Slices of Writing (2)

Now that I have established certain stuff I hope it gets to you in an important. If not, no matter — I have some more pointers. If you already knew the previous rules, more power to you. If not, try to incorporate them in your life in whatever customised or direct way you want and need. There is a reason I highlighted those words. Your wants and needs are important too. Though, your wants and needs also can be hierarchal. You must balance them accordingly to get a process going and get results. More on that later.

Onwards to new things that perhaps will be helping for you with writing. In the last segment I had shown you that writing is a psychosomatic, emotional and spatial skill. It interacts with other skills, with you and your environment. I have written how the word innate should not mean fast/rapid/genetic in your repertoire. People can be gifted but so can gifts be earned and attained. I am reviewing this because this is something that must be constantly reviewed. It will stick, then unstick, then stick again only to unstick once more. And again, more on that later.

  • Avoid/Resist Toxic People and Situations as Much as Possible —This is not a rehash of the Trolls and the Haters phenomenon. This takes that further than that. Trolls and Haters usually occupy social media. They can also be real people as well, as I cited. But, they may be distant people. So, though this may sound similar it is not necessarily identical.

    You may have to work with people who are unpleasant or unpleasant towards you. Usually, it can be latter than the former. If it is the former you can sometimes talk about this person with some other colleague who is a confidant. However, doing so regularly may a) jeopardise your job as no one can fully be trusted in the work space and b) cause you to create more toxicity by making your complaints a habit. Trust me. We all may have been there and we don’t want that.

    If it’s the latter know that you don’t have to interact with this person beyond the minimum. Keep your interactions work related and respond only when particularly referred to. If this is your boss then choose select words and let your work do the talking for you. Do not reiterate anything much or try to seem over enthusiastic because toxic people use that opportunity to shoot you down and even publicly humiliating you. Do not tone down too much either nor else they will choose to be especially unpleasant and give you poor performance reviews.

    If this person actively complains about you to your other bosses consult someone you can trust and change sectors or jobs if need be. Chances are that you will be happier and more productive in the new area. You have to prioritise your productivity and passions. Do not waste any of it on toxic people. Toxic people are not completely avoidable. This is just life. You will meet them in social media, in family, friends and even spouses.

    If it is social media you can always ignore them or blocked them. If these are reviews then set the “no review” box for a while and even “non anon.” If this is family try to gradually lessen your interactions with them so that you can well not feel guilty or allow them to guilt trip you to go back to their toxic traps. Importantly, if they are parents you can really lessen your interactions with them. If you are being Abused. CALL SOCIAL SERVICES OR THE POLICE AND GET HELP.

    Now, the other important parts. If toxic people are friends, you have to do what Anne Lamott said in her book Bird by Bird — your friendship needs a sabbatical. Seriously, if you feel you can’t cut them out think you are taking a sabbatical from your friendship. Sometimes toxic behaviour is also passive or indifferent behaviour. Such as not giving attention to your texts, not including you or showing any signs of elation when seeing or interacting with you. Then there is passive aggressive behaviour. Passive Aggressive behaviour is hard to stomach because it is a statement designed a joke or abstraction to still bruise you. You need to resist or stay away from these types of behaviour as much as possible. Friends are meant to enrich your life not make you feel like you are an abyss of uselessness.

    If your spouse does this either go to couples counseling or seriously rethink the relationship. Your spouse/partner is not meant to belittle, humiliate, berate and ambush you with guilt all the time. Gaslighting and manipulating you is AN ABUSE. So, don’t stay with these people. PLEASE GET HELP ASAP.

    The reasons I stated this is because toxic people like haters and trolls will debilitate and distract you from writing. If writing is your joy they will belittle it and they will try to ruin your work. Renowned novelist Buchi Emecheta had an abusive husband. When she wrote her first draft of Bride Price and gave it for her husband to read, she came back and saw him burning the manuscript. Yes, that did happen. That is how violent and toxic her ex-husband was.

    You don’t need partners like that. Or environments like that. They will first feed parasitically on your writing and this will effect and eventually lead to other parts of you. Your writing is not only your passion, it allows you to gain privileges and opportunities and give you work. In the book So Good They Can’t Ignore You by Cal Newport he didn’t support passion so that is why I called writing also work. His reasons are actually credible. Passion, he states, is a side effect of mastery so that ties into how innateness does not equate much in the long run. And, a spouse who doesn’t take your work seriously is not going to take seriously other avenues of your life. By work here I also mean your efforts to master talents, your needs and wants and efforts at communication, habits you try to inculcate, and also your personality and beliefs.

