Again I face my proverbial 'writers dilemma'.
People ask me, so casually "what do you do?" and I always respond in kind, hard pressed to describe that I merely do what I am...
"I am a writer, I say" and the vibes unnervingly shift.
Presumptuous girl! thinks of herself as a writer! For some reason calling myself a writer is different from saying that I am an MBA or an Engineer, there are no degrees to prove the point and regardless of my quest for one, there will never be a degree to prove this particular point. I say so, because I wish to be nothing else. I never claim I am any good, merely that I am.
And now I fear I have lost my rights. I need to jolt my being yet again, with application forms and 'personal statements' to prove that I 'do' what I simply DO.
But 'Do' I shall, make no mistake about it. You always said that I should know my place and my worth and aim low in consequence. I fear that I cannot comply. I shall apply to Oxford, dear Father, if only to prove that I had the courage to do so and that I am not merely a waste of living space. I shall fail, in all probability, but not for a lack of trying as you anticipated.
You always said that I was an artist because I didnt have the capacity or brains to be anything else.
You were right.
I didnt.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Rembrandt Rhapsody
And they say it never ends...
The wheels keep on turning and the scars just keep on burning.
Why does it never end?
Why is it never enough?
I feel like a maxed-out credit card, an overused trash can for emotional dumping. At the same time I marvel at my ability to bounce back everytime I feel that the world and life has pushed me over the edge. I curse this 'so-called' gift. Infact I dont know if reality lies in the fact that the world never ends or my will, one of them SHOULD.
I feel too much like a Rembrandt painting, splashed to splendour with burning colours. Hardly any room left for detail or vision. And so the question begs the asking...
How can i paint more on the same canvas, without whitewashing or starting over?
The wheels keep on turning and the scars just keep on burning.
Why does it never end?
Why is it never enough?
I feel like a maxed-out credit card, an overused trash can for emotional dumping. At the same time I marvel at my ability to bounce back everytime I feel that the world and life has pushed me over the edge. I curse this 'so-called' gift. Infact I dont know if reality lies in the fact that the world never ends or my will, one of them SHOULD.
I feel too much like a Rembrandt painting, splashed to splendour with burning colours. Hardly any room left for detail or vision. And so the question begs the asking...
How can i paint more on the same canvas, without whitewashing or starting over?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Shall we Dance
It is the oddest sensation in the world to dress up and play 'doll' for a bunch of people to 'see' if your worth their sons. Odd, frightening, ridiculous, disparaging and downright depressing.
Fo the record: I hate the 'real world'.
All I see is a silk parade of life-long dreams frizzling away, unhinged and drappled at the seams. There is no Prince Charming.
There is no " You too crazy Marius Cancerius Newbus? I like crazy."
The sad part is I actually waited for him and giving up on 'the one' dream for 'the anyone' flack is a mean wake-up call. Plain mean.
There's only you sitting infront of strangers showing a face you dont wear well and a brain that doesnt speak at all.
We've just been introduced
I do not know you well
but something in the air just seemed to draw me to your side.
on the clear understanding, that this kind of thing can happen
Shall we Dance?
1-2-3- And...
*Plop*
Fo the record: I hate the 'real world'.
All I see is a silk parade of life-long dreams frizzling away, unhinged and drappled at the seams. There is no Prince Charming.
There is no " You too crazy Marius Cancerius Newbus? I like crazy."
The sad part is I actually waited for him and giving up on 'the one' dream for 'the anyone' flack is a mean wake-up call. Plain mean.
There's only you sitting infront of strangers showing a face you dont wear well and a brain that doesnt speak at all.
We've just been introduced
I do not know you well
but something in the air just seemed to draw me to your side.
on the clear understanding, that this kind of thing can happen
Shall we Dance?
1-2-3- And...
*Plop*
?
Riddle me this...
Dear 'riding the riddle-dom rise and fall rollercoaster' Girl
What goes up, then comes down
then shows up and shuts down
What turns every spectrum color
only to revert to sodden flavor...
Dear Self, do not take offence. I simply needed to classify a class to which you cramp, crush and create my crumbling castles in the air.
Dear 'riding the riddle-dom rise and fall rollercoaster' Girl
What goes up, then comes down
then shows up and shuts down
What turns every spectrum color
only to revert to sodden flavor...
Dear Self, do not take offence. I simply needed to classify a class to which you cramp, crush and create my crumbling castles in the air.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Happy Budday Asma!
Testiment Paramout Panorama that awaits my frivolity-fractured-friend:
HAPPY BUDDAY
Many happy returns and dividends resulting ofcourse, from MY, my, MY "Super- deluxe Birthday package" await you.
*( I have decided to update deluxe status to 'sooper'/ southpark innuendo deluxe status: a) because i out did myself, and b) because i can, and i have pitifully few such moments of grandeur)
Dont you just pity Da fool! dontcha? Dontcha?
Anyhow may your new 'crown-jewels' jewellery CROWN your crowning 'glory' to crown great great heights for your highness on future thrones a many.
HAPPY BUDDAY
Many happy returns and dividends resulting ofcourse, from MY, my, MY "Super- deluxe Birthday package" await you.
*( I have decided to update deluxe status to 'sooper'/ southpark innuendo deluxe status: a) because i out did myself, and b) because i can, and i have pitifully few such moments of grandeur)
Dont you just pity Da fool! dontcha? Dontcha?
