A Brother Wright

Boy, some day you'll be a man
Girl, one day you'll be a gran
unless you do not marry
so a spinster you will tarry
But in the long term we are all dead
so what if i have a price on my head?
I will just keep running
And you will just keep running after me
Wasting your life
Fullfiling mine
For what more did i ever need but attention?

Look at that bird flying high
I looked and i wondered
one day might i, oh might i?
So then i made an aeroplane
But its not the same
is it?
The thrill seems subdued so i'll dive off of it
I fell like a stone for a while
But still, i couldn't fly!
Sigh

The clouds on up high
And the stars beyond
Encased in metaphor too frippy to pen down
But take it from me
We must suppose they are beautiful
For it cannot be anything else; the unknown
Mystery mud deep in similie
They may show me the folly of my existence
If i listen
One day i may fly

Einstein

can't sleep.

the world is round and it keeps it's secrets, strongly away from those who cannot handle them
science will speak and describe what it knows but we humans
we best remain silent

can't sleep

the pizzaria spoke of a blessing; anchovies, they said. eat
they are good for you, for insomnia
they are good for patients who can't cope with their mind's own side effects
the side effects of thought
that beat your eyelids open, awake, alert and then run away before you can see who knocked on your door

can't sleep

a nightmare is welcome to knock me unconscious with it's deadly hooves
a nightmare is welcome to freeze me silly in fear and so that i shall lose sense and consciousness
a nightmare is welcome
anything is welcome but this

can't sleep

God is one. only one is God, he said
If reality is controlled then why do my eyes not see
my heart sees but then disbelieves
must i live in terror of this impending blackness
or in gladness of the light, the grey dawn that arrives

but i can't sleep

the night is both dreaded and loved
dreaded for its presence and loved lest it flies before i rest
i must rest
for has it not been said
'the night is for rest'?

this business
this not knowing
works only if you are patient
this business
this burrowing
into wrath and necromancy
serves only the purpose
of killing your instinct
of freezing your facts
in the cold ice of General Relativity

When We Escape

so my muse
shall we take a cruise?
into the blinding sunlight
on an empty sea
with no horizon?
shall we take the pain and abuse?
self inflicted
(for if not what is the use)
and create a thing of beauty?

you and me
united
leaving behind what is useless to us
and embracing the unknown
wanderers, they will call us
lost, they will say
be we know
this is our way

springing free from a mundane existence
our dreams held sway
but are we sailing towards mundanity
towards and not away?
questions that we seek answers to will remain
doubts will seize us by the testicles
and they will not easily go away

but death is our promise
and for its cold embrace we await
but until then a bit of sun, wind, sand
and adventure
wouldn’t kill us as they say

so my muse
my friend of abuse
what say?

she was as the earth
and I, as the moon
to her darkened face
I shone my light
with no restraint
with selfless abandon
but she revelled not in my silvery gloom
and as I watched that cold lonely dawn
how she greeted the sun
with longing in her eyes
I realized
that i
could never become so bright.
for it was not my nature
I was one of a gloomier stature

shadows
loom bright
friendlier than light
for where is the warmth
in hot blinding light?
not for me the days of brightness
not for me the shiny bright
give me gloom and give me sight
for I wish to see
in the darkness

so what say you?
my shadowy clue
my signal in the dark
my direction In the night?
what say you?
to you and me
on a cruise?
exploring lost islands
wading in lagoons
sleeping in the open
with only the stars watching us
what say you?

The Upraised Fist

A scab on a wound
false skin
false reality
underneath; blood flows
red and rich.

a scarred body
full of bullet holes
the rubber bullets
were coated with lead
activism was dead

a power hungry
monarch
an arch criminal;
the henchman
and you
the lone tree hugger
standing alone in front of the digger
arms outstretched

Faith

the truth is not as simple as it sounds.
simplistic rounds
shooting from a 9mm
ripping through flesh
how many babies dead?
how many retards completed the test?
how many fools repented their flesh?
how many intellectuals
let down their people?
how many leaders failed?
how many theories abounded?
how many houses burned?
how many heroes fell?
questions have no answers
questions just have more questions
and ultimately; faith
the truth is faith

Relapse

Kareem looked on as the pills fell down from the sky, pouring like rain. He'd been staying away from them for a long time now. He'd even walked away from a dealer once; it had taken a considerable effort of will.

