It’s nice to be an expert in WHAT you loved and be ACKNOWLEDGED for it
MASHALLAH really
That is I think what most people dream about ^_^
Monthly Archives: February 2011
Cats Quote Charlie Sheen (via Medium Large)
And WordPress Presents The LOL Cats version of Charlie Sheen ^_^
via Medium Large
Four Days In Penang – Part 2 (via Gnostecism Vision)
I LOVED all the pictures especially of the beach-mosque at the end. MASHALLAH grand architecture melds with water, waves and a day-kissed sky!
Tools of Change: The Publishing Pie, February 15, 2011 (via Margaret Atwood: Year of the Flood)
To find one of your most favourite authors online doing a great job of giving a conference on publishing is a gift From Allah Almighty really.
Margaret Atwood has astounded me since I was in high school. I still remember reading through “Alias Grace” [my first introduction to her work] and loving it immensely for its superb analysis and great amalgamation between fiction and non-fiction.
I really thought the conference was informative and the witty/humorous details by Ms. Atwood made me laugh and appreciate more the genius of her execution and craft ^_^
Telepathy ♠ I missed you
Image via Wikipedia
- I read about thermodynamics → Friend mentions thermodynamics a bit later
- I read about “degrees of freedom” in Spin Theory → Same friend mentions something related to “freedom” [no, we did not see each others’ screens or anything]
- I was joking about Sith → Another friend mentions Yoda’s reference to things that lead to hate :p
- One other thing I forgot LOL
These occurrences are really fun and I Thank Allah Almighty for them ^_^
The Vision ♠ Of A Dream
Image by -RejiK via Flickr
“Before adolescence , memory is more interested in the future than the past”
On February 19th, 1950 — 51 years ago — a young man, a month shy of 23, boarded a train. This man was going to Aracataca to sell a house, his familial home, with his mother. The young man was in deep contemplation. He knew his mother would ask him about his education; he had quit college. His parents wanted him to be a lawyer but he had other aspirations. He wanted to be a writer.
This young man is still alive today — he is now a fully grown and is still in his profession.
The man is the Nobel Laureate Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Allah Almighty Blessed this man and gave him his dream.
In his autobiography Living To Tell The Tale [which I am still reading] he transports us to a world in the fifties and in South America. As I have been reading I am filled with envy; sure, we have internet and cable but haven’t we transformed experiences to mere seconds of illusions? — We have bettered our lives yet like the second law of thermodynamics decreased something important in us as well. The almost twenty-three old Marquez going by steamer and train to Aracataca has had more colourful stories to tell than I and it is no exception that the “hardships” of the old world are a major contribution to it. Though I am also immersed in the colourful world of technology it is certain that we have urbanized ourselves into such a state that even leaving our towns or walking across the street is now a rare event. Thus with progress also comes retogression.
I must admit that Marquez’s magic lies in the history of his family and region. From youth he had encountered great, eccentric characters and places that some of us can only imagine while reading a novel. What I admire about Marquez? He never gave up. His parents were not devious to hurdle him with physical obstacles at every turn but their probing did make our young soon-to-be future laureate uncomfortable. His perseverence was striking and though writers were not a tribe ousted in South America, we can see earlier on in the book that either they were admired or as one shopkeeper states a strange bunch. But the vivisection on writers is not to rest — either strange or can be populars [those who write for the government] it seems just as Today that the profession of being a writer was not really considered an “academic” thing. However, Marquez set out to do what he liked to do: what he had a passion to do. As one gentleman commented seeing him strive against the expectations of his parents:
“thought this was splendid proof of an overwhelming vocation: the only force capable of competing with the power of love”
Well Marquez certainly had fears and as Wikipedia states struggle for seven years until getting published. He definitely had fears — the prospect of losing one’s dreams was always there. But passion weighed more than fear and balanced the scales in every aspect. To say that one is fearless when driving ahead with one’s passions may be inaccurate — a falsehood if one is permitted to say — to follow instructions governed by expectations is easier done [though not less stressful] than pursuing an “unorthodox” passion. Most of us do not have a starting point really. We have ideas and we begin with them not knowing exactly what will happen and letting fate’s probability just do the calculation for us. I believe Marquez was the same and other great writers as him. We are not clairvoyant in nature nor are we eternally confident yet determination is the supplement that allows adequacy to reach zeniths.