Anyhow may your new 'crown-jewels' jewellery CROWN your crowning 'glory' to crown great great heights for your highness on future thrones a many.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
I wish I was a Mermaid
Silent tumors of my torrent dreams
I wish I was a mermaid,
sailing in a bathtub of midnight waltz's
But dreams get lost in tiny paper cups
The antichrist starves sitting in my kitchen
as I wait to slave away in garbage trucks
Mermaid genes elusive in an icicle tart
Silent years and screaming tears of raging rotten art
A 'special girl' sitting alone with her really deep thoughts
Tell me whats so pretty about 'really deep thoughts' ?
I wish I was a mermaid sailing silent shadow puddles
No quiet screams lost in my paper cup
No magenta clouded, choked fears of 'really deep thoughts'
No 'one more' casualty soul hitting solid rocks.
The sky is falling falling falling
And I hear my voice talking' really really deep thoughts'
smiling silent tears and pungent years
Turn me to stone, will you
Burn me to chrome will you
Take away all these 'really deep thoughts'
Because I wish I was a Mermaid.
I wish I was a mermaid,
sailing in a bathtub of midnight waltz's
But dreams get lost in tiny paper cups
The antichrist starves sitting in my kitchen
as I wait to slave away in garbage trucks
Mermaid genes elusive in an icicle tart
Silent years and screaming tears of raging rotten art
A 'special girl' sitting alone with her really deep thoughts
Tell me whats so pretty about 'really deep thoughts' ?
I wish I was a mermaid sailing silent shadow puddles
No quiet screams lost in my paper cup
No magenta clouded, choked fears of 'really deep thoughts'
No 'one more' casualty soul hitting solid rocks.
The sky is falling falling falling
And I hear my voice talking' really really deep thoughts'
smiling silent tears and pungent years
Turn me to stone, will you
Burn me to chrome will you
Take away all these 'really deep thoughts'
Because I wish I was a Mermaid.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Monkeyman paging Tweeter
I find myself yet again at the beginning of the end of the end of the beginning.
Proclivity uninvited.
I am the Monkey man, unbidden in my quest, but bidden by myself.
No Tweeter in sight: no self-effacing self to whitewash my self-depracating image.
Just another proverbial pickle for my persnickety person to ponder over. Perhaps what I fear most at present is the fact that I am dreadfully unsure of my calibre, in all things and in all questions. Why am I so apprehensive of my potential, or moreover of what that potential represents?
I am forever told by friends and foes alike that I have talent, should I choose to use it anywhere outside myself and my selfserving world. I am told that I even posess a degree of tenacity when I choose to acknowledge it, but this so-called gift remains the one thing I cannot find or see or crave for that matter. My Tweeter is doomed to lurk in shadows. I am a little too content in Monkey man cocoons, it seems. Moreover, I am not sure if this self depracation draws from some perverse, deep-rooted fear or a misplaced, innate calling for humility. What really is humility?
Is it pretending one is not talented or gifted, so that we appear likeable?
Is it the chitter chirping for "one more banana" all the f***** time? Or is it ignoring those gifts and talents till you believe the pretence? Because for some reason, it is easier to absolve ones self of responsibility for wasting ones' potential, when you convince your being there is no longer a 'self' left to lose.
The rolling winds will blow,
blow it all and row
But the Monkey man who knows
Will never Ever know
Why am I so ever-ready to comply and compromise my vision, simply to glean approval from all corners, even when the approval does not particularly hold much importance for me? Having just said so, i realise it isnt humility it is plain, reprehensible F-E-A-R.
Of what, I dont think I shall ever know.
And the walls came down all the way to hell
Never saw them when they're standing
Never saw them when they fell (Dylan)
Proclivity uninvited.
I am the Monkey man, unbidden in my quest, but bidden by myself.
No Tweeter in sight: no self-effacing self to whitewash my self-depracating image.
Just another proverbial pickle for my persnickety person to ponder over. Perhaps what I fear most at present is the fact that I am dreadfully unsure of my calibre, in all things and in all questions. Why am I so apprehensive of my potential, or moreover of what that potential represents?
I am forever told by friends and foes alike that I have talent, should I choose to use it anywhere outside myself and my selfserving world. I am told that I even posess a degree of tenacity when I choose to acknowledge it, but this so-called gift remains the one thing I cannot find or see or crave for that matter. My Tweeter is doomed to lurk in shadows. I am a little too content in Monkey man cocoons, it seems. Moreover, I am not sure if this self depracation draws from some perverse, deep-rooted fear or a misplaced, innate calling for humility. What really is humility?
Is it pretending one is not talented or gifted, so that we appear likeable?
Is it the chitter chirping for "one more banana" all the f***** time? Or is it ignoring those gifts and talents till you believe the pretence? Because for some reason, it is easier to absolve ones self of responsibility for wasting ones' potential, when you convince your being there is no longer a 'self' left to lose.
The rolling winds will blow,
blow it all and row
But the Monkey man who knows
Will never Ever know
Why am I so ever-ready to comply and compromise my vision, simply to glean approval from all corners, even when the approval does not particularly hold much importance for me? Having just said so, i realise it isnt humility it is plain, reprehensible F-E-A-R.