Things were alright after that initial incident. He'd managed to have almost a normal life for a few weeks. The urge rarely gripped him, and even when it did it was only in minor easily shakeable doses. He'd got a job as a butcher's apprentice with Saleem, a friend of his father's.

Thats when the hallucinations had started.

He'd been a good student and did well in his O/Levels. After his exams, his parents- usually very strict, had given him some leeway as a reward for his studiousness. They no doubt expected great things from him. Kareem, however tooks this as a reward for all the hardwork he'd put in.

He initially started off hanging around with the boys around the neighborhood after an afternoon game of cricket. They'd pass around cigarettes and Kareem took his first tentative drag. Soon he'd tried a joint. Before the year was out, he was roving the streets of Maradana in the nights, searching for his next hit, like a starving hyena.

The first night he saw them was when he had just completed a break-in at Saleem's beef shop. Saleem was crafty and hid his cash when he closed shop. So the haul was not that great. Kareem was cursing his bad luck as he walked out and he looked up and saw them. They were lounging about on the other side of the road, They were green in skin and long in limb. Their antennae waved and green sparks came out of them when they spoke.

They spoke to him in mathematics. The numbers flowed from their mumbling voices right into understanding. Bypassing his brain, as far as he could tell, The numbers told him the logic of going home and quitting the dope.

So he went. And after a long struggle finally managed to clean up his act and gain his family's acceptance. But the numbers stayed with him. They didnt speak to him as much as before but he still felt their presence.

Corporate Blues

waking up on a monday afternoon to the lull of the ocean,
inside my head.
A dream takes over as the music trips.
I am a corporate dreamer
dreaming of the demise of the corporation.

Im a sleepwalker
waking up on a hammock in the kitchen garden.
the grass meanders down
and mingles with the sand,
the sand meanders down
to the water, gentle, lapping, lazy.
Just like me.

wiki how 2 tweet

Go to twitter dot com


start twitter account!!!

find friends (its no fun if you don't have any, and if you dont your a lozer anyway and shouldnt be tweeting in the first place)

Tweet

start with something simple like telling people what you are doing right now

e.g. I am feeling sleepy

progress to relplying to your friend's tweets

e.g. @samanthi awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwz @rameez LOLMAO ROFLCOPTER etc

(a knowledge of l33tsp33k will definitely come in handy here)

As you progress, you can try Re Tweeting.

e.g. RT @deshan lewis hamiltun is soo kewl!!!
like totally! (note, any comments in the RT can be expressed after inserting a '
' sign after the RT'd T)

As you become more mature and used to the novelty of tweeting, express your superiority to all the lesser twits by being innovative with your spelling.

note; such innovashun should be eksecuted with much care. with a lot of referense to reliable sources like LOL CATS. Also use exclamashun marks whenever you can

Good Luck !! NAO GET TO TWEETING!!! FULZ!!!!!!

plzzz dont kil meh..

Powerslave

These are the last words of Imhotep
half man half God but now on his death bed
it came for all of us and it came for him
Imhotep the half God but now he's dead

He bawled and he pleaded
his majestic eyes they bled
he screamed for their worship
as if, from it he could be saved

But his life had whittled
now his bone was brittle
and Imhotep
was on the way to death

The doorsteps
the face repelled
the eyes screwed shut
but nought helped

Imhotep
said nothing
in the end.

Instead his silent eyes
saw inside themselves
and he wept
as the tears fell down inside his head.

Ahoy! There.. captain.. sahib

It must be nice to pick up the pen and just start writing again. I was naive enough to think i'd outgrown it; this unstoppable urge to write. it didnt matter what i wrote, the point was that i wrote. But i was too naive to think that i was no longer naive. And now im back to being naive.

Nothing much has changed.

Oh but it has. But has it? I don't know. I think i have matured in certain ways don'tyouthink? But i also think i have unwittingly carved out this pretentious air of maturity for myself which has run out the course of its illusion. I have bared myself to myself again. But i dont think i've been fooling a lot of other people.

But maybe this is the illusion. And this apparent expose of myself to myself is intself a trick brought about by stress. Look there! yes there; that way lies paranoia.

Well, whatever. I have been busy. At least my level of activity has been steadily increasing. I am trying to cope but intensity levels are still rising, Captain! permission to focus on riding the wave until it reaches its peak! Permission granted.

