In vedantic literature, there is a beautiful analogy.
The bowman has already sent an arrow and it has left his hands. He cannot recall it. He is about to shoot another arrow. The bundle of arrows in the quiver on his back is the sanchita; the arrow he has shot is prarabdha; and the arrow which he is about to shoot from his bow is agami. Of these, he has perfect control over the sanchita and the agami, but he must surely work out his prarabdha. The past which has begun to take effect he has to experience.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
"Mud Fight"
It has indelibly proven to be ironic; this global “hoop la” over cartoon images of the Holy Prophet (pbuh), somewhat surreal even. The fact that the entire world has been surrogated the back seat on an issue that was forever imminent, but only recently brought to light in the most confounding manner, is somewhat laughable, considering the it took us so long to see what was already there
If looked at objectively, (which of course seems rather impossible) this situation has been taking root, quite intermittently over the past decade, only now has the “bullshit bravado” been put aside and the gloves finally come off. “We are in a fight, ladies and gentlemen!” a proverbial brawl of ideologies, which contrary to all appearances is not recent, it is ancient, archaic even. However all the current derivations have proven is that the battle is just getting “uglier” and “muddier” than it had been in the past.
Yet when we consider it, how is that really any surprise…the fact that our disputes are no longer “noble” or clear-cut? Gone are the days of honourable swordfights and “obvious” victors, gone are the days of altruistic intentions and gentlemen quests…we are now in a “dog eat dog” world, the only rule today is that there are “absolutely no rules”, just end games, which require one winner and one loser. So why be surprised that massive forums, and vast reservoirs of information and communication are giving voice to such heretic heresy?
Rather than spending all our energy in condemning the forums that express the opinions that “unfortunately” many around the world share, shouldn’t the logical step be to “step-back”, re-examine our conduct and change those opinions instead of perpetually reinforcing them?
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
An Ode to coke
Having, of late been doomed to disapprove of my reflection in the looking glass, hence spurting on the bloody dreaded "D" word, it seems all i want to do is eat. The word "Fry", " Food" and "Sugar" have taken on an increased reverence, hitherto only reserved for the likes of Keirkegaard, Dylan and my quasi-post-existential beliefs...but i no longer believe in sweating the "small" stuff. Bring on the grub....grub, a dub, ab.
Yet out of all the confectionary delights i am abstaining from in my non-quintessential quest for martyrdom (apparently being thin is the modern equivelent), the one i miss and cant live without remains the same. The only non-evasive, undisputed love of my life....my ode to a bottle, can, fishbowl....... anything of Coke.
Oh my blessed, beautiful, friend.
How i LONG to reunite with thee.
Feel your cool, glass (what do you know it was bottle after all) primzms
and taste your fiery, gasseous depths.
I long, and pine,
all in vain.
Not to worry though my childhood friend, my adolescent sweetheart, my eternal soulmate
Bloody 6 more days till perdition
Until you and I are together again.
Yet out of all the confectionary delights i am abstaining from in my non-quintessential quest for martyrdom (apparently being thin is the modern equivelent), the one i miss and cant live without remains the same. The only non-evasive, undisputed love of my life....my ode to a bottle, can, fishbowl....... anything of Coke.
Oh my blessed, beautiful, friend.
How i LONG to reunite with thee.
Feel your cool, glass (what do you know it was bottle after all) primzms
and taste your fiery, gasseous depths.
I long, and pine,
all in vain.
Not to worry though my childhood friend, my adolescent sweetheart, my eternal soulmate
Bloody 6 more days till perdition
Until you and I are together again.
Looming Chasm
It has proven quite indefinable this recent struggle cropping out moralistic nuances: “to believe or not to believe” ironically this quest is anything but superficially pervasive as most believe it to be, it is in fact imminent for my eventually being scribed as an individual.
In a day and age of “atheism” and agnosticism, what is the rational minds “logical” pirouette to spirituality, pray tell? For those of us who long to believe in some manner of a higher altercating, “All powerful” entity where is the ability to question?
Have we left it behind in the dungeon where our proverbial curiosity now lies? Dead and buried six feet under carpeted frenetically behind layers of subtext and subconscious meanderings or have we simply forgotten it ever existed, that divine spark of wonder, which we now side-step, tiptoe, revel round…avoid on every front save head on.
What am I left with? My generation, and my age where do our answers lie, in the quest or in the silent acceptance of “age-old” acronyms, which we bluntly accept in lieu of the truth. Despite all crusader quests I have often found myself questioning whether it might just be so much simpler to put all the questions to rest and walk the banal broken road of customary tradition.