    Toxic people and environments may ultimately ruin your needs and wants to master your craft. They are sometimes more dangerous than haters and trolls because they have a certain sense of closeness and intimacywith you, which they shamelessly take advantage of. If haters and trolls are clever and lack courage the toxic people are cowardice magnified. They also take the discrimination of cleverness and mutate it to entitlement. They feel that as they are with you they are entitled to behave with you in any way they please.

    Don’t suffer from this garbage and take a stand for yourself to resist and avoid as much as possible. So yes the sticking and unsticking come here a bit. Toxic people and environments make you doubt yourself a lot and let you cave in to defeating pressure. Yeah, there is positive pressure. The feeling the demanding need to write and write as heartily and skillfully as one can at the moment.

    So for your health tied to your writing stay away from toxicity as much as possible and resist it whenever the opportunities present themselves.

  • Do not Wait for the Mood to Write — This is a cardinal rule that you need to repeat to yourself. I know I have to because I procrastinate on it and don’t do it but it is seriously and important rule. Even if you are depressed, take some time off for your health and then try to write one line and draft it out and redraft it out.

    The reason I am saying this is that writing is a muscle and that it needs development and stimulation. Now, you may be thinking if I have writer’s block how can I be stimulated? Well, do other things. Or better yet start free writing. Take out your journal or Document and just start writing/typing random things and you will sure to get ideas. These writings do not need to final products or anything perfect. They can be to do lists or 40 best songs you liked or movies or even books. Write out your feelings of toxic people, your anxieties, your triumphs, etcetera and you are sure to get something.

    Writing is a balance of passive and active nodes. Thinking alone about writing ideas usually don’t help. Thinking can also be passive because the mind is not stimulated enough to get somewhere. Free Writing can also be passive because it doesn’t have a necessary goal. However, both can be active too gradually. When I first started writing these writing tips I didn’t completely know how I would go about it. I still don’t know but I kept on writing and the ideas gradually came. If I stuck to only thinking and planning alone it may have taken longer. Yes, I thought out the headings and such and some of the chunks but not everything.

    That is why I mentioned the hierarchy of desire and wants. Writing will not always operate on those things. Writing like any habit and skills needs time, dedication, discipline, patience and reiteration. If you are a victim of your moods and always get easily seduced by them writing will believe you are a player and not interested in a relationship (yeah, I went there). You need to understand that as there is no true innate quality to writing there is no ideal hour, moment, time or whatever for writing either.

    Writing is paradoxical because human beings are paradoxical. Writing is sometimes born and borne out of great frustration and misery and flicks off your happy pastures world. Writing at times scowls at decay and looks for pure Nirvana. Writing is concrete in its form but relative in its act of conception. It creates its own ideals and mixes other generally thought out ones. It may sometimes strive in purity which can also be chaos and at times live in greys which can be a ordinary day in the park.

    Don’t think that you need a mood always to write. You don’t need a mood always to breathe? It is as Scout said in To Kill a Mocking Bird. Reading to her was breathing. And, how do you breathe. You do it continuously. Now, I am not saying burn yourself out by writing. I am just giving a loose analogy. You don’t always breathe deeply and loudly so take writing also as gradual breathing which may sometimes stay nice and stable as though you are in a dream, sometimes peak up as you are being athletic and sometimes even be “soggy” like you are in a flu. You are writing about life so writing won’t be excised from life.

    Like Life writing also needs other avenues than your thoughts to be feed. It needs experiential stuff, segments from classrooms, snippets in cafes and the smell of coffee and the warmth of tea, the kiss of a lover, the kiss of a stranger, the theories of betrayal and actual betrayals, the concatenation of pearls in a bracelet, the mathematical equation you learned the other day, your dissertation, your lab assignment and even the joke you told your friend.

    Writing stems from all of these. Writing is the nodes of you as you go through life. Writing is the anatomy of your body, the curvatures of your spirit and the oceans of your soul with the forests of your thoughts and subconscious — writing is the braille of time and the alphabets of your spine dancing in unison to some track that is in your head and the cusp in your heart. Thus writing requires discipline, effort, time and dedication.

