Archive for the 'My Life My Voice' Category

Ode to lulu

Believed 6 days, 19 hours ago in My Life My Voice. 1 Comment

Bang bang lulu,
My lulu went away,
My lulu had a bang bang
My lulu went away…

My lulu had a life to it,
My lulu had a soul,
And every time you took that breath,
You could feel the bang bang-

Bang bang lulu,
My lulu went away,
My lulu had a bang bang
My lulu went away..

This lulu had much magic
This lulu made folks smile,
But right now i just heard a click
And S/he left the door a bang bang-

Bang bang lulu,
My lulu went away,
My lulu had a bang bang
My lulu went away..

My lulu, S/he was really awesome,
S/he had an own lovely way,
S/he could ask “what is this ‘my’”
But still make life go bang bang-

Bang bang lulu,
my lulu went away,
my lulu had a bang bang
my lulu went away…

And now i sit existing,
and shed a silent tear,
Not really knowning why,
And yet sadly still here..

My lulu had a bang bang,
And then S/he went away,
Lulu was a bang bang,
my lulu went away..

My lulu’s left weakness
My lulu’s left me hate,
My lulu’s left me the rest of life,
to riddle in decay and fate.

And this smashed old jackfruit
is now attracting flies,
Oy Drosophila, c’mon,
Lets go on that crazy ride;

That ride that ends in nothing
Where nothing rules the roost;
And something’s just a nothing
Just disguised to the boot..

Bang bang lulu,
My lulu went a way.
My lulu had a bang bang
my lulu went away..

> Since these words might lend itself to multiple interpretations due to similarities literally and otherwise to person or persons alive, let the author (yes, there is one; mad, deranged, true, but there is one) make it clear that this is not intended at or about any person alive, dead, or being kept under torture in Syria. It is of course inspired (i’m not sure that this word is quite the right one in this context) by my lovely friend, who helped tide over quite a few slags with a devil-may-care sing-along. Wishing he was here now.

An open letter to Messieurs Gaza Hackers

Believed 3 weeks ago in My Life My Voice and Witness Times News. 0 Comments

So you said “We will not stop hacking It’s not a crime It’s our job”. And you hacked my blog, and you declared your love to some ridiculous morphemes. And you stated your desire to get the consent of some king to fornicate with Israel, Denmark, the USA, and France.

Cool. So now can i ask you, why?

Why do you have to hack my blog? What have you gained from it? Or lost from it? What have you made me lose or gain?

i have no connections to any of the afore mentioned nation states. i have no affinity or hate to Palestine or Israel. i hold no key positions in the US army, nor do represent UN peace keeping forces. My blog has not in any way made an attempt to belittle any of these stakeholders than you mention.

i have not lost any money in undoing your work. Nobody in their senses would have a vendetta against my blog, so presumably, you haven’t been paid to hack my site either.

So what is it that drove you to hack my blog twice in the past two weeks?

You achieved nothing but more depression in the world. You acheived a me who, already fed up with life, is now a tad bit more with self-anhilatory leanings. You probably achieved despairing sighs from some who tried accessing some of my posts.

So other than more unhappyness in this world, what have you achieved, dear aka Hamdi Mershed and Co?

i have some ip addresses. Have some domain names and emails, which you left hither and tither in my blog in your hurry to leave and attack another site. i have some names, mostly fake. i have a few registrar details. Now i can make a nice case out of all of this. But honestly, what is the point? Should i be stupid enough to assume that you cannot find other registrars or hosts? Or more members to carry forth your trade? No sir.

Instead, out of curiousity, out of pity, out of stupid pathetic despair, i write you this letter. Wouldst thou care to answer?

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

Believed 5 months, 3 weeks ago in My Life My Voice. 0 Comments

One begins to see it when one’s research papers begin to make one or two quit facebook or turn vegetarians. Or when one writes, and what one writes begin to make post offices function, or make Government buildings build faster. When one’s ‘social work’ hobby begins to help children get better at Mathematics. Or make the untalked talked…

change.
That six letter word which means so much, and keeps meaning so much more.

Who am I/i to be consciously responsible for an O/other’s change? Or, who am I/i to be responsible for consciously creating/attempting to create an O/other’s change? Unless I/i know for myself, and strongly believe. Who am I/i to K/know and believe? What do/can I/i K/know or believe?