The trouble is it has proven impossible to do, how does one not ask the question that already exists? More to the point, how does one get an answer to a question, which has yet to be given voice to? See my consternation….this ephemeral “merry go round” of fate, seems all I have left to believe in.
Often I have tried to give a category to my catechism of altercating opinions regarding the divine, and have failed miserably, and between all the “theisms” that exist today I have found my views floundering, there are things I love about many modern and ancient traditions, and similarly there are things I hate in equal measure.
It isn’t the first time someone has asked me….“So who are you, then?”
“Atheist?” Nope. I definitely give way for divine supremacy or is it simply a yearning to believe in the fantastic, the un-ordinary, the intermittently ineffable?
“Agnostic?” Yes, No Maybe…Perhaps. The profundity of never knowing and admitting it. Still deliberating.
“Buddhist?” nope, with the perpetual waning of “theisms”, no help from above, struggle solitary struggle.
“Zen?” Nope. Proverbial “peace be upon you all”…wholly unrealistic realism.
“Hindu?” Nope. Grandiose glamour, crocheted colours and beauteous befuddlement.
“Kabbalist?” Nope. Cosmological , megalomaniac with a fetish for sacred cults
“Wiccan?” Nope. Tree-hugging, fire walking, frit, ardently adapting to non-existent nature.
“Communist?” Nope. Cynical sage of absent allegiances.
“Mystic?” Flower child freak barring any besotted logic. Perhaps.
The voice in my mind pushes me to pick one and so be done with it!
Pick a side!
Pick an “ism”!
Pick an “ist”!
Just do it. Let it be written, let it be done.
Yet I altercate, I deliberate, I relocate.
Anything to avoid making a choice.
Making “the” choice
The choice defining the “who” and the “what”.
In a day and age of “atheism” and agnosticism, what is the rational minds “logical” pirouette to spirituality, pray tell? For those of us who long to believe in some manner of a higher altercating, “All powerful” entity where is the ability to question?
Have we left it behind in the dungeon where our proverbial curiosity now lies? Dead and buried six feet under carpeted frenetically behind layers of subtext and subconscious meanderings or have we simply forgotten it ever existed, that divine spark of wonder, which we now side-step, tiptoe, revel round…avoid on every front save head on.
What am I left with? My generation, and my age where do our answers lie, in the quest or in the silent acceptance of “age-old” acronyms, which we bluntly accept in lieu of the truth. Despite all crusader quests I have often found myself questioning whether it might just be so much simpler to put all the questions to rest and walk the banal broken road of customary tradition.
The trouble is it has proven impossible to do, how does one not ask the question that already exists? More to the point, how does one get an answer to a question, which has yet to be given voice to? See my consternation….this ephemeral “merry go round” of fate, seems all I have left to believe in.
Often I have tried to give a category to my catechism of altercating opinions regarding the divine, and have failed miserably, and between all the “theisms” that exist today I have found my views floundering, there are things I love about many modern and ancient traditions, and similarly there are things I hate in equal measure.
It isn’t the first time someone has asked me….“So who are you, then?”
“Atheist?” Nope. I definitely give way for divine supremacy or is it simply a yearning to believe in the fantastic, the un-ordinary, the intermittently ineffable?
“Agnostic?” Yes, No Maybe…Perhaps. The profundity of never knowing and admitting it. Still deliberating.
“Buddhist?” nope, with the perpetual waning of “theisms”, no help from above, struggle solitary struggle.
“Zen?” Nope. Proverbial “peace be upon you all”…wholly unrealistic realism.
“Hindu?” Nope. Grandiose glamour, crocheted colours and beauteous befuddlement.
“Kabbalist?” Nope. Cosmological , megalomaniac with a fetish for sacred cults
“Wiccan?” Nope. Tree-hugging, fire walking, frit, ardently adapting to non-existent nature.
“Communist?” Nope. Cynical sage of absent allegiances.
“Mystic?” Flower child freak barring any besotted logic. Perhaps.
The voice in my mind pushes me to pick one and so be done with it!
Pick a side!
Pick an “ism”!
Pick an “ist”!
Just do it. Let it be written, let it be done.
Yet I altercate, I deliberate, I relocate.
Anything to avoid making a choice.
Making “the” choice
The choice defining the “who” and the “what”.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Dear "Grime"
Sweet surreptitious grime
do collect
do select
do reflect
do deflect...
