle and his word perfect blinking a red 48 point times new roman “U SUCK” at the keystroke of any vowel. My manager sent me pre- licked pink Baskin Robbins spoons in confidential envelops with sticky notes that read “thinking of you” My poor tiger was also kidnapped by her and held at ransom out her window with a sheet that read “save me”. Jokers… the lot of them… I’m loving the work on this side of the building the sunshine helps but I miss the love and a little scared of the growling.

Me, the growling chi wawa and the 'ol

2006-10-17T11:37:00.000-06:00

As if the world of taxes needs added excitement. I’m sitting here fearing for my life. As growling dog noises are being made from across the baffle. Strange smells of hydrocarbon chains decorated with hydroxyls are seeping through my fabulous pinkish, grey, recycled, reused and reduced wall. This man is harmless really, he’s a bit off his rocker and has a wee bit of a problem staying on the wagon but nothing to worry about. The growling is new to me though... He’s talking to his wife on the phone I presume… she’s 16 years younger than him. He made mention of it once right before he handed a coworker a letter confessing his undying love that forced him into a leave of abscence. Needless to say I thought he’d gotten his stuff sorted now that he’s back in the office but this heated conversation with the wifey has me thinking twice. It sounds to me like there’s trouble in tinsel land. I did all I could do to stay out of it… turned up my music and even tried to hum along to drown out the noise but he’s too loud. I eventually gave in and listen to what’s going on. “You’re a secretive sneaky person! grrrrrrr You will leave this country with disgrace. Some more grunting… the kind that exudes aggravation… he sounds like a chi Wawa that is showing its teeth to a Dalmatian that could swallow it in one effortless inhale. I’m so tempted to giggle but hold back and remind myself that I’m a peeping tom without the peeping or the tom. “No lucy! I’m not drinking.” I raise my eyebrow… and think maybe it’s the breath mint I got a wiff of. Listerine is after all very powerful. I feel like I’m violating this poor man by just being here. I need to get up let him have his space. Take a walk perhaps. Let’s do that. Go for a walk.

Babel

2006-10-14T02:24:00.000-06:00

check out the trailor here

On my way into see trailer park boys today, yes I went to see that crap… don’t ask me why, I caught glimpse of this poster and was immediately captivated by its brilliance. A definite must see!
Not only is it directed by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu the man who directed Amores perros and 21 grams but it also features the motorcycle diaries’ Gael Garcia and fight club’s Brad Pitt. Besides the obvious fact that Brad Pitt and Gael Garcia are a sure way to bring hoards of people into the theatres, I thought the name was also sheer genius. The movie about the barriers of language and the misscomunications that arise in a world where as humans our basic need for shelter, safety, food and love are essentially the same if not identical. The first obvious observation was the phonetic similarity of the name Babel to the verb to babble. Defined as: To utter a meaningless confusion of words or sounds 2.to talk foolishly or idly; chatter: 3. To make a continuous low, murmuring sound, as flowing water. Not only that but babel is also the Arabic and Hebrew name for the city of Babylon. A city described in the bible, from my understanding and limited research skills, as a city where God confounded a presumptuous attempt to build a tower into heaven by confusing the language of its builders into many mutually incomprehensible languages. I only hope the movie has as much thought behind it as its title. Oct 27th I find out.

G I joes

2006-10-12T15:03:00.000-06:00

G I Joes definitely need to come in play dough form. The cut nip and tweak option would be most beneficial. I hate that they’re prepackaged in short artsy funny smart and sexy, simple Buff quiet secure and sincere, young unjaded tall deep and emotional, Old wise religious and committed, looses interest quickly free spirited talented and dreamy or immature comfortable and similar. When does the preset four course meal portion of playtime end? Isn’t it just about time for the a la carte portion of the evening?

The Yalahwi.

2006-10-05T15:12:00.000-06:00

I’ve always heard about the varying degrees of ya lahwi but never actually experienced it first hand except through my regular variety of Arabic dramas and soap operas. Noor il sherif’s one is particularly loaded with them… par example: news comes of the son having gone to school to avenge himself from some bullying when the mother hears word of it and suddenly starts to gasp and grab her chest. She of course chooses her “chicer” more socially acceptable version of “yanhar abyad” , literally translates into “oh white day!”.