    As you are analogous to your writing (if not themes or characters then certainly the process) than like you writing needs proper nourishment and nurturing. And your moods erratically firing off won’t always help.

    Be consistent as much as possible. And I mean a healthy consistent. Write in a day or two days. Write small quotes. Plan projects and try your best to finish them.

    The more respect, time and attention you give to writing (a healthy amount because you need to take yourself and do other things) the more your writing will respect you and feel like listening to you.

~ To Be Continued

Not everyone will like you — Medium

via Not everyone will like you — Medium.

One day, you find a yellow orchid in your room

But you don’t like orchids

A week later, the orchid starts flourishing

But you still don’t like orchids

Two weeks later you notice a golden reflection on its surface

You start disliking the orchid a little less

A month later, you bow to the orchid

For despite your dislike the orchid kept flourishing

And just like the orchid not everyone is going to like you

But as you continue flourishing many will admire you

I really loved this poem I saw in the Blogging platform Medium. I mean this was one of the best pieces I read today (though I didn’t read much today or any day, my reading is as daft and dry as  an iguana in a snowman outfit). I really know this does feel true. Not being liked is a case that is  considered quite important — two other stories seem to capture my attention focusing on likeability a) Mark Zuckerberg, the founder and maker of Facebook, has willingly become homeless to prove a point for likeability (he did it to have solidarity with homeless people) and b) NHS gets both critical feedback and admiration after Justin Bieber endorses for it. The second story has probably more to do with national health care than likeability but the NHS is a subject of much talked about criticism. If you ever lived in the UK or visited it for a long period of time you will know funding the NHS is a mammoth issue. And funding on it depends on likeability to an extent (I can be wrong but I feel rather than know it to be that way).  Zuckerberg’s act followed his own criticism. Some of it is unfair. Others like the one by Mike Goldsmith, actually shows a better response:

Mark Zuckerberg making himself homeless is like a bulldog making himself a vegetarian. Selling stock ,buying a tent and deciding to camp out is not being homeless. Being homeless is when you lose everything, not give it up. It’s when you are forced to face the harshest elements of life by circumstance , not by choice. Camping out on a sidewalk, eating in a soup kitchen by choice isone thing but doing it as your only means of survival,that’s quite something else

I am sure Mark means well, but if he really wants to do something he should abandon these optics and do something that will really make a difference. With his resources he should do something to address the circumstances that put most of his new found friends on the street in the first place. He has the means to create and fund opportunities that would help a lot of people find new meaning and purpose. He could be a force behind new sources of rehab, retraining and jobs. Unfortunately, this “Look at me” optic is not the way to go.

So mark, If you really want to help, get off the street and actually do something that will make a difference. Stop acting like the lost little boy with to many toys and act more like the captain of innovation that you are….

That does make sense actually. We do get derailed to actually want “likeability” and this actually affects who we are. Like many people don’t talk about their editing processes feeling that likeability is focused on some template of genius. And that is true, we are all inculcated to believe the genius requires no effort. And for a while  I believed that too. Actually, the genius might need more effort in many things and that, with her/his innate vision, is genius is usually born and borne. I will readily admit that I had to read the comments’ sections and also the main article to get the gist of what was happening in the Bieber article (the article by Williams is a bit vague if you ask me because I didn’t read the title properly but I also feel it paces on ambiguous  terms without announcing its ambiguity because it probably doesn’t know what to think about itself; it is a bit divided and that is fine). However, most people won’t mention that for likeability. I am not always going to put likeability in parenthesis because likeability and “likeability” are both concrete and also elusive phenomenon. Everyday likeability and the major form of “likeability” (as a collective or pouring into theme) is faced by all of us. We may not know it but many or some of our actions are based on likeability and “likeability” — though it is true that some social etiquette and politeness should be taught many people overburden themselves with it all the time leading to overall ungratefulness. And this is where “likeability” and likeability actually does fail.

Jonathan Franzen wrote an article of being liked saying it was for cowards. The article also mentions Donald Trump but it was written in 2011 (Trump’s recent comments are more on the extreme scale than on any likeability or “likeability” scale: that is another topic. It is one thing to be disliked by going your own way and another to be disliked for racism, totalitarianism, extremism, plutocracy and oligarchic need for control in human interests which become reduced and violated as your own interests), so, it is more on how consumer culture is based on wanting to be liked more and it has nothing to do with love. Love is an adaptation, poetry in progress and motion, love is also constructive criticism, helping you reach great heights — liking is more about satiating some immediate need and moving on. Though that is important too the main thing I gleaned and developed my own way from this article is that you can’t have either/or: one extreme corrupts the balance you have for yourself. We must do things we like but we must also be challenged and become finer, polished beings, so we require that love too, tough or soft, it’s a need and ultimately a want for us as humans.