All lifeless, life forms
All catechisms of metropolis modernity
All illusions of grandoise grandeur
"Day" dear Day, do end
and "Grime" dear Grime, do send...
Silent odes to passer's by
Silent smiles to black, crevice digits
Silent lauds to working-class heroes
Silent morse code, codes
of what fingernail grime bodes...
do collect
do select
do reflect
do deflect...
All lifeless, life forms
All catechisms of metropolis modernity
All illusions of grandoise grandeur
"Day" dear Day, do end
and "Grime" dear Grime, do send...
Silent odes to passer's by
Silent smiles to black, crevice digits
Silent lauds to working-class heroes
Silent morse code, codes
of what fingernail grime bodes...
Capitalist Seas
Yet another one of "those" days in a string of "these" days. I am perpetually amazed at the insipid-ity of my people... have seen the worst of Lahore this week. Definitely the best of worst times.
High pitched/OFF key note, have offically become a cog in the under-paid, under-appreciated mis-under-stood, undercorporate machine....am as of Monday, feature writer at Daily Times. Jes jes am snipping off all "blissfully" nonchalant ties with the freelance business and am venturing into capitalist seas....
Dont smoke, dont drink tea
Miserable in my foregone trade
Am I bound to be
Afterthought to foreself:
Glass be half empty...however laced with black, carbonic acidy linings
Second afterthought to foreself:
CRAP! Diet starts monday, carbonated linings frizzling away, glass plain half-empty!
Third afterthought to foreself:
But glass is clean....
(Dare anyone insinuate I dont try)
High pitched/OFF key note, have offically become a cog in the under-paid, under-appreciated mis-under-stood, undercorporate machine....am as of Monday, feature writer at Daily Times. Jes jes am snipping off all "blissfully" nonchalant ties with the freelance business and am venturing into capitalist seas....
Dont smoke, dont drink tea
Miserable in my foregone trade
Am I bound to be
Afterthought to foreself:
Glass be half empty...however laced with black, carbonic acidy linings
Second afterthought to foreself:
CRAP! Diet starts monday, carbonated linings frizzling away, glass plain half-empty!
Third afterthought to foreself:
But glass is clean....
(Dare anyone insinuate I dont try)
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Table for two
Global yo-yo's spin tops on glass surfaces of eloquent moons
Us sad, lonely hearts sit and sigh our ever-impending gloom
Have never been one for romantic overtures,
but what can you do...
Looking for my lobster, at my fabled table for two.
Sans mirrors, sans history books, sans future maps
No dumb blondes, no jaded vixens, no sycophant saps
Just you and me and our self-excecuted mishaps...
"Table for two"
What can you do...'
Tis a sad, sad tale
told by an even sadder idiot.
Us sad, lonely hearts sit and sigh our ever-impending gloom
Have never been one for romantic overtures,
but what can you do...
Looking for my lobster, at my fabled table for two.
Sans mirrors, sans history books, sans future maps
No dumb blondes, no jaded vixens, no sycophant saps
Just you and me and our self-excecuted mishaps...
"Table for two"
What can you do...'
Tis a sad, sad tale
told by an even sadder idiot.
Oblivious Monk
The sheer audacity of nameless punks
To smite my core with jealous jaunts
To dye my moods with impervious colours
And rue my existence with frivolous flavours...
They rock my foundations to vaudeville acts
To frame my sensations with frivolous pacts
They shade my shame with satirical salves
To polish my character in rhetorical halves.
Of all the burlap salts in the world
Of random twinks prostrating in the cold
Of countercultural, vicodin addicted shrinks
And antiseptic emulsion so jaded it thinks...
My arcane asylums of overzealous fury
My posthuman judge and pre-human jury
My altercating reality packaged in chunks
To my everwatchful hoodlum
and my oblivious monk.
To smite my core with jealous jaunts
To dye my moods with impervious colours
And rue my existence with frivolous flavours...
They rock my foundations to vaudeville acts
To frame my sensations with frivolous pacts
They shade my shame with satirical salves
To polish my character in rhetorical halves.
Of all the burlap salts in the world
Of random twinks prostrating in the cold
Of countercultural, vicodin addicted shrinks
And antiseptic emulsion so jaded it thinks...
My arcane asylums of overzealous fury
My posthuman judge and pre-human jury
My altercating reality packaged in chunks
To my everwatchful hoodlum
and my oblivious monk.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Valenshmine's
What does one do on this unholy of holies?