Side note: Does anyone else find it odd that “yanhar abyad”, oh white day, and “yanhar eswid”, oh black day, both mean essentially the same thing? Why the reference to a color at all if they’re both just as equally cursed? Any hoots side issue…

Back to the yalahwing
So for the life of me I could never ever quite figure out what, how or why anyone in their right mind would feel the need to make that gasping inhale sound while yelling those words. Its not like it relieves any kind of stress … you are after all saying it on the inhale not the exhale and you’d think if it was meant to relieve any kind of stress it would be said on the exhale. I’ve heard Arab comedians make fun of it on endless occasion but never really quite got it. It’s totally funny that way. So with all that said…my phone bill arrived yesterday…. Now in any regular circumstance one would expect the bill to arrive… after all that is what bills do… they eventually find you. My issue however, isn’t that it found me but that now I had to open it and pay it. I knew all too well that I hadn’t been the smartest cookie this month. I made insanely long long distance calls directly from my cell phone and though I anticipated a hefty bill I know all too well that the good people at FIDO, my cell phone provider, love cheer and fundraise for sodomy like it’s an Olympic sport. I walk by back and forth back and forth by the counter top trying not to panic. I’m a big girl right? I should have thought of exactly this moment when I was racking up the minutes while engaged in useless banter. So I’m pacing back and forth when me madre walks in and starts randomly opening mail. I sigh.
I’ve been momentarily distracted.
I can walk away knowing that she now has the letter opener and that if she were to accidentally open my mail and anything in that envelope were to be extremely disturbing I’d hear a shrieking “Saaandyyyyyyyyyy!”
So I stand by the door in the other room just out of sight and clench my teeth and fists, wince a little, and hold my breath… I wait for it.

wait for it…

wait for it….

Wait for it……

I’m starting to sound like Mel Gibson’s William Wallice in Brave heart aren’t I?

Damn it focus sandy! And wait forrrrrrrr itttt…

wait for it….

But nothing… it doesn’t come…
My heart is pounding with that inevitable feeling of “masdoodon masdoodon masdoood” and not only that but now I’m faced with a dilemma in logistics… Do I go da3bis aka stir things up and find out why I didn’t get called into the kitchen to open my mail, could it possibly not have arrived yet?
or do I do my usual tanish ta3ish tanta3ish? I decide to preoccupy myself with something else… I go and get ready for my post fitar outing and dilly dally a bit… anything to keep my mind occupied really. I wander back onto the main floor and into the den all prim and proper casually tidying up here and there….but this of course draws suspicion my way…
“why are you dusting the leather sofas?” My brother asks in an obnoxious voice. I could strangle him just about now…. “Ohh nothing I thought I saw something” I respond with a retarded I’m soooooo bait but I’m gonna giggle and hope no one notices anyways kind of a tone. Fitar is done and I’m all hardcore into the clean up process… every spot has to be spic and span.. the dishes in the dishwasher perfectly aligned in perfect angles. No water around or in the sink for that matter and absolutely no crumbs in the toaster.
Yes you read right. I said toaster.
I decided to clean inside it to give me an excuse for not opening my mail. I’ve done all I can do and still its too early to go out… Its inevitable… there is no avoiding it! I have to do what I have to do. I get this sudden fit of bravery I work myself up and think: what’s the matter with me! Come on it’s just a bill!! Get a grip! All you have to do is open it! assess the damage and carry on as usual!

So I’m pumped and ready to do what I gotta do…my pep talk has me all riled up and ready to face the music. I rip through the thick paper not even look at all the pages upon pages of detailed history and go to the amount due.

Let me just say that small nations have survived on less of a budget than the amount my eyes caught glimpse of. Islands and small aircrafts have been bought for less amounts. The worlds internet servers have less cables than the number reflected on that sheet of paper. China houses less people with the last name chin, chan , changs or any variying combination of the three in comparison to the debit amount on that bill!

My eyes glaze over…. I feel the sudden onset of acute Arrhythmia… my palms go clammy the blood has quickly drained from my face and before I know it. I inadvertently and unconsciously see but not feel my right arm thud the palm of my hand on my chest and in one extremely elongated exasperated inhale I hear a voice which sounds identical to mine let out a colossal Yalahwiiiiiii.
And now it’s totally eureka. I get it.