We should do what we are passionate about. It enriches us and we must follow our dreams or at least try. Better to duel it out than just lying awake but feeling like a corpse. Better to struggle or try than just give in to a sorrowful routine. Our DNA synchronizes with the most stimulating chemicals — our souls revolve around the globe-star of passion. As Marquez stated:
“Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.”
So, let’s makes our lives memorable in the best possible way. Being energetic and productive for the sake of ourselves is a blessing indeed.
Nostalgia ♠ a progressive•retrogression| into life
Image by Martin Gommel via Flickr
Recently — I am befriended, assaulted, harassed, seduced and conversing with Nostalgia.
Why? I don’t know but while chatting with younger friends or even reminiscing about when I stumbled upon Harry Potter there it is
Nostalgia
I think it’s because there is a different pace of life now or it’s because I lived life more in the realms of suspended animation. It’s seemed just yesterday when it was 2002 and I was living in the living-room because our house was being renovated and now it seems just turning a page and I am here. It all feels awfully wide and close at the same time.
Do I enjoy reminiscing? Well, as I mentioned, it is a mixed feeling.
I miss a lot of my youth but at the same time I’m happy to be walking ahead.
However, I still think that the concept of “growing up” is still a Peter Pan concept to me.
This was the truthful paradox Jean Barrie illustrated.
Childhood may not spell innocence and adolescence may not be disaster, and adulthood compromise, however, I guess times gone before have a tendency to still attract us [I guess that explains history as a subject].
I do not know if I’m progressing but paradoxically progress is still tied with retrogression. I think there are facets of us that will never change and some that will change. It seems like the symmetry-chaos of life. Harmonious yet at the same time discordant.
Who knows what a future holds?
And Nostalgia is evidence that even our pasts are so much more than our looking-glass eyes saw…
Paths Are Paths
Image via Wikipedia
You are a great seducer, storyteller, legerdemain
pillows and cloth
feathers of earth
telling us to step
on your canvassing
paper
foam
and
tides are born
as we search
guardian-like
etched in stone, mortar
and perfumes
of nature
winding down
to a mortal
infrastruction
pausing to kiss me once more
on my cheek
and forehead
lullaby composed by feet
and friction
by
gravity
and
flight —
Nobody’s Insanity
Image by jmauerer via Flickr
Take a bow to the arrowed-gunshot head of the bereaver
grieving stands for apt to be perfectionist
was it clay fertile each nourished grain
a perfectionism of dirt and sand?
your fellows state the sins
cloud the mind with the sins
for it is they who keep tabs of the diners
where you drink coffee and fantasize of earthly splendours
Wrought in sin and good
a human should know
that all cravings for blessings
if made not mute
rupture souls rather then polishing
for evil is imminent
good an inherit bee
stings should not corrupt flowers
made them feel lesser’s be.
Art has noble stallion wings
Science a hare’s jump to sky
you stopping, flooding with guilt
makes no edifice to bear
and passion
I made love with my mind
to keep it intact
to hell with all your other sparks
if you think
that I am sinfully meshed
but it is sin to judge
without a brain
Your alcohol is your pious-streak
and my beads are the passion I keep exploring sans actions
the mind rusts in guilt
give it poetry to breathe again
Intolerance
Image by State Library of New South Wales collection via Flickr
Your brothel and your bedfellows
partake it mirthly
your poisons sans venoms
know the lyrical tongue
ascribing it to cinders
burnt flesh of wood
begging for solace
you think you’re intelligence
gilded vengeance
into need
a perfect skin-cell growth
patched in corpses
are thy leathery suitor
your Cupid has shot an arrow
throw his eye
blinded by innocent-ignorance
and shot himself more
in the suicide
what was imminent?
in such beholder’s rust
what was immanent?
rocking you tenderly
was awfully impatient
your eye-hallucinogen
was perfectly ugly
bordered into a license to kill
bordered into a license of despair
I bleed you only
your blood is ripe
into a naive disease
a heart knows only one
instrument’s tug
and arrogance is friendly
if it kills intolerance
do it too
a tutelage spawns with acceptance
slices of ♠ ink 