Am i getting any less cryptic here? I can't tell

Wastepost

In the desert there existed a grain of sand. It was just an ordinary grain of sand, although it may have been slightly priviledged because it had the luck to be situated on the top layer of the ground; enjoying the assorted benefits of being able to roll around the endless expanse of the desert both in the gentle evening breeze and in the wild desert sandstorm; something hugely enjoyable.

It considered itself a grain of sand of the world. An intellectual grain of sand, but its peers often thought it was slightly presumtuous in this regard. A grain of sand was a grain of sand. And in the desert all you saw was other grains of sand or the stars anyway. The latter depended on whether you were on the top layer or not. But eventually, arguably, every grain of said got a chance to stay on top.

Its elders thought it naive, and quietly listened to its boasting without saying much. They considered themselves wiser, of course. And the young grain of sand resented this. But it pretended it didn't care, bacause that's how it rolled.

It saw in its elders a reflection of itself as seen by its peers. And it saw in its peers a reflection of itself as seen by its elders. It chilled out a bit on top of a freshly formed dune. Thinking about this.

Analogy and Feathers

Green sparks! greaan sparks revolted in the red fire. they amulgamated and formed little flames of their own. They had been hiding in the tiny metal substrate the secret ingredient; the exotic dense substance that had missed the attention of the destroyer class disposal unit sent from the Establishment.

Kangaroos flew into the mind in billowing cloaks liened with regard into the flaming pew stickers in the renaissance of the decaprio saga. The giselle bunchens and other assorted lingerie models not withstanding the gossip of the amazonian pshycopaths, the egyptian druglords and american jailbirds.

but reclaiming land has always been a reconnoitering mission of serious psokage that has embittered the masses against the would be devils of the landlords. liberalist ideals have formulated the basis for the spawn of animated cartoons to disintergrate into remorseless interpretations of Sexual Man.

B ol cols trembling old a controlled attempt a ontrolled shally wally bang bang bang of dispropotionate. A metaphor released into a vacuum that was the test. an analogy released into a singular universe it ceased to exist but what is an analogy but something dependent on something else?

I am an analogy an analogy of you him them. You are an analogy an analogy of me her him. We are analogies floating on each others whim, we will not survive in vacuums.

we will not survive we are dependent i am dependent on  you ? on you? it pisses me off but i am forced to admit i am dependent on you are dependent on me? it may piss you off but force to admit that you are are are depended on me. convolution be damned this is a scenario a problem of perception we must solve this.

Self Censorship

Here i come into the next phase

Propelled by hope and an expectant look

on my face

Here i come running a different race

one in which only winners run

oh what fun

Here i am self censored

here i am mentored

by fearful people

Yet i am grateful

and my sacrifice is powerful

but not as powerful as their love

For their sake, i must fold?

Sway

A reek of sweat
it may or may not be the doom
of impending death

The waves have met
and ricocheted
the boat didn't collapse
but it swayed.

And my heart swayed with it
on the blue waves
and it almost jerked free of its moorings.

A monstrosity then
rose up and bled
turned my insides on a whim
like the roiling shore bed

But the patience of encounter
by then long practiced
saved me from a flounder
and another night
I sleep free

In every man's life there comes a time when...

The nameless landscape of the enemy boat betook Smarkand like a magic carpet. the drifts of lazy wind swept him up and took him to the upper reaches of golden sails that spanned the horizon. He couldn't even see the sea, it having slunk away to the area normally occupied by Outer Space; the vast atmosphere betwixt him and the sea clouded the vision.

The captian called something from the deck AND THUNDER RUMBLED IN THE AIR. Destruction seemed about to break loose, but Smarkand hung on. His Golden Journey had yet to begin. The fevered dreams of the previous night, the various insects that had tried to have him as an after dinner snack etc seemed to be from a different universe. As they most probably were but we digress.

The balls of steel were clutched to his chest, The pick of destiny on DVD. Moving to the edge of the mainsail after a journey of many days of clinging to weavings of cloth and nights of tying oneself often precariously to the material, he found his surfboard banked where he'd left it.

The waves were what skyscrapers are to ants. Which is pretty damn huge. But a surfers fear diminishes as a wave gets bigger. And since no surfer afraid of a big wave will ever be afraid of a smaller one, it goes without mention that logically surfers, as a whole were unfraid of waves, even hyperbolic tsunamis like the ones in 2012.

He leapt on to the board even as it slipped off its moorings and started to fall. It flew in the updrafts and swept forever downwards. Hopefully he wouldn't hit the deck by some ill luck. Destiny here he came.