In times of old

2006-10-02T14:29:00.000-06:00

I called him today after I’d sworn off calling him. My unveiling and self exposition a couple of months back hadn’t quite played out the way I’d anticipated.
He’s started a new job just over two weeks ago and already I see a world of difference in his mood.
He’s happy.
It’s amazingly contagious when he’s happy.
We chatted for a bit about both our new jobs and the river he claims exists according to Google earth.
“I don’t understand why you don’t own a canoe?! If I were you I’d be paddling in the fog of dawn each and every day.” I think to myself: So this, I remember now, is what I loved most about you. The dreaminess. Your ability to see the world in much the same way I do.
He’s ecstatic to hear my voice but I can’t help but wonder if it is genuine or just a part of a façade. I ask about his latest femme fatale half bracing myself half curious… “she doesn’t have a fatale attached to her for nothing” he says with a sigh.
I am disappointed at his ability to fall in and out of love yet again so quickly. But who am I to judge? with my glass house and indecisiveness?
I can’t get over how right all this feels.
I can’t get over how comfortable it is to talk to him after I thought I’d hate him forever.
I can’t get over how just like that the things that pushed me over the edge and made me swear to never talk to him again vanished with the words hello.
I can’t get over how quickly I momentarily attributed it all to some irrationality or over reaction on my part.
I can’t get over how lucky I feel to be his friend.
I can’t get over how genuinely sorry I feel for him for some inexplicable reason….
And so….
just like that for the span of that phone call things briefly returned to the way they were.
In all honesty to myself I should confess that I do miss him and all the things he managed to move in me. I miss his ability to make things right with just the calm in his voice. I miss his whole hearted devotion to all my ridiculous hypothetical questions. Above all I miss how I realized how much I had to offer through him and through all he brought out in me. But I’m also thankful that things played out the way they did. I am thankful that I can sit here from the outside looking in and still manage to say all that I say. I am thankful and I am lucky.

The Lesbian Gay dinner conversation

2006-10-02T12:43:00.000-06:00

This picture was the inspiration to a heated discussion over Iftar a couple of nights back. I was commenting about how I’d read or heard about groups like these surface across various cities in North America and was wondering what everyone thought. The issue according to old school granny was that these people were not Muslims. We all know about kawm loot “the people of loot” described as “ya2toona al regal shahwa doon nisa2” and how they were damned.
Cautious of plainly accepting such a statement, the family launched into a frenzy of arguments, rebuttals, questions and defenses. I find it a little tricky to discuss issues from a religious perspective because people grow easily agitated and all too often you get handed the “This is how it is in the Quran”. Unfortunately for me I’m not as knowledgeable as I’d like to be in that respect and it is difficult to logic and discuss from a religious perspective of you are not extremely well informed. The comment was received by someone claiming they grow intolerant of the alienation of fellow Muslims through grand sweeping statements like “that’s 7aram”. Ignorance fuels ignorance and people follow suite and soon enough everyone is in agreement without any proper validation. My sister proudly proclaimed she’d found a simple solution. The answer lies in the question “Can homosexuality be attributed to nature or nurture?” If it is nature then you face a problem when you try to justify God punishing a people for being what they are through no fault of their own. It sort of brings back the infamous question of “why does evil exist” in relation to the definition of A God who is all good. The opposite side of the coin is of course that homosexuality is a choice that is nurtured through culture and society. Homosexuality is not so easily looked upon even in north American cultures suggested my brother. “If I wanted to go against the flow I’d find an easier current to choose to swim upstream against” people definitely do not choose to be gay. What then of the person who feels the attraction to the same sex but suppresses the instinct or urge to act upon them? Does that then still classify you as gay? It’s the urge to want the same sex that makes you gay not the acting upon it.
Ok so the urge to steal something but not acting upon it makes you a thief?
And the urge to get inexplicably intoxicated makes you a drunk?
Of course not! You are judged by your actions. As long as you are not engaging in sexual activities exclusively with the same sex then you are not gay. So a group out on the streets claiming to be homosexual without providing grounds for active engagement in homosexual activity has not yet done anything condemned by Islam to be incorrect.
Take the argument up a notch and claim that they are actively engaged in sexual activity and the issue then becomes precisely that. It is that…. The activity… that is where the trouble lies. Last I checked sexual activity out of wedlock among heterosexuals was a no no in all religions not only islam. So what puts them in the “wrong”, if you will, is the activity and not the fact that they are homosexual.
Also, consider this simple fact. A kawm or a people is bound to have more than one descriptive characteristic. The lebaneese, for example, are known to be good looking and amazing mana2eesh bakers. To assume they will go to hell based solely on the fact that they were good looking and all the while setting aside that baking mana2eesh seems a little shaky to me. Their being damned does not necessarily imply that it was because they were gay. Just a thought really… I don’t know how valid my last argument is because I obviously have made no reference to the exact text but as a whole this discussion has me looking at things a little differently. If anyone has anything to say to all this by all means lets discuss…
I love a good brain bench press.