Of what, I dont think I shall ever know.
And the walls came down all the way to hell
Never saw them when they're standing
Never saw them when they fell (Dylan)
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Tracking 'Tiny Toony' times
A much needed blast from the past.
Yes, My past is much inbibed of blissful naivete'.
We're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little looney,
And in this cartoony, we're invading your TV!
We're comic dispensers, we crack up all the censors,
On tiny toon adventures get a dose of comedy!
So here's Acme Acres, it's a whole wide world apart,
Our home sweet home, it stands alone, a cartoon work of art!
The scripts were rejected, expect the unexpected
On tiny toon adventures it's about to start!
They're furry, they're funny, they're Babs and Buster Bunny,
Montana Max has money, Elmyra is a pain!
Here's Hamton and Plucky, Dizzy Devil's yucky,
Furrball's unlucky, and Gogo is insane!
At Acme Looniversity we earn our toon degree,
The teaching staff's been getting laughs since 1933!
We're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little looney,
It's tiny toon adventures, come and join the fun!
And now our song is done!
Yes, My past is much inbibed of blissful naivete'.
We're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little looney,
And in this cartoony, we're invading your TV!
We're comic dispensers, we crack up all the censors,
On tiny toon adventures get a dose of comedy!
So here's Acme Acres, it's a whole wide world apart,
Our home sweet home, it stands alone, a cartoon work of art!
The scripts were rejected, expect the unexpected
On tiny toon adventures it's about to start!
They're furry, they're funny, they're Babs and Buster Bunny,
Montana Max has money, Elmyra is a pain!
Here's Hamton and Plucky, Dizzy Devil's yucky,
Furrball's unlucky, and Gogo is insane!
At Acme Looniversity we earn our toon degree,
The teaching staff's been getting laughs since 1933!
We're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little looney,
It's tiny toon adventures, come and join the fun!
And now our song is done!
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Varmin't Im a gonna...
Just one of them bad-mad-sad-mad again days, when all I see is red. Considering im a cancerian, not a taurus, that basically doesnt mean anything beyond the proverbial passive-aggressive I. So all that amounts to, is that fact that im damned prissy today!
No championing, raging temper.
No excessive tantrums.
Just the after note to foreself epiphany:
People are deth-picable!
Ego and I have decided as of now, to boycott humanity and try our luck in Dum-dum Land on yonder in a bloody ass galaxy - Far, far, far ass away... six-feet-under?
Perhaps.
But for now, there is no Looniversity, there is no glitter glue to put Humpty- fucking- Dumpty back together again , there is no silver lining.
Only mulch spreads and crappity-crap folk.
So I stand proud as I hope to YAWP this out loud....
"Varmint, I'ma Gonna Blow Yah'all T'Smithereens!"
No championing, raging temper.
No excessive tantrums.
Just the after note to foreself epiphany:
People are deth-picable!
Ego and I have decided as of now, to boycott humanity and try our luck in Dum-dum Land on yonder in a bloody ass galaxy - Far, far, far ass away... six-feet-under?
Perhaps.
But for now, there is no Looniversity, there is no glitter glue to put Humpty- fucking- Dumpty back together again , there is no silver lining.
Only mulch spreads and crappity-crap folk.
So I stand proud as I hope to YAWP this out loud....
"Varmint, I'ma Gonna Blow Yah'all T'Smithereens!"
Friday, June 16, 2006
The Pencil Monologues
She leads us on again, Dear Page.
Farther and further, through lurid landscapes and storm synagogues. I have yet to comprehend our journey. Is it really a quest as we always believed, or is it simply her passivity on scroll? Are we merely slaves to her blind scratches against unopened doors, are we only pawns in her cursed polemics directed at blind beasts?
Is she leading us, or is she being led by something more primeval and jaded than her dreams? I sense of late, that she doesn’t really know where she is going either. The former force of her convictions is missing, the grounded imprints I earlier scarred your surface with, even before she manoeuvred my placid form, are now markedly absent. I glide passively, wavering constantly upon words that she has yet to deliberate. I hang proverbially over emotions she is hard pressed to reveal. Is this really the same voyage, Page? Is this really the same Captain?
Have we both been led falsely? Set forth blindly in hyperbole typhoons and a torrent of tepidity, without any hope of finding a dream, hers or ours. I finally believe both dreams are the same, no longer am I content to merely float with her whims, to be sought out and blessed with the divided attention she casually throws my way. I seek the shores she seeks and I cannot stomach being led on so far, only to land back in the inane puddles from whence I came. She has shown me too much, I can no longer be content without seeing more.
Can we bear such a betrayal, Page? I know you have always been less concerned about the journey than I, but that is only because you are the canvas…doomed perpetually, to be the last to know, the last in the loop, the last to be taken in confidence. But I am the first, and so this impending betrayal stings bitterly. It is I who am the storyteller and tell me Page, what good is a storyteller without a story? More importantly, what good is a story if she has lost faith in it?
Page, I feel we are perched precariously at the precipice of her convictions and her conscience. She needs us now, more than she realises.
“O Captain, My Captain”
Your crew awaits…
Ready to set sail on the sea of your stories
Ready to pounce every port of your passions
Ready to re-shuffle every rise and fall of your being
Ready to storm through safe shores and stone walls
…Ready and waiting on your words, Captain.