As some short stories on depression show in Medium that liking, even for a gift, after a point fails. I put in part of the story down below:

“Karen! Guess what?” he asks excitedly.

I look at him to acknowledge his question.

“I got you an iPhone 5 instead of 4!”

I consider this. I consider him –– his face lit up in excitement and anticipation of my reaction. I feel nothing.

“Pretty cool, right?” he says as he hands me the box.

I take the box from him and shimmy it open to reveal the iPhone nestled in itspackaging. As I lift it from its shell and examine the polished design, I think about how I should be grateful.

“Thank you, daddy,” I say because it is the right thing to say. But I still feel nothing. It takes a Herculean effort to force the corners of my mouth up.

Thoughts wander aimlessly through my mind. I think about how my dad is trying so hard to make me happy. I think about how disappointed my lack of reaction must be. I think about how if I felt any emotion, I would feel guilty for being unable to show him happiness. Guilty for not having accepted his gift with more grace and grandeur.

The pain in this piece is obvious. After a point likeability can fail. To a person suffering depression liking, likeability and “likeability” fails big time. Because there are times, like when is depressed or suffering from depression, no gift can really cheer you up.

Well, likeability and “likeability” in themselves can be complicated issues but no matter how complicated the complex in you has a greater chance fate and faith to win. Because we were all made to be uniques in and with and within a collective. So, we are born into a middle-ground many a times. Unless, you truly want extremity or it is dished out on via circumstances, I don’t think you have to worry on it being your identity too much though another reality is it is hard not to worry too much either. We just have to find frequencies that work for us.

The orchid at the beginning of the poem may have blossomed elsewhere or change its pot and dirt; but as long as its reached this state it’s fine even if no one admired it immediately for it or at all. The thing is some honest things won’t be admired either but you can choose if that is something you can live without being appreciated for: whether you can or cannot doesn’t also determine your worth; you may be living a different life and may have different needs. When I was younger I read the dialogue between Jane Eyre and Helen Burns pertaining to this likeability and “likeability” (the novel itself tracing a lot around it) — I suspected that Burns was wrong when she thought Eyre’s humiliation publicly in their boarding school should not matter as long as God still loved her. I wasn’t wrong in thinking Helen Burns was wrong but I was wrong in thinking she totally was. Burns is not totally wrong. To her, this sort of humiliation did not matter, she was older than Eyre and probably had faced this form of torment previously, she has known that people can be stupid and hypocritical and cruel. But she is wrong to seem desensitised to it and not understanding Jane Eyre’s younger self’s need of acceptance and also how justice needed to be served there which only honesty and truth could help prevail in it. Yet, at the same time Jane Eyre should know that getting their aproval should not be her end goal. Both have right arguments in that debate. It was the frequency, the extent of each voice in it, that needed to be understood and possess a corrected pitch.

I would like to conclude with someone’s poem, who is at the moment, my favourite poet on the internet:

If there’s a tic in your toc

It wasn’t me – I am afraid

Of its –  r.a.p.i.d.n.e.s.s

Especially when running

So very – f.u.c.k.i.n.g – late

This poem by Mari Sanchez Cayuso is called Time. Someone in the comments stated that the use of expletives helps the piece. I agreed. If Mari was only vouching for likeability and “likeability” alone she may have exempted from it (though the young adult phenomenon of doing anything one wants is actually more with the grain than against it – that is also a separate topic; I just hinted on it). Yet, this piece is  hers and honesty and truth on her conditions and beings is always why I loved and liked Mari’s poems. I guess, in her own way, she has shown a great balance in her for both things.

confession (i)