How fragile we are.

2006-09-28T15:12:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning as per usual to make myself a sandwich and have a drink of water before heading back to bed when I saw that my granny’s lights were on. This was no big deal she’s usually up at the wee hours of the morning reading her Quran. I heard deep breathing that sounded like someone was in pain, naturally I walk into the room to make sure she’s ok when she tells me she’s really dizzy and maybe I should get her some honey. I rushed to the kitchen to get what she’d asked of me and returned to her side. Now I’ve had a similar experiences way more often that once and I remember that honey just made me throw up.
I’m not her…she’s not me… and I thought she’s been in the home remedy business for quite a while with her three kids and 6 grandchildren so who was I to contest. As expected the honey did what I thought it would do and at this point I thought ok…this will definitely make her feel better I know that when I’m all woozy, in cold and hot sweats a good upchuck usually solves my dilemma. It’s pretty run of the mill routine at this point… the weather is changing and she’s fasting so her poor little body just isn’t in as good a shape as it used to be. She starts to shake violently and her face looses all sorts of color. Still remaining calm, which is surprisingly uncharacteristic of me, I cover her up and decide that there is no need to worry my mother by waking her from her sleep. I figured seeing my calmness would ease her worry but instead it is what makes her decide to tell me that she’s dying. “It’s time for me to go Sandy”. She’s repeating the shahadah and saying allahdmeullah for having performed her wodoo. And just like that I went from calm to an emotional wreck. The tears streamed down my face and all I could think was how I wasn’t nicer, sweeter more caring and tolerant. How I didn’t spend as much time as I should have saying all I wanted to say. How many more times my tone could have had a lot more 7ineya in it. She asked me to get my mother, she wanted to see her before she left. So I ran to grab my mum…
how do you really wake someone up without startling them at 5 o’clock in the morning?

My mother came into the room half asleep and well aware that this sort of thing had happened before. We sat next to her babying her with hugs kisses and massages and had regained our composure until the dramatic ahaaat stopped. She whispers “the talking will stop now…. My tongue is feeling heavy” And just like that she stopped talking. She was still breathing and her pulse going but the silence was lethal. My mother, a woman who I’ve only seen cry on one occasion in her life, broke down and started to weep uncontrollably and all I could say was “2iti2y il shetan ya mummy, she’s fine she’s just resting” Then there was the slow opening of the eyes and the apologies for having to put my mother through all this… that she’d spoken to some person whose name I’d never heard before about a plot somewhere so my mummy wouldn’t have to worry about it. that’s when I thought… this is it… the nightmare I’d awoken myself up from by panic stricken crying last week is going down right here and now… in my bed and I’m never going to be able to lay here again without thinking of this exact same moment. I got flash backs of being 10 and how my mother wept so much she couldn’t catch her breath after her father passed away. I remember her laughing and cracking jokes at the funeral and I remember thinking for a split second that she’d officially lost it. I don’t remember hearing my grandmother’s laughter ring quite the way it used to after that day. I don’t remember her walking into a room and having it light up the way it used to. I remember her telling me she used to think she was going crazy because she could feel him watching her sometimes. All of this brought into my mind instantly. I would soon be the owner of all that emotional baggage with the passing of a few more minutes. It was right at that moment that I realized sometimes you need to have someone to call out to. Someone you’re hoping will listen and intervene when things get out of hand. It was at precisely that moment that I realized how lucky I was to be of faith… dwindling at times and not as strong as one would hope but of faith none the less. And with that thought I felt this calm come over me like it would be ok. Like after having said the words “ya rab” over and over again under my breath he was going to help me through this. It brought me peace and I thought this too shall pass.