Farther and further, through lurid landscapes and storm synagogues. I have yet to comprehend our journey. Is it really a quest as we always believed, or is it simply her passivity on scroll? Are we merely slaves to her blind scratches against unopened doors, are we only pawns in her cursed polemics directed at blind beasts?
Is she leading us, or is she being led by something more primeval and jaded than her dreams? I sense of late, that she doesn’t really know where she is going either. The former force of her convictions is missing, the grounded imprints I earlier scarred your surface with, even before she manoeuvred my placid form, are now markedly absent. I glide passively, wavering constantly upon words that she has yet to deliberate. I hang proverbially over emotions she is hard pressed to reveal. Is this really the same voyage, Page? Is this really the same Captain?
Have we both been led falsely? Set forth blindly in hyperbole typhoons and a torrent of tepidity, without any hope of finding a dream, hers or ours. I finally believe both dreams are the same, no longer am I content to merely float with her whims, to be sought out and blessed with the divided attention she casually throws my way. I seek the shores she seeks and I cannot stomach being led on so far, only to land back in the inane puddles from whence I came. She has shown me too much, I can no longer be content without seeing more.
Can we bear such a betrayal, Page? I know you have always been less concerned about the journey than I, but that is only because you are the canvas…doomed perpetually, to be the last to know, the last in the loop, the last to be taken in confidence. But I am the first, and so this impending betrayal stings bitterly. It is I who am the storyteller and tell me Page, what good is a storyteller without a story? More importantly, what good is a story if she has lost faith in it?
Page, I feel we are perched precariously at the precipice of her convictions and her conscience. She needs us now, more than she realises.
“O Captain, My Captain”
Your crew awaits…
Ready to set sail on the sea of your stories
Ready to pounce every port of your passions
Ready to re-shuffle every rise and fall of your being
Ready to storm through safe shores and stone walls
…Ready and waiting on your words, Captain.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Fi Fei Fo Fum
Resolution for life: Be HAPPY!
At all costs, at all prices and at all ends.
Inspite, despite and in respite from all those that surround me.
Fi Fei Fo Fum
Why so glum?
So glum chum...
will need to work on it.
At all costs, at all prices and at all ends.
Inspite, despite and in respite from all those that surround me.
Fi Fei Fo Fum
Why so glum?
So glum chum...
will need to work on it.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
I discover a truth- a-minute it seems. Ironic considering I have known few that believe in truths of any variety. Some elusive idea every moment, that is designed to shake me to my core if I let it and it appears that I do.
Of late it is the fact that I truly envy people their convictions. Their inherent faith and trust in the Almighty and the Powers that BE. Perhaps it is because my relationship with the said powers is proverbially 'on the rocks'? Is that why I am inanely resentful or regressively pretentious regarding those who find their paths in right, ritual and routine.
I believe... truly, completely and unquenchingly in His/Her existence, however, I simply cannot bring myself to believe in the 'systems' designed to bring us both closer.What is worse is the fact that I now, feel I often rub people off the wrong way when it comes to faith, perhaps I am merely defensive or is that I 'really' am judgmental?
Because the latter would contradict all I hope I could ever stand for.
Of late it is the fact that I truly envy people their convictions. Their inherent faith and trust in the Almighty and the Powers that BE. Perhaps it is because my relationship with the said powers is proverbially 'on the rocks'? Is that why I am inanely resentful or regressively pretentious regarding those who find their paths in right, ritual and routine.
I believe... truly, completely and unquenchingly in His/Her existence, however, I simply cannot bring myself to believe in the 'systems' designed to bring us both closer.What is worse is the fact that I now, feel I often rub people off the wrong way when it comes to faith, perhaps I am merely defensive or is that I 'really' am judgmental?
Because the latter would contradict all I hope I could ever stand for.
It seems the world is made for intermittent fuck-ups, many of which seem to align themselves with my not-so-gracious presence at present.
No! I dont give a bloody damn if you think I should try to be more ambitious, im not. I do things in my own time, I am not idle and im not a slacker, I just dont have ladders to climb, I sail proverbially in my own pond and I bloody well like it. So for God's sake leave me be, I am content, reconciled finally with my mind, my heart and my multiple selves.
And if thats not bloody go-getter enough, I couldn't care less!
No! I dont give a bloody damn if you think I should try to be more ambitious, im not. I do things in my own time, I am not idle and im not a slacker, I just dont have ladders to climb, I sail proverbially in my own pond and I bloody well like it. So for God's sake leave me be, I am content, reconciled finally with my mind, my heart and my multiple selves.
And if thats not bloody go-getter enough, I couldn't care less!
Friday, June 09, 2006
'Happily Never After'
Irony of ironies:
I find myself gunned down by vociferous grand-mommy, so to speak. Called in for questioning, for display on a pedestal put, marriag-iable material and ‘look at’ worth-ed by anonymous clan of clamouring marauders who have apparently very little expectations.
Grand-mommy: Maria he is rich and handsome AND he is parha likha!
Maria: OH-MY-GOD, are you serious Nano? Check, check AND check! You mean no rapist, murderer, marauder, philanderer on his CV. But that is ‘just’ too much, I don’t deserve such exaltedness, what am I to DO. How am I to ever match up!