When all these questions play, how can the butterfly still flap its wings and create that hurricane in the Amazon?

[ASIDE]It might seem just fine for me to be present in a Rajasthani village or a Copenhagen restaurant, but the jobs i make lose, and families thus affect, because of my presence ping stronger at my heart than the awareness of my then presence there.[/ASIDE]

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

(and i, i chose to watch out; breathe in, breathe out; meditate. Om.)

Little shoes

Believed 5 months, 3 weeks ago in Lit Creeps and My Life My Voice. 1 Comment

for You, A

 

Little shoes, they lie outside the door; they sat and they sat, sun in and sun out. The door was always of wood, weathered by weather, and by the passage of use. Little shoes, they lie outside the door, they knew not where to go.

“We have been through quite some bit” They pompously do purport. “From the colds of the north to the desert hots. From airplanes and glitz, to sand and plain tar. We have yo beheld the northern lights’ glow, and also the sun’s fourty-five degrees show. We have watched peacocks shimmer and dance, and also elephants in pampered trance; chickens cross the road and snakes chase, snails, slugs, and mongooses race. Oh have we been when ice creams and lollys rolled, rich and poor food, from West and East, North and South East, coffees, chocolates, fudges, and cakes, and the creamiest of milks, in shapes, sizes, colours, and flavours, just to quench the need to go on. To keep going on…”

And suddenly, both of them in that little pair, they fell a hush.

“To keep going on,” The curved right said. “Yes, indeed, to keep going on,” Agreed the curved left. “To keep going on indeed.” The right iterated. But the truth is, or if there is indeed such a thing, or perhaps, their truth is, that they knew not where to go.

“What frappity missense, oh author dear!” The right exclaimed, indeed, he was the noisier of the two, if I may, the squeakier. “What indeed do you mean squeakier! Oh bother, anyway, of course we know where to go. You speak of life, don’t you not? We have been when the richest has been said, the loftiest has been thought!”

“Indeed,” Added the left, “through the doors of libraries and spines of books. Through talks and trifles, debates and luncheons.”

“We have heard deep of Dante chanted aloud, and alike of Freud, Lacan, Beauvoir and Kant! So have we of Satre, Althusser, and Descartes if you would like. Plato through Foucault, we know of them all. Don’t go away, without Krishnamurti, and the Vedas to boot, and also of the thoughts of West Indian native roots.”

But, all for this, alas, the truth remained, these little shoes, they knew not where to go.

“Impatient brain, do you think we know any less of the miles we have walked? Steps beyond that which any man could count!” And what about the woman? “Of course the woman and the child too, dear friend! Each step we take, we reach an end, or make amends.” The left. Indeed it showed from their sentence thus, that they had walked paths in hand with human feet.

This was all too much for the right, who thus exclaimed, “Claim you to know of paths than we, we who tread paths even as we speak. If it is through the treads of feet that we gain of the paths you speak, we still know better, and our ways we do, oh dear lone writer.”

But their, oh no, our truth remained. Little shoes, and I, we lie outside the door, we know not where to go. As for the shoes, until some feet appeared, they, they just lie outside the door, they knew not where to go.

And when they did appear, then they let them slip in, and away did they go, across so many beautiful wonderful things, seeing, learning, so much, so much, and oh.

its been a while since…

Believed 8 months, 1 week ago in My Life My Voice. 4 Comments

its been a while since She opened her arms and tumbled over me with Her rains as i entered her…

its been a while since i found the joy of my life to write…

since i truly saw and became those little little things everywhere to be happy for it.

Its been a while, since, I’ve been suffocating in forms and formalities. In the structures of things.

its truly been a while since i would truly say truly every single time. (since my trulys have been truly true only one person, and since the other trulys have been subalternised into mere liguistic pieces)

Its been a while since… since… since i Wrote.

 

But its the Monsoon now again! :) Hip hopp hurrah! And hurray!

To You, my green beautiful oneifying land, i nimbly prod forth my apology… Please welcome me… I yearn to be in your embrace…

 

the butterfly stumbles and flies… inside outside this swampish fog. Snakishly real, woodenly unreal.

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