i want more

2006-09-27T15:05:00.000-06:00

I constantly find myself in these situations where I wish, want, need, desire open commentary. Why can’t I be in both places at once? Me and the bird’s eye view could be one and the same. That situation works for me. I could so relate zay ily eddo fel nar but with the luxury of dude whose chilling fel pool with daiquiri in hand. I wish people would just say what they had to say. The filtering, reworking sentences before they come out, the withholding of information and the awkwardness that surrounds the situation is completely unnecessary.

Thought of the day.

2006-09-24T21:11:00.000-06:00

Sick cycle carousel...

Less school more life? ...more life less school?

E. T. Bell once said...

2006-09-24T20:00:00.000-06:00

"Nevertheless, the consuming hunger of the uncritical mind for what it imagines to be certainty or finality impels it to feast upon shadows in the prevailing famine of substance."

1 little 2 little 3 little sheepies..4 litlle 5 little 6 little...

2006-09-20T15:07:00.000-06:00

Staring at my ceiling last night imagining what it would be like if: the ceiling was the ground and my ground the ceiling. How the stucco would feel on my bare feet and how the light could double as a heater as well as a source of illumination. How much more interesting it would be to stare at a ceiling with furniture stuck to it as opposed to the current bumpy cream stuff. Useless thinking really, a pre-bedtime routine to get me in sleep mode. I looked out the window and sadly came to the realization that sunshine would soon, if not already, be a thing of the past. I’d soon forget what summer felt, smelt and looked like and I’d be consumed by winter. Ramadan is round the corner and with it I sincerely hope a renewed sense of faith. I read a forward recently about how everyone of us has this inner struggle between good and evil where both are wolves. The one that takes over is ultimitely the one you feed. I wonder if I’ve been feeding the wrong one?

I made pacts to read more and connect more last Ramadan. I made pacts to pray more. I remembered that I’d done less that year than all the years before. I wonder if it was the pacts that set me back?

I remembered a conversation with my friend’s mummy about this feeling of being lost and not knowing what my purpose was. This conversation about how a better job just didn’t hold any excitement no sense of fulfillment. How the extra money earned didn’t present a world of opportunity because I simply had no desire to spend it.
It makes no sense to me!
And driving me crazy! Shouldn’t I be all about the spending and buying? Isn’t that what young professional women do? They make money to spend it? Shouldn’t I be leafing through magazines trying to cut my hair in a way that “perfectly reflects me.” And contemplating how to perfectly accessorize my new cell phone? Wheather the next pair of shoes I get should be from Aldo or transit. Souldn't i be yearning for a new purse from guess' new collection? Shouldn’t Halt Renfrew hold a special place in my heart and the perfume isles at the Bay excite every inch of my being? I’ve had this discussion with myself a gazillion and ten times. It’s always been too exhausting too superficial and too petty. But really the world judges you on what you look like. What’s the use of being gold on the inside if you don’t shine?
Why not change with the world that surrounds you and be hip and into all that is “cool”. Why not love yourself enough to want all those pretty things? Why can’t all this primping grooming and shopping just casually fall into the self improvement category? But at the end of the day. I refuse to buy into the commercials and the soap, the creams the clothes and the accessories that claim will make me complete, that promise to captivate all that surround me.
All this conversation in my head.. I should totally just project it onto objects and that way have a conversation with something other than myself... much like paulo cohelo did in the fifth mountain. I could befriend my bedside table or better yet my uninspirational cieling.. I could ask poor stucco the questions and before he gets a chance to respond i could give him my opinion and declare it his..Stupid bumper stickers... they work! Their msgs embedded in my brain..."everyone is entitled to my opinion" The ones that irk me the most are these new ones emerging everywhere. "support our troops" they're magnetic... I've visciously confiscated 4 so far... I'll have none of that in my space...my eyes don't need to see it... if the owner wants the world to know he/she is militant well they'll have to do it on their own time not mine and not through a medium i come in contact with... i'll have none of it...not on my watch. fuck freedom of speech. Hypocracy at its best here I hate that people control the space that surrounds me...why oh why am i eternally punished by forcebly being exposed to arabic drama on the tele 24/7? yes ok my granny is a wonderfull woman and she's loosing her hearing so the tv being at top volume is understandable... but whyyyyyyy oh whyyyyy must any trip to the kitchen be accompanied by the sound of a ya lahwee? And on that note y must any trip to the convenience store be accompanied by some random woman who can't drive in the first place telling some other woman off in cantonees? Yeah sure its exotic and under normal circumstanes I like forign sounds but when you've built a superstore that has chineese take out at the low low price of $3.00 and in the process have managed to make the air that surronds me smell like crayfish.. A smell might I add that seeps into your bones through ur pores and clings onto them like no tommorw... I am in no mood to listen to your high pitched squealing. but i'm ranting and being totally intolerant here soo like the good little girl that I am I'm going to follow in lady macbeth's footsteps and "out... out damned spot... out I say".

