Procter has no gamble on my ramble

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

Sick cycle carousel...

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

E. T. Bell once said...

"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...

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.

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

"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

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

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

Philematology

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.

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?!

Paint the picture

Hiding behind the ones and zeros "you paint yourself in blue, red, black and grey.... all the beautiful colors are very meaningful" It is now and here that grey becomes symbolic of all the bold domination and the key to willful submission. Spoonfuls of bedazzling tantalizing jargon at best, I am not hungry but will entertain the ideas I am fed. The humor in it all has me hooked. Let’s live in the world inside our heads where pink lemonade grows on trees and the rain pours without ever getting us wet. Let our imagination run wild and give us wings to fly. Let the straws of faith we’re trying to latch onto flutter in dance with the wind over lakes of purple bubbles… you create the delusion and I enlist to get drafted with nothing but a smile plastered from ear to ear.