I discover that my sweet, generally soft-spoken grandmother has multiple talents, which go far beyond her tremendous reach of frozen-food expertise, boiled salt cooking, brilliant house keeping and finishing school running. Yes! Them Gemini’s they never give it a rest with the coin tossingdom. So all of a sudden grandma is red, sweaty with non-light-sabre in hand, standing in front of Castle Grey-Skull screaming “ I have the POWER” and that she do. Crap!
Grand-mommy: Why do you never give people a chance? What is wrong with you?
Maria: HAH!
She-man glare (which is notch up from he-man, cause it has both tenses of the men-ses (hmm … am pushing with joke? Push!)
Maria: OK fine! What do I gotta do?
Grand-mommy: You just have to be nice, and meet them. Keep an open mind, and PLEASE don’t act like yourself!
Sheesh!
Maria: I’m not bringing in any tray!
Grand-mommy: But..
Maria: N-O.
Apparently I have She-ra genes, as it so happens, in small doses do they assert their assertiveness on occasion. But I never question them’ good things.
Grand-mommy: You never know it could be great, it could be a fairytale!
Maria: Ooh ooh! A fairytale! I is being Beentherella in Tritan seas with glass fin-slippers. Hoop La!
(Fade to Blue)
Rehearsal time: Night.
Hmmm…. What to iron for showcasing self for prospective fairy-tale in laws, hmm?
After much deliberation I have decided, colour is always key, and which colour? You see, the general yellow and crazy orange is too much in ‘I’ gusto, but much a rookie mistake would it be to be ‘I’. Much ala too much.
Hmm… am left with but two options, proverbial ‘Blue’ and ‘Pink’, however tragedy indicates that in ‘Sleeping Beauty’ (which just so happened to have the second-most handsome prince, since Eric from Little Mermaid, would mean me being going ahem ‘au naturel’…hmm, definitely not), so am left altercating between two hues which the ‘two’ good fairies, battled over.
* Pause film at THE END….YEYY!
Blue, it is!
Outfit……check.
Fairy tales need a theme no? hmm hmm…
Traditional mood music?
Consience:Maria “Froggie went a courting it was supposed to be!?!”
Maria: Hmm yes Conscience, but too ‘Old Mc Donald’ had a farm of 'would-be' masochistic reptiles that is, to be saving that for wedding march.
Hmm….“Don’t stand so close to me?” Definitely not! Very inappropriate teacher-student insinuation does that conjure.
“All I really wanna do, is baby be friends with you?”. Where is the fun in THAT?!
All hail moment of proverbial epiphany!
Proverbial Epiphany: “She wants me” Belle and Sebastian.Hoop la!
Mood music / Fairy tale Theme….check!
Cuisine is integral to prepare for Fairy Tale, ergo, calling for something sweet.
Hmm Hazelnut Brownies…check.
Bottle of ‘Elixir of Life’, in black, red and oh-so- white…check.
*Mommy calls
Mommy: I heard, your ok with this.
Maria: Did you know that this could be a fairytale?
Mommy: No.
Maria: Silver linings, mother!
Mommy: In that case, please Don’t be you. At least not the ‘you-est you can be!”
SHEESH!
Beauty sleep……checking, checking, checking….check.
Could-be, should be (damn them would-be’s never on my side!)…D-Day
Morning Alarm 1 pm
Snooze... check.
*Knock on door
Door opens to showcase frozen smile ear-to ear, middle aged couple, mid-laughter.
Grand-mommy- turning to she-man in front of Self (who is non- made up in blue) eyes by silently invoking power of grey- Skull.
Self looks at I. Navy blue T-shirt with three count em’ three moth holes in strategically-un-strategic places (whew!), Neon green Shalwar, dilapidated to prime-fine sleeping condition, sleep tousled hair ooh la la and morning breath…Bah.
Grand-mommy: (embarrassed smile) Meh, she just woke up!
De-frosted-smile couple: Hello, beta.
Maria: Why helooooooooo!
Maria: Fairy tale…Why, good byeeeeeeeeeeee!
*Sigh*
Maria: Self?
Self: Yes Maria?
Maria: Meet I.
Self: Hello I.
Maria: May you both live Happily Ever After.
I find myself gunned down by vociferous grand-mommy, so to speak. Called in for questioning, for display on a pedestal put, marriag-iable material and ‘look at’ worth-ed by anonymous clan of clamouring marauders who have apparently very little expectations.
Grand-mommy: Maria he is rich and handsome AND he is parha likha!
Maria: OH-MY-GOD, are you serious Nano? Check, check AND check! You mean no rapist, murderer, marauder, philanderer on his CV. But that is ‘just’ too much, I don’t deserve such exaltedness, what am I to DO. How am I to ever match up!
I discover that my sweet, generally soft-spoken grandmother has multiple talents, which go far beyond her tremendous reach of frozen-food expertise, boiled salt cooking, brilliant house keeping and finishing school running. Yes! Them Gemini’s they never give it a rest with the coin tossingdom. So all of a sudden grandma is red, sweaty with non-light-sabre in hand, standing in front of Castle Grey-Skull screaming “ I have the POWER” and that she do. Crap!
Grand-mommy: Why do you never give people a chance? What is wrong with you?