Confines, borders and lines.

2006-09-13T14:11:00.000-06:00

The warm air, cleansing rain and grey overcast have, as they often do, sent me into deep thought. There are many things that surface on days like this. The general direction in which my life is headed and weather I’ve ultimately become anywhere remotely close to the person I’d hoped I’d have become at my age are just some to name a few. I’m constantly surprised at how much harder it becomes to make the right decision as you get older, I suppose it can be attributed to the fact that I’m just getting intrinsically better at seeing the many differing shades of grey between wrong and right.
Confronted with one moral dilemma after the next it seems as though I’ve submitted to hedonism far too often. And while it is momentarily gratifying it is ultimately accompanied by a sense of disappointment. Maybe that can partially be accredited to my sudden rekindled interest in Socrates’ works and the idea of having to separate oneself from worldly things to arrive at truth. What truth exactly I am unsure. My truth, my personal state of nirvana I suppose. Or perhaps I’m just going on a tangent and the explanation is far simpler. Maybe I’ve just become jaded by how hard it is to align what I’d like the world with me in it to look like with the reality that surrounds me. I am particularly disheartened by my depreciating associated value for the words I love you. Not particularly solely in a significant other kind of way but in an overall general sense. Friends I’d thought I’d “love” for ages upon ages to come have now become distant strangers where prolonged periods of awkward silence are the norm and hugs and kisses are sterile, abandoned by warmth and emotion, exchanged solely upon the merit of formality. Or perhaps it is self pity that consumes me and not disappointment. Perhaps I had undeservingly given my self the authority to assume I could not so soon be forgotten, set aside or disregarded. Or maybe it is neither disappointment nor self pity but isolation. Have I unintentionally heeded to a form of self imposed exile?

A Sacred Blasphemy

2006-09-08T13:21:00.000-06:00

"Be off and know that the way of lovers is opposite all other ways.

The impossible is common place,
Punishment is reward,
Tyranny is justice,
Slander is the highest praise.

His harshness is soft,
His blasphemy is sacred.

When he’s bitter it’s better than a candy shop.
When he turns his head away it’s all hugs and kisses.

A “No” from his lips is a thousand times “Yes”
His infidelity is faith,
His stones are jewels,
His holding back is giving,
His ruthlessness is mercy

You may laugh at me and say,
“The path you’re on is full of curves!”
Yes- for the curve of his eyebrow
I have traded in my soul!

I can not say another word!
Carry on, my glorious heart,
Finish the poem in silence…"

Dante's Inferno

2006-08-29T13:49:00.000-06:00

I was sorting through some photos when I came across this.

All I could think was Dante’s inferno.

It struck me a little odd that I’d never given this piece of Italian literature the attention it deserved.
It was an extremely difficult read but well worth the while. The visual images, symbolism and ideas presented came back to me as I reflected.
I’m not feeling very articulate and so a list of interesting points will have to suffice.

- The notion of active vs. passive sins. While most religious people do not fall in the actively sinful category I find it extremely interesting to think that they more than often fall in the passive category.

- From my understanding, those who committed sins against art were punished. In a world where art is often the expression of nonconformist or suppressed urges the idea of punishing someone for not appreciating art as it should be strikes me as somewhat revolutionary.