Valenshmine's bloody day, my perennial excuse to mourn the fact that I am not yet one of the insipid hoppity hop- shlops who live for candy hearts and woo-some woes. Have missed yet another day of pink flowers and prettiness, have missed the chance to mock, which is a massive miss indeedio. Am angrier at bloody maulvi's for choosing today to get all their bloody turbans in a bind, wherefore I have even "missed" out on the grandoise opportunity to shop myself silly and alleviate all morose morosity.
'Tis a sad sad sad tale,
told by an ass.
Valenshmine's bloody day, my perennial excuse to mourn the fact that I am not yet one of the insipid hoppity hop- shlops who live for candy hearts and woo-some woes. Have missed yet another day of pink flowers and prettiness, have missed the chance to mock, which is a massive miss indeedio. Am angrier at bloody maulvi's for choosing today to get all their bloody turbans in a bind, wherefore I have even "missed" out on the grandoise opportunity to shop myself silly and alleviate all morose morosity.
'Tis a sad sad sad tale,
told by an ass.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
"Some" girls
Sulking in this faded prosthetic of fate
"trashed" somewhere between "nowhere" and "somehow"
.Awaiting my trepid moment of scalentic glory
Fervently seeking my sojourn from battling beasts.
I have been neglecting my brain lately,
its cerebellum layers misting over with candy floss molasses.
I have been drowning my soul lately
its truant projections ever-evading my forever-grappling grasp.
"Some" girls live by the brunt of their silly love songs
How fortunate they are in their recluse of fairy tale knights.
"Some" girls dance to obtuse 'static' ricocheting off the walls in their skeptic skull
How favorable such monotone serenades.
"Some" girls preach the holy trinity gospel's to neanderthals of heresy
How idyllic their obsidian reprieve of reticent faith.
"Some" girls pervade Calliope's sky and mitigate dream- debauchery
How frazzled their bedlam visions and Jehovah’s witnesses.
"Some" girls perennially doomed to "walk the walk" and "talk the talk" of facile mortals
How tragic their apathetic transgresses; sensei's of sanguine lies and smoked mirror's.
"Some" girls play with perfection, high atop pedestals of philistine prophecy
How gaunt their pretty faces of tableau reflections,How lurid their porcelain houses.
"Some" girls swim the winds, fly the rivers and ride the fire, all the while marching to a band all their own, in worlds of rapscallion over tides and iron gates.
How smugly content their unitone existence.
"Some" girls fade through this world, caught and plundered amidst the inertia of past, present and pitfall.
How the underdog strives
and strives
....And strives.
"trashed" somewhere between "nowhere" and "somehow"
.Awaiting my trepid moment of scalentic glory
Fervently seeking my sojourn from battling beasts.
I have been neglecting my brain lately,
its cerebellum layers misting over with candy floss molasses.
I have been drowning my soul lately
its truant projections ever-evading my forever-grappling grasp.
"Some" girls live by the brunt of their silly love songs
How fortunate they are in their recluse of fairy tale knights.
"Some" girls dance to obtuse 'static' ricocheting off the walls in their skeptic skull
How favorable such monotone serenades.
"Some" girls preach the holy trinity gospel's to neanderthals of heresy
How idyllic their obsidian reprieve of reticent faith.
"Some" girls pervade Calliope's sky and mitigate dream- debauchery
How frazzled their bedlam visions and Jehovah’s witnesses.
"Some" girls perennially doomed to "walk the walk" and "talk the talk" of facile mortals
How tragic their apathetic transgresses; sensei's of sanguine lies and smoked mirror's.
"Some" girls play with perfection, high atop pedestals of philistine prophecy
How gaunt their pretty faces of tableau reflections,How lurid their porcelain houses.
"Some" girls swim the winds, fly the rivers and ride the fire, all the while marching to a band all their own, in worlds of rapscallion over tides and iron gates.
How smugly content their unitone existence.
"Some" girls fade through this world, caught and plundered amidst the inertia of past, present and pitfall.
How the underdog strives
and strives
....And strives.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Don't!
"Don't! look at me in that tone of voice" you mandroid imp's of incontrovertible imperfections. Tread cautiously past my svengali of honest reparte'e. For here be dreagons!
"Don't! try to satiate the God in me" you philistine fanatics of ignorant fury. For I am my own woman- I am the Gurkhas in Nandu, the Hindu Atman, the Prarabdha and the zen catechism.
"Don't! move me to tears, you vivisecting demon of failed romances". Ephemeral "Georgie-Porgie" of my flaccid fantasies who kisses all the girls only to make them cry.
"Don't! bend my back and gnarl my hands, to see if I will falter" you sadist serpents of servile dominions . I bellow my boast- I won't!
so "Don't"!