Maria: HAH!
She-man glare (which is notch up from he-man, cause it has both tenses of the men-ses (hmm … am pushing with joke? Push!)
Maria: OK fine! What do I gotta do?
Grand-mommy: You just have to be nice, and meet them. Keep an open mind, and PLEASE don’t act like yourself!
Sheesh!
Maria: I’m not bringing in any tray!
Grand-mommy: But..
Maria: N-O.
Apparently I have She-ra genes, as it so happens, in small doses do they assert their assertiveness on occasion. But I never question them’ good things.
Grand-mommy: You never know it could be great, it could be a fairytale!
Maria: Ooh ooh! A fairytale! I is being Beentherella in Tritan seas with glass fin-slippers. Hoop La!
(Fade to Blue)
Rehearsal time: Night.
Hmmm…. What to iron for showcasing self for prospective fairy-tale in laws, hmm?
After much deliberation I have decided, colour is always key, and which colour? You see, the general yellow and crazy orange is too much in ‘I’ gusto, but much a rookie mistake would it be to be ‘I’. Much ala too much.
Hmm… am left with but two options, proverbial ‘Blue’ and ‘Pink’, however tragedy indicates that in ‘Sleeping Beauty’ (which just so happened to have the second-most handsome prince, since Eric from Little Mermaid, would mean me being going ahem ‘au naturel’…hmm, definitely not), so am left altercating between two hues which the ‘two’ good fairies, battled over.
* Pause film at THE END….YEYY!
Blue, it is!
Outfit……check.
Fairy tales need a theme no? hmm hmm…
Traditional mood music?
Consience:Maria “Froggie went a courting it was supposed to be!?!”
Maria: Hmm yes Conscience, but too ‘Old Mc Donald’ had a farm of 'would-be' masochistic reptiles that is, to be saving that for wedding march.
Hmm….“Don’t stand so close to me?” Definitely not! Very inappropriate teacher-student insinuation does that conjure.
“All I really wanna do, is baby be friends with you?”. Where is the fun in THAT?!
All hail moment of proverbial epiphany!
Proverbial Epiphany: “She wants me” Belle and Sebastian.Hoop la!
Mood music / Fairy tale Theme….check!
Cuisine is integral to prepare for Fairy Tale, ergo, calling for something sweet.
Hmm Hazelnut Brownies…check.
Bottle of ‘Elixir of Life’, in black, red and oh-so- white…check.
*Mommy calls
Mommy: I heard, your ok with this.
Maria: Did you know that this could be a fairytale?
Mommy: No.
Maria: Silver linings, mother!
Mommy: In that case, please Don’t be you. At least not the ‘you-est you can be!”
SHEESH!
Beauty sleep……checking, checking, checking….check.
Could-be, should be (damn them would-be’s never on my side!)…D-Day
Morning Alarm 1 pm
Snooze... check.
*Knock on door
Door opens to showcase frozen smile ear-to ear, middle aged couple, mid-laughter.
Grand-mommy- turning to she-man in front of Self (who is non- made up in blue) eyes by silently invoking power of grey- Skull.
Self looks at I. Navy blue T-shirt with three count em’ three moth holes in strategically-un-strategic places (whew!), Neon green Shalwar, dilapidated to prime-fine sleeping condition, sleep tousled hair ooh la la and morning breath…Bah.
Grand-mommy: (embarrassed smile) Meh, she just woke up!
De-frosted-smile couple: Hello, beta.
Maria: Why helooooooooo!
Maria: Fairy tale…Why, good byeeeeeeeeeeee!
*Sigh*
Maria: Self?
Self: Yes Maria?
Maria: Meet I.
Self: Hello I.
Maria: May you both live Happily Ever After.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
She-man
Hell hath no fury like She-man
as S-he caves twice in one fight
Drinking and dancing the Holy night
To sadist Shambalah stage fright
Every bum in every corner
Out to chance her
then romance her,
later prance her...
never dance her.
As holy spirits cry at naked moons of mighty expectations
Beckoning snakes and ladders open forbidden doors
in lonely towers of lost sighs and winsome cries
Dread as Hell on Sunday morning
Dead as Heaven on Saturday night
Pagan bigot redemption to amend all warning
Mystery sins of freedom faded sight
Winds of change and the sands of death
to 'crunch' in time and 'steal' in stealth...
The ills of youth that aren't worth a dime
The lone damned sage goes crazy thrice
Once for the Devil and
once for Christ
But the Man aint in' to grade that jaded price
as S-he caves twice in one fight
Drinking and dancing the Holy night
To sadist Shambalah stage fright
Every bum in every corner
Out to chance her
then romance her,
later prance her...
never dance her.
As holy spirits cry at naked moons of mighty expectations
Beckoning snakes and ladders open forbidden doors
in lonely towers of lost sighs and winsome cries
Dread as Hell on Sunday morning
Dead as Heaven on Saturday night
Pagan bigot redemption to amend all warning
Mystery sins of freedom faded sight
Winds of change and the sands of death
to 'crunch' in time and 'steal' in stealth...
The ills of youth that aren't worth a dime
The lone damned sage goes crazy thrice
Once for the Devil and
once for Christ
But the Man aint in' to grade that jaded price
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Both my Houses
A plague upon both my houses….