- The concept of purgatory and the cleansing of oneself by a punishment fit for the sin struck symbolic chords. Pride absolved by having to carry a heavy weight that does not allow the sinner to stand tall, proud or straight. Envy absolved by having the sinner’s eyes sewn shut unable to see admire which they had for their own someone else’s fortune. Avarice, by facing the ground unable to turn away from worldly possessions. My personal favorite sin, sloth, is absolved by being zealous and continually running up a hill.

- I particularly enjoyed the ideas associated with the rivers Lethe and Eunoe. The former makes the soul forget any previous sins while a sip of the later renews memories of good deeds. Sounds a little like our version prozac or booz.

- Dante makes mention of the fact that how he sees heaven as is limited by his capacity to see. He is thus incapable of having a greater experience than his mind soul or being will allow him to have. To each their own version of heaven. This reminds me of a scene from ‘What dreams may come’. The painter’s version of heaven is made beautiful colors all round. Having committed suicide she is unable to see past her sadness and thus the beauty around her is of no relevance. I am also reminded of Alanis Morrisette’s character in Dogma requiring an intermediary to communicate with the world. People and most angels are ill equipped to hear the overpowering voice of “God” and so it is presented to them in a form they can withstand.

- Though not profound I also found it interesting that hell was imagined to lie at the center of the earth right below Jerusalem. That then makes Jerusalem to some extent the stage of purgatory. With all its inhabitants in a constant state of struggle. Not heaven and not hell they are in turmoil.

sunday bloody sunday

2006-08-27T23:22:00.000-06:00

Bono's raspy voice is my one consolation for sunday evenings.

Philematology

2006-08-23T14:59:00.000-06:00

Of all the ‘ologys I’ve run into these days Philematology seems to keep resurfacing everywhere. On a scientific level wikipedia, I know not much of a resource but a quick reference none the less, has it listed as “The science of kissing”. Being equipped with nifty little neurotransmitters called oxytocin that are released when we kiss allows for splendid results in both sexes. It is involved in social recognition and bonding, and might be involved in the formation of trust between people. The release of this feel good hormone is then what causes one kiss to prompt another. This gesture that originally mimicked the sound of breast feeding children has come a long way in today’s world. Its diverse existence ranges from a peck on the cheek to an all encompassing amorous exchange between lovers.

Some of my favorite Bacios:

Another glorious niche addeded to Massachusetts’s bed post.

2006-08-21T15:08:00.000-06:00

Home to many greats like the bruins, the mighty mighty bostones, Harvard law and cheers, the good folks at Massachusetts General Hospital are now proudly proclaiming that they’ve managed to tamper with the switch on the immune system’s T cells that triggers the inhibitory programmed death-1 pathway. HIV is apparently quite sneaky that way. It turns off the switch and the cells basically throw their arms up in the air and go I’m outty… Much like the lights in a room, On means functional and up and running while Off means out of business. Though they’re not claiming to have found a cure for the disease yet they’re extremely excited by the discovery. Finding the switch that makes the immune system self destruct is half the struggle. I’m a little irked by these self riotous bastards. Don’t get me wrong I’m not undermining the importance for a cure for HIV but really I can do that. I don’t need some big shot scientist in a lab coat to tell me how to solve the AIDS problem. It is quite simple really. STOP SLEEPING AROUND WITH RANDOM PEOPLE. Quit it with the anal sex ala Greek, Keep your legs shut and your pants on… and above all refrain from the recreation of requiem for a dream… Needles aren’t meant to be shared! If you’re going to be a bad ass do it right and buy your own syringes…. And voila… sans the PHD or Dr. by my name I have single handedly cut down the worlds HIV problem to less than half of what it used to be…

Now can someone please ask these people to quit pissing around pull their heads out of their asses and focus on bigger things like stuff we can’t control?

Cancer maslan? That’s a big one. It seems like everything causes it and people are dropping left right and centre like flies who decided to fly into the blue light. But perhaps that’s way more advanced that we can hope to muster the mitochondrion is after all a wicked piece of organ machinery. So let’s stick to something simpler perhaps?
like what like what?
hmmm oh I Don’t know… World hunger?!