Posted in: Writings
The rain blankets our conversation. I am thinking of the papers I have to write for, the research on sexual harassment hibernation in modern office culture, also, the abrasion and tensile loss of automotive seating fabric. My lip prints smear red on the coffee cup. I hear your heart goes dub-dub, dub-dub, across the table. You comment I hardly wear lipstick as your eyes fall on to the cup. You comment that you can smell the chemicals when you sip. I tell you that the prophet Muhammad (p.b.u.h) would drink from the exact same place that that his wife drank from the cup. You take it all in, said, “But we’re not married.” I respond silently, and for a moment we both understand, and then we go back to being the exact opposites.
May 11th, 2008
Posted in: Misc
On Sunday, my cat hassled and bugged me while I was sewing; sat on the fabric, pawed my ruler back and forth, dove under all the textiles, and chewed the ends of my threads. She won’t leave me alone, and I was honored by that fact.
It was the best goddamn moment/day in my life.
May 6th, 2008
Posted in: Poetry
I am in a gooey mood. I used to say that whenever I was feeling all hearts in my eyes. Contrary to your perception, I’m no tough motherfucker. I may shoot at them guys off with my brashness, but I’m lil sweet jane inside. Liek srsly.
This is a wonderful love poem. So heartfelt, and honest, and stripped down to the essence. It makes me think of comfy moments under the covers while the rain lashes against the windows, or sniffing each other’s hair and the television looks on in glee. I can picture the mood of this poem, and I love that everything he describes plays a part in the relationship. My favorite line is, “you are wearing one of my shirts.” My favorite stanza is all.
A slackening rain offers its small rhythm
to the rooftop, a soft shudder runs
through the house. On the radio,
Roethke is reading
of a woman he knew.
You are wearing
one of my shirts.
Now, I know it’s no more
possible to own a moment
than a person, but sometimes
we can settle into one,
like a tide returning from the shore,
a soft relaxing back into the sea.
Wind slides the unlatched door
open, mist from the rain
catches the ends of your hair.
On the tips of your fingers,
my body seems achingly beautiful.
Today, we could begin to grow
back every limb we have lost.
May 6th, 2008
Posted in: Self
I am going to write about the longest three minutes of my life.
This happened a couple of days back, while I was running. Everybody who knows me well enough or who has read my site knows that running to me is a chore, something you feel rewarded at the very end of the activity, like a prolonged bikini waxing session or… nothing else. Well I have always been able to cope with the dread of running, and for the most part sometimes time just flew by. A lot of it has to do with how I motivate myself; I either pretend I am chased by a rapist or a mad dog, or I am in a race and I am beating every single shitfaced women out there, and the guy I like is truly impressed with my strength and speed (he’s at the sideline cause he’s of a lesser species). At the final leg of the race everybody would be cheering me on, and I’d just put a lone girl running ahead and I’d have her looking back at me with an exhausted face and I am gaining speed and I would be running and running and passing her and hitting the finish line! And as I am catching my breath the guy would ask for my phone number in awe… okay that’s not in the story and I haven’t thought of the suitable plot to continue yet.
Last Thursday I was off my game. I was already exhausted even when I was warming up, which worried me, because once I start to feel tired, I would never ever be able to stop thinking about it. Which meant that the whole time last Thursday I was feeling tired for about twice as long as all the other runs I did in the past. It went something like this, hmmm *randomthoughts* damn, I’m tired, *random thoughts* wow, I’m tired and it’s only been 1 minute, *randomth-* REALLY I’m TIRED! until I stop.
The longest three minutes in my life felt like a pounding in my chest, so loud that I thought everybody could hear it and my heart was about to explode. It felt like a giant wave crashing and flopping in my belly, stitches running up the sides and my neck pulsating wildly and aching… for no reason. I was looking at the seconds moving and was wondering why the hell one second took that amount of time to move…it actually felt long enough for me to say, STOP RUNNING DAMN IM TIRED. I forced myself to look everywhere left right, but all that I was aware of were the pounding of my chest and the thought; I really need to stop why the fuck 3 minutes are taking SO BLOODY LONG??
But you know what the best part was, when it reached minute three, it felt awesome - like a hot air balloon ride, or the after feeling of a really good date with the person you fancy, or the happy jibs you get after a bellyaching laugh - that I continued on for a while, because I could, and because I am superwoman!
That dude should just get my phone number.
Oh when randomness strikes. Just bear.