I feel I am truly ill equipped to deal with the loss of innocence and free being that age brings. Or is it simply that I prefer my denial to my revival? I am told repeatedly that ‘growing up’ means acting it, being embellished in some form or the other by a glossy maturity, a thin veil of stance that indicates an intelligence that is complex and not naïve.
I am forever struggling with myself, it seems. On a perennial quest to prove that I am happy, but I usually succeed. So I ask myself, even if my ‘happy’ emerges out of denial, does that make it any less real? If God doesn’t exist, yet I have faith, is that not still a worth wile pursuit for peace? Vile within and smile without?
Somehow my limited experience has brought me to the point where I need to create a touch of magic in everything. Somehow, anyhow…because I am near positive, that if I don’t see it everyday, it will cease to exist, or worse yet I will seize to place faith in it. It is my way or the highway, all by-way’s are blocked. My life is absolutely devoid of absolutes. I forever float in grey skies and swim in mulch seas, yet this is one ‘black’ that I need. My quest for happiness, real or not, must not meander, it must maintain itself.
Perhaps this is why, I devote so much time and energy in acting the fool …to see people laugh, to collect and intricately connect a series of manufactured moments, where I have played the wizard. Moments purely of my making, or so I need to believe. I Read horoscopes, bench personalised CD’s, dance and sing for people, crack inane jokes to yield even weirder responses: be they in the form of laughter, smirks or an extended impediment of eye-rolling. Regardless, they are still a reaction, and that is enough.
I suppose the real glitch of it is, that I am never funny or remotely interesting in person, the more time I spend with myself the farther the magic wanes and the dimmer its glow gets. That is when I lurch myself out of the Self and hurl my body into action; hunt for an ice-cream, watch an old movie, dance to the obtuse tangents in my head. Anything, to shine again, often I fear I haunt myself, far too much, for my own good. Making people laugh, isn’t taxing in the least, it is probably the easiest thing for me to do when it comes to a defense mechanism, and usually the easiest for others to stomach.
Yet I miss the old days.
The old houses.
The old you’s and the old me’s.
I long for the time when bad fashion and horrible taste was a given, when songs like “Hawwa Hawwa” and “Dil dil Pakistan” were anthems and Mitchells Bon Bon’s were staple foods. Times when PTV and NTM made sense, in fact the random themes of run around shows were gospel. I long for televised re-tabulations of An-kahi’s and Tanhayaaan’s, where ‘Kehne mein kya harj he?” and “Kabaacha’s” seemed cool. I long for the same adrenaline rush that only the Loony Toons theme and Thundercats could elicit. The thirst that only coke and country pine could quench. The wonder that could only be experienced when it rained and you were allowed to go out and get completely drenched. I long for ice-cream in its original splendor and simplicity: a Jet Sport ice-lolly and a Yummy’s Choco-bar. I long for the times when even in all their perverse irrationalism jingles for Naz Pan masaala, Dentonic and Diamond Supreme stuck and reverberated in your head for days. I long for times when the entire family had to sleep in the same room, because there was only one AC running. I long for the days when ‘play’ meant Barf Paani, Rang and Tip Top instead of Play ‘station’.
Yet I see myself now, ‘trying’ to stay true to myself. Always a self that meets the standards I have already set for an acceptable I. ‘Act silly Maria, but make it witty and snappish’. ‘Paint Maria, but make it a shape, no more silly rainbows’. ‘Watch movies Maria, but make them movies that have a point’ (luckily 7 year old me usually wins on this one). ‘Listen to music Maria, but save ‘Smooth Criminal’ for your head phones’. ‘Dress up Maria, but make sure you pull off, even your own patented bizarre- bohemian rhapsody’. ‘Eat up Maria, but please spare us with the Mitchell’s butter scotch and the quest for Yummy’s Panda’…
I suppose it is rather hypocritical of me, to long for the past that haunts me, to yearn for the life I hide from. Perhaps I wait for the day, when I will simply sit in my chair with a book and the lights fade lead to a wipe-out screen in a flash of dazzling orange halo’s and a magic marker scrawling…..
“That’s all Folks!”
I feel I am truly ill equipped to deal with the loss of innocence and free being that age brings. Or is it simply that I prefer my denial to my revival? I am told repeatedly that ‘growing up’ means acting it, being embellished in some form or the other by a glossy maturity, a thin veil of stance that indicates an intelligence that is complex and not naïve.
I am forever struggling with myself, it seems. On a perennial quest to prove that I am happy, but I usually succeed. So I ask myself, even if my ‘happy’ emerges out of denial, does that make it any less real? If God doesn’t exist, yet I have faith, is that not still a worth wile pursuit for peace? Vile within and smile without?
Somehow my limited experience has brought me to the point where I need to create a touch of magic in everything. Somehow, anyhow…because I am near positive, that if I don’t see it everyday, it will cease to exist, or worse yet I will seize to place faith in it. It is my way or the highway, all by-way’s are blocked. My life is absolutely devoid of absolutes. I forever float in grey skies and swim in mulch seas, yet this is one ‘black’ that I need. My quest for happiness, real or not, must not meander, it must maintain itself.