I didn’t know that studying abroad would be a lonely experience. I am just into the experience so I am not sure how the entire experience will be; yet. And I notice people have more boundaries than me. There are a lot of cool White and Black people – people of Asiatic origins and such and I desire, hunger to talk to them. Talking and intimacy has always been an integral part of me. My being cannot resist it. It gravitates towards it as its gravitas.  People are just good at hiding or at bearing shyness. I cannot. I do not know silences that stretch due to stranger strangeness; due to anonymity. For me, I feel everyone is an adventure waiting to be explored; a university of individualism wishing to be learned and interacted with. Human to be humanly and humanely encountered and understood. But I know many people will seldom look at others this way. In a sea of bodies I am just well, just another body. Not even an attractive one. I am new. My freshness stinks like cleaning soap, disinfectant, like some form of ripeness that has ripened with the irresistible tug of the green. The men and women here are beautiful and presentable. They look healthy, fit, accustomed to walking. They have developed really clean and well attired aesthetics. I saw a woman from East Asia or East Asian origin with painted full lips – colour of poppies and blood crushed into the metaphor of richness and life. I envied here. I am plump. My skin breaks. I am not a beauty. My hair is the wires of a mess, cables of neural electricity refusing to find sockets or comfortable patterns. The climate here is colder. More foreign. My skin has broken with it. I am a noob. The gamer term encapsulates me and my personhood perfectly. I am a noob and it reeks off me like dying fish on some forgotten sands.  I have no sense of direction. Today, I was a bit in shock at looking at an official registration form that asked for my sexual orientation. It was a well definable space; a well defined definition to a sexuality. That hasn’t happened before. It was beautiful. But also a bit difficult to process. Then I giggled like a teen. I am in my 20’s. I am older than most people in my dorm or my class. But compared to them I am stupid. I am a social invalid. I am always at awe at how beautifully people do day to day things. I can’t do anything like that. Not yet anyway.

I was spoiled. Sheltered unreasonably. But where I am from many middle class or upper middle class people are like this; so are high class people. We don’t count money fast. We don’t know how to cook. We don’t know how to clean a bathroom. It just is. It just was. Imagine me. A sheltered weird creature among people who already know what they want from life. What they need in life. How to carve out their individuality. How to carve soul and identity into both paper and flesh. You may be disgusted by it. Rightfully so. I apologise for being so incapable. So immature. Yet, it was so fostered into me. So ingrained. I knew it was problematic but lacked the means to obliterate it. I do not know what sort of creature I am. I am not aware how to live. I am lesser than a baby. I am like Kyle XY without the brains. I am just me. A stupid. But I love the city. I love the openness. I love the liberalness. Love the scope of magnitude of chaos and harmony. Buildings here astound me. I am from such a backward land. I am not really even acquainted with online ordering. I have had so many privations. They are not so private or public. They just existed. I walk so much now. I love it. I wish I could share the walking with a beau. I wish I was beautiful enough both inwardly and outwardly; more strong enough, more efficient enough to be a proper human being. But I am not. And I am sad I was made into this half-formed thing. This failure. This tragedy. This inconsolable invalid.  I wish I could love more freely. Be decent enough to love.

I am like a carnival attraction. I am so carnivalesque. Maybe I look odd to others. Today I wanted to shake hands with a girl in a lecture. She seems uncomfortable and uninterested; she had bright red hair, coloured as a cherry. She spoke on Jeanette Winterson. On gender. And I didn’t impress her. I was just there. I was just an odd person. The guy who sat next to me just walked away not caring of me. And my flatmates don’t seem to think I am great either. I feel like the fool. The jester everyone encounters but is so scenic that no one would really pay attention to know. I feel so inadequate. In brains. Beauty. Aesthetics. Brains…I just feel kinda lost.

I don’t know if I am good. Or even decent. I just wish that the “me” I am can change, can evolve, can adapt and become better for myself. Also, for others. I just feel lost and the wideness of this urban wilderness both scares me and tantalises me. I wanna be found and rescued by myself. I wanna meet my spirit, my animal, my spirit-animal. I just want to be more than what I am now

Coy Lips; fictionic

We begin our story at a small school in a city in South Asia that may be South Asian in geography but has a geography a bit akin to a meshing. The school has a Baroch posture of mass geometric shapes that undulate and at times continue in some postmodernistic, a bit futuristic sway.

Akram is a boy of about ten at this time; that’s how he is remembering it, for a “now” is actually when he is seventeen. His eyes are a bit honeyed, not fully black or brown or that terrestrial mixture. His hair is a wavy of both hellenic and middle-eastern origins. His skin is a facsimile of brown and white: fax for it seems as though someone expertly delved in wax and some caramel-chocolate. Of course as a child his eyes looked larger and his grin a bit cherub-like. Cherub-like grins in childhood do have a tendency of seeming a bit hesitant in adolescence or adulthood.