"Don't! try to satiate the God in me" you philistine fanatics of ignorant fury. For I am my own woman- I am the Gurkhas in Nandu, the Hindu Atman, the Prarabdha and the zen catechism.
"Don't! move me to tears, you vivisecting demon of failed romances". Ephemeral "Georgie-Porgie" of my flaccid fantasies who kisses all the girls only to make them cry.
"Don't! bend my back and gnarl my hands, to see if I will falter" you sadist serpents of servile dominions . I bellow my boast- I won't!
so "Don't"!
Ka-fucking-buddi
Eloooo,
Am back again, as have just waded and shuffled my way out of muddy layers of subtext. As few of you know, subtext when used as frequently as I do, becomes this gooey, slushy gunk that is hardly pretty and more to the point tastes "quite" stale. Needless to say I fully intend to keep using it as the gooey, gunky familiarity is comforting, and it is hard to get dirty when you're already in the mudpit. Kabaddi, kabaddi, ka-fucking-baddi.
Am currently battling my own cess-pool swamp mud fight that has been christened across time as a "friendly family get together". Am now beginning to think that such trials and hurdles are put forth so that I can emerge triumphant and sling my own brand of smut (which has yet to fuse into a pro-active fertilizer variety, and is currently still slushy and hence disspiates before reaching its target, leaving behind a mess, which I , 'thankyou very much' need to clean later) with effective ease and winning smiles. So, no 'swamp thing' roars, or HULK howls- mine is the mantra of ascetic "polite bitchiness" in the face of karp "blatant bitchiness" which unfortunately is sadly lacking in quality lustre. Since all effective "bitchiness" is taking place in my head and all I expunge from my mouth is politeness.....note to self; must take lessons.
After note to self: dirth of inspiration to pick and choose from.
2nd after note: even a dirth of styles and accents.
Am "thunking" that I shall keep the allegorical ' "piano/anvil/ boiling oil" falling on prospective opponents, in my head" as it is all I have at the moment and has proven remarkably "un-effective" in the past. Am mourning the fact that "inner" hulk and hyde are such bloody wuss's, (Hulk turns blue instead of green, and Hyde is 3 feet tall!) and can therefore not be presented in dis-respectable society as yet.
am deliberating my stance between martyr and marauder.
Zillionth after note to present self: What deliberation... Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) trumps Gandhi any day, even though poor gandhi ji tried going it shirtless and scoring the points.
*Beeping inner bitch*....."Are you there? Wherever the hell you are, wake the f**** up! Please, please be there!"
Am back again, as have just waded and shuffled my way out of muddy layers of subtext. As few of you know, subtext when used as frequently as I do, becomes this gooey, slushy gunk that is hardly pretty and more to the point tastes "quite" stale. Needless to say I fully intend to keep using it as the gooey, gunky familiarity is comforting, and it is hard to get dirty when you're already in the mudpit. Kabaddi, kabaddi, ka-fucking-baddi.
Am currently battling my own cess-pool swamp mud fight that has been christened across time as a "friendly family get together". Am now beginning to think that such trials and hurdles are put forth so that I can emerge triumphant and sling my own brand of smut (which has yet to fuse into a pro-active fertilizer variety, and is currently still slushy and hence disspiates before reaching its target, leaving behind a mess, which I , 'thankyou very much' need to clean later) with effective ease and winning smiles. So, no 'swamp thing' roars, or HULK howls- mine is the mantra of ascetic "polite bitchiness" in the face of karp "blatant bitchiness" which unfortunately is sadly lacking in quality lustre. Since all effective "bitchiness" is taking place in my head and all I expunge from my mouth is politeness.....note to self; must take lessons.
After note to self: dirth of inspiration to pick and choose from.
2nd after note: even a dirth of styles and accents.
Am "thunking" that I shall keep the allegorical ' "piano/anvil/ boiling oil" falling on prospective opponents, in my head" as it is all I have at the moment and has proven remarkably "un-effective" in the past. Am mourning the fact that "inner" hulk and hyde are such bloody wuss's, (Hulk turns blue instead of green, and Hyde is 3 feet tall!) and can therefore not be presented in dis-respectable society as yet.
am deliberating my stance between martyr and marauder.
Zillionth after note to present self: What deliberation... Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) trumps Gandhi any day, even though poor gandhi ji tried going it shirtless and scoring the points.
*Beeping inner bitch*....."Are you there? Wherever the hell you are, wake the f**** up! Please, please be there!"
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