Perhaps this is why, I devote so much time and energy in acting the fool …to see people laugh, to collect and intricately connect a series of manufactured moments, where I have played the wizard. Moments purely of my making, or so I need to believe. I Read horoscopes, bench personalised CD’s, dance and sing for people, crack inane jokes to yield even weirder responses: be they in the form of laughter, smirks or an extended impediment of eye-rolling. Regardless, they are still a reaction, and that is enough.
I suppose the real glitch of it is, that I am never funny or remotely interesting in person, the more time I spend with myself the farther the magic wanes and the dimmer its glow gets. That is when I lurch myself out of the Self and hurl my body into action; hunt for an ice-cream, watch an old movie, dance to the obtuse tangents in my head. Anything, to shine again, often I fear I haunt myself, far too much, for my own good. Making people laugh, isn’t taxing in the least, it is probably the easiest thing for me to do when it comes to a defense mechanism, and usually the easiest for others to stomach.
Yet I miss the old days.
The old houses.
The old you’s and the old me’s.
I long for the time when bad fashion and horrible taste was a given, when songs like “Hawwa Hawwa” and “Dil dil Pakistan” were anthems and Mitchells Bon Bon’s were staple foods. Times when PTV and NTM made sense, in fact the random themes of run around shows were gospel. I long for televised re-tabulations of An-kahi’s and Tanhayaaan’s, where ‘Kehne mein kya harj he?” and “Kabaacha’s” seemed cool. I long for the same adrenaline rush that only the Loony Toons theme and Thundercats could elicit. The thirst that only coke and country pine could quench. The wonder that could only be experienced when it rained and you were allowed to go out and get completely drenched. I long for ice-cream in its original splendor and simplicity: a Jet Sport ice-lolly and a Yummy’s Choco-bar. I long for the times when even in all their perverse irrationalism jingles for Naz Pan masaala, Dentonic and Diamond Supreme stuck and reverberated in your head for days. I long for times when the entire family had to sleep in the same room, because there was only one AC running. I long for the days when ‘play’ meant Barf Paani, Rang and Tip Top instead of Play ‘station’.
Yet I see myself now, ‘trying’ to stay true to myself. Always a self that meets the standards I have already set for an acceptable I. ‘Act silly Maria, but make it witty and snappish’. ‘Paint Maria, but make it a shape, no more silly rainbows’. ‘Watch movies Maria, but make them movies that have a point’ (luckily 7 year old me usually wins on this one). ‘Listen to music Maria, but save ‘Smooth Criminal’ for your head phones’. ‘Dress up Maria, but make sure you pull off, even your own patented bizarre- bohemian rhapsody’. ‘Eat up Maria, but please spare us with the Mitchell’s butter scotch and the quest for Yummy’s Panda’…
I suppose it is rather hypocritical of me, to long for the past that haunts me, to yearn for the life I hide from. Perhaps I wait for the day, when I will simply sit in my chair with a book and the lights fade lead to a wipe-out screen in a flash of dazzling orange halo’s and a magic marker scrawling…..
“That’s all Folks!”
"Little Mermaid Diary"- Entry: July 1991 and 1/2
My Birthday will come tomorrow, but I dont think im going to have too much fun. Everyone is here, and its too loud. Ahsan and I just had a fight and I think im going to write a will. Because when I die, and dont leave him my tape-recorder and cassettes, he will cry like a girl and baba will kill him.
My Will:
1. I will leave this Little Mermaid Diary and my magic wand to Mom.
2. I will leave my My little ponies to Dad, because he likes horses.
3. I will leave my Roald Dahl book and my Enid Blyton books to Salman, because he wants to write a book someday.
4. I will leave the Hershey's kisses in the freezer to Baba Faiz, because no one gives him chocolates and he cooks food all the time for everyone.
5. I will leave my purple, shiny, sweater to Fatima, because she wears ugly colours.
6. I will leave my make-up to Amna, because she likes make up.
7. I will leave my cartoon collection to Ami and Daddy (grandparents) because they never laugh.
8. I will leave my drawings and paints to Afshi Phoopho because she never draws, and is always angry, drawing helps.
9. I will leave my Rainbow Bright stuft toys for Wajeeha and Hamza, as they are the youngest cousins and never get anything, and they can fight over them.
10. I leave my coke bottle in the fridge to me, as I will drink it when I go to heaven.
(Atleast I was alwats consistent!)
My Will:
1. I will leave this Little Mermaid Diary and my magic wand to Mom.
2. I will leave my My little ponies to Dad, because he likes horses.
3. I will leave my Roald Dahl book and my Enid Blyton books to Salman, because he wants to write a book someday.
4. I will leave the Hershey's kisses in the freezer to Baba Faiz, because no one gives him chocolates and he cooks food all the time for everyone.
5. I will leave my purple, shiny, sweater to Fatima, because she wears ugly colours.
6. I will leave my make-up to Amna, because she likes make up.
7. I will leave my cartoon collection to Ami and Daddy (grandparents) because they never laugh.
8. I will leave my drawings and paints to Afshi Phoopho because she never draws, and is always angry, drawing helps.
9. I will leave my Rainbow Bright stuft toys for Wajeeha and Hamza, as they are the youngest cousins and never get anything, and they can fight over them.
10. I leave my coke bottle in the fridge to me, as I will drink it when I go to heaven.
(Atleast I was alwats consistent!)
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