listening to: Eluvium – When I Live By The Garden …

listening to: Eluvium – When I Live By The Garden And The Sea

this guy makes some stunning music. if you’d call it that.

anyway, chelsea are stuck with barca again, but this time they have bremen too. its hilarious!

united are with celtic, benfica and FC Kobenhavn. if we’re anywhere near as good as we’ve been in the first two premier league games, we’re going to bitchslap all those teams to the stone ages.

the hudood ordinance amendment was introduced in the parliament a couple of days ago, and the MMA wankers ripped their copies apart. and then PML and MQM started screaming blasphemy at the MMA twats because the pages contained words like Quran, Allah, Hazrat Muhammad, Sunnat, etc.

HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA.

our nation’s political landscape is a complete farce. and for everyone jerking off to ideas of democracy, its gonna remain that way unless you can educate 90% of the people. the ARD with benazir and nawaz sharif are holding hands and organizing no-support movements. funny, i don’t remember hearing about anything like the ARD for the past 5 years. what happened, are there elections soon? oops.

terrorism related arrests everywhere, as muslims come under scrutiny again. a bunch of assholes making life unnecessarily tough for other muslims. israel’s now talking about taking the fight to iran, and if need be they’ll do it alone.

i didn’t know cohen studied at mcgill and was a poet before he moved to the states and decide to pursue a career as a singer-songwriter.

i’m thinking of getting published, but maybe i’m being an arrogant prick and i’m not worthy of being published. or ready even. i’m lazy too, so hell opens its doors once more.

listening to: The Books – The Lemon of Pink she s…

listening to: The Books – The Lemon of Pink

she sits quietly, with sketches of blissed out ignorance. she sees the walls convulse as her vision bounces off them.

the pale skin forebodes the assuming light.

thoughts and ideas run rancid in her head, murky as the sulcus confines itself to the claustrophobia. her watch ticks and her heart slows down to half the beat of a second, pumping blood effortlessly but with restraint. her veins thump inside her head, inside her body, seconds, no – one incendiary thought away from bursting apart and burning her from the inside.

its bleak, and it lingers.

people tap inside her head, those she knew, those she knows. contrasting voices, entwining opinions, people stepping on each other’s toes and sticking splinters inside her nails. its dreary, its bloody.

the walls are covered a dirty maroon, the colour of dried up blood.

she touches her forehead, softly, so as not to spark any spasms, so as not to incite. images run past her like african long distance runners, looking dead but somehow continuing. she’s sweating, but that’s the least of her worries. a fly buzzes around and rests on her knees, the huge eyes wanting to stare into hers.

flapping wings and silent broken glass.

her fingers caress her forehead, caress her skull. she tries to wish that the touch would soothe the pain, but she can’t get through. there are gates that are locked and bridges that have been destroyed, rivers that don’t stop or slow for anything. she drops her hand to the floor, it strikes the floor at an awkward angle and sprains itself. she hardly grimaces, the blood from her cut up feet seems to make a perfect circle.

circles and triangles, the windows suffocate whatever tries to force its way through.

she runs her finger across her legs, they’re still immaculately waxed, softer than the fur of a cleansed and baptized rabbit. pigeons fly outside, she can barely hear, but, she knows. she’s in a fortress, nay, two fortresses. out of the frying pan and into the fire, she recalls. her eyes are closed but she can’t dream. but she tries. again.

mountains and hills stoop to let her step onto them.

the grass parts sideways to let her walk barefoot on the earth, to minimize the risk of her getting any sort of a cut. the trees whisper to each other but smile at her, but they know she doesn’t see, they know its not deliberate egregiousness. the birds on the anorexic branches sing to gain attention, but they know its futile, so they sing about things vulgar and what matters to them only. fuck the world.

stone paths with stones unturned and unruly, perfect in shape and blunt.

she’s at the summit, and everything’s at her feet. the clouds mingle amongst themselves. they are their own fathers and mothers. various peaks break through the blanket set out by the clouds, but they are the exception. she raises her finger and touches the pale blue, she touches the sky, and her ears flood. they flood with music, music sparked from god’s own angels, as they circle around her and play and sing. another temporary floor.

her eyes sting now.

boom boom

Listening to: Under Byen – Samme Stof Som Stof

there was this columnist from the new york times i think, on BBC early in the morning, yesterday. the bbc anchorwoman asked him to sum up briefly if the bush administration’s foreign policy would change considering bush deemed the israel-hezbollah conflict a completely victory for israel. his reply was more or less:

“terrifyingly. because the claim is completely ridiculous.”

just the way he said it, with such callousness, gave me a couple of nice laughs.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kevin_Carter

http://www.kiddakota.com/mp3s/get_her_out_of_my_hear.mp3

hungry for a holiday

so where do we go now, from here?

and lets pray this doesn’t transpire into another cliched story of improbable journey and adventure that will result in me metamorphasizing into a wiser creature that will slither up walls and bite off the heads of flowers.

a probable impossibility is more likely than an impossible probability – aristotle

so lets see, where do we go from here?