May 6th, 2008
Posted in: Writings
The excursion only took three days. It started on Friday, your belongings piled high like an imagined trip to Timbuktu, barraging onto the driveway. Straight away the white cold squares in your saved space are layered with what makes you you. You carried with it a whiff of your scent, filling up high into the plaster ceiling, shying away when the doors were opened or closed. Your voice was louder than the people in the idiot box, more vibrant than them saying that the oil price is hiked up still. I didn’t need a radio. Your feet left dirty imprints everything, brown against the cream tiles. The living room carpet lost themselves beneath the layers of mess you made.
Saturday felt very long. Dirty footprints, empty juice bottles left on the floor, papers that littered everywhere.
Sunday came, and before you left, you said Thank You to me. You took away with you all the noise, the chaos, the filth that are your essence. I turned and walked in the house, and saw that you’ve wiped clean all the evident of yourself inside. The carpet looked vacuumed. The floor didn’t feel sticky. And just like that, it was as if you were never there at all, and suddenly, the house felt very very quiet, and empty.
May 5th, 2008
Posted in: Writings
One morning I woke up from a bad dream. It was black and purple and it was just bad, the kind even a morning run would not chase away. I showered and dressed, took some time to stare at the mirror. I said, “Hello how are you?” and it went unanswered. I drove to work and the car weighed a ton, like it knew what I was feeling.
The sky was green organic, grey, the color of pallid breath and dry elbows. I warmed my fingers on the coffee mug and then you slid in front of me. I was 17 and you were an older guy. Your hair was wet, and the peroxide shone garishly in the light. The cafeteria smelled musty and was noisy with the clings and clangs of forks and spoons. You took a sip from my cup, before I could say, “It’s not coffee,” you grimaced. You told me you needed a very big breakfast.
Our relationship was like circles on squares. We hardly seem to match or fit together. We were not stacked chairs, or jigsaw pieces. For instance I never really knew what to say to your friends. Sometimes I felt like they were making fun of me, the fact that I had to carry an SPM revision book around when we went on dates. Remember when you taught me Add Maths in CoffeeBean? Thank God integration was my favorite topic.
The day went on like normal. I should have studied but I didn’t. I mucked around in the lounge with other kids, waited for you in between studio breaks. You had a one hour nap and emerged from the gents smelling of toothpaste and all fresh looking. You were in a good mood. Hiiiii you said, enveloping me in a bear hug, not caring this time around that people were looking. Daniel joined us and passed mints to you, me, everyone around.
Your aunt once told me, that while she really really liked me, that there is something wrong when a guy your age dates a girl that is younger. “I worry about him you know,” she sighed softly, looking across the yard. In response I ate a lot more of sausages than I normally would, and watched you play Hacky Sack with your friends.
At night we spoke on the phone, our conversations lighting up the telephone line with electric red sparks. On special occasions we both bore witness as the sky put on a fantastic show of pinks and orange, early morning cabaret that previously only included birds and the newspaper boy. I should have studied but I didn’t.
When I said goodbye to you that day you shouted, “Goodbye NABIAAAAAAAA!” and just like that it felt really awesome.
May 4th, 2008
Posted in: Writings
In my world tiny humans live under the keys on the keyboard. They go to work maneuvering through the press and release of the keys, careful not to be crushed underneath the immense pressure from our fingers transferred to the keys. When in the occurrence that a poor soul gets crushed by one of the mammoth keys, the CSI team worked effectively to clean up the place back to its sterile condition. Only blood stain remains, and some sharp pieces of someone’s tooth. Trees root out between the keys, gray in color. The sun is fluorescent.
Backspace is the county’s hospital, and Space bar is the airport. Caps lock has the honor of being the shopping mall. The households of qwerty are good friends, being the first to move in the neighborhoods. Lovers rendezvous at the vicinity of the arrows, sometimes getting too caught up to realize the irony that they are necking under the umbrella of the Control keys. Control was hardly practiced when in lust who are they kidding?
Esc is where you put criminals in. End and Delete take the place of a cemetery and a morgue. Alt is a bar and guess why is that. God has a wry sense of humor.
The apocalypse happens when Ctrlaltdel keys are pressed. Whenever that happens, the neighborhood watch the sky in horror, dropping their bicycles, books, groceries, everything from their hands, cars brake hard and crash into each other, mouths open, holding on close to the person next to them, alarms going off and blaring, as the world slowly makes a beeping sound and explode.
May 2nd, 2008
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