The boy is a bit quiet. Lips are pursed at times. His worse subjects are history and grammars (both English and his vernacular) and his bests are actually literature and mathematics and science. His mother was told that he excelled in geography but that his drawing was not so great. Art was another subject he despised because he did not understand colours that well or shading but just preferred to well make lines which were also crooked.

Like crooked smiles of either wickedness or hesitation Akram was caught by the older year five person and soon kissed. It wasn’t a girl. Not that he would be not pissed if it was a girl. He didn’t like girls. Not most girls. Girls his age giggled and teased and then at times looked and stared a bit more fiercely at boys or made faces like them. The twelve year old boy who kissed him was not so rowdy though he had a reputation of getting in some fights that happened with certain classmates of other sections.

It was not so lingering but it was hard and a bit amateurish but the emotions were real. Very real. And he didn’t know what they were. To that young boy love was effervescent but not rushed intense. The older boy’s name was Fazi and he looked him straight in the eye after the kiss. It was a bit too intentional as though he didn’t want to look afraid.

“I like you.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Like a girl.” Akram tried to make sense. To him girls can like girls and boys but boys only liked other boys to fight and liked girls for only kissing. At that time he thought that.
“I guess, but I can like you like that.”
“But I don’t have a pussy.” Akram did not know the proper term was “vagina” he thought the name meant that something whiskers as cat-face was something girls got when they were older.
“I don’t think that’s an issue.”
“Will you kiss me again?”
“Can I?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it a bad kiss?”
“Is there a bad and good kiss?”
“Well, you shouldn’t let grown-up strangers kiss you that’s bad.”
“Oh, yeah.”

Akram nodding encouraged Fazi a bit so he kissed him again. Then looked at Akram. Akram seemed not too fazed by it anymore and nodded. Fazi kissed him again in that almost empty corridor. A janitor was lazily drowsy and didn’t care at all.

Seventeen year old Akram looks as Fazi as a friend. An older, cool friend. Fazi doesn’t therein lies a problem. When Akram allows Fazi to makeout with him it is mostly because he is bored and because he feels frustrated. Fazi knows their thing is not a relationship but he wants it badly to be one. He isn’t crazy about anyone as he is with Akram. As a kid he has been. Akram had gently tried to sever ties with them a couple of times. It has backfired a bit. Fazi was a bit more persistent and a bit too emotional prone to tantrums and outbursts but also that sly logic methodology of saying “let’s just be you got no one else” or “come on it’s not that much of a bad feeling right?” and Akram doesn’t know how to answer. At times he just says that he likes girls and wants to have a girlfriend to which Fazi laughs.

There was a time he was trying and Fazi had successfully sabotaged him getting a girlfriend. Akram was a bit timid. Was a bit introverted and at times too complacent so he didn’t always complain. Some of those girls were more people he thought he could bond with but realizing maybe she shouldn’t. But Mira was a different case. The young woman was four years older than Akram and two years older than Fazi. Mira was one of the reasons the so-called timid guy took on an older male (same-height) with more defined muscles at the time. Akram was a bit chubby at seventeen. Fazi had kissed Mira and had at one point successfully made her his girlfriend. It was, in his eyes, a test to show how “dubious” Mira was. Yet the case was that Mira had though Fazi was growing to like her and Akram had stayed quiet for he was shy.

It was that time that Akram took  a stand to ignore Fazi. Fazi was adamant to stay with him but after some scuffles (which Fazi tried to alleviate sometimes by kissing) it was apparent that Akram and he were through.

Seeing Akram after all these years made Fazi’s heart leap. What was it that leaped really at times he could not tell…as in his heart leaped but something else. He had never really explained to Akram why he had loved him and ironically Akram had accepted that love without much probing or question. They have never had sex. They had however done some other things (mostly insinuated by Fazi). Akram was getting married to Mira. He was thirty-two years old and Fazi was thirty-four. Fazi has had only casual sex with people these days: both sexes. Yet, he had recently started seriously dating a person called Nibhay, who was the a year younger than him and had moved out to stay in the city with Fazi because he preferred him and loved him (stating that he exclusively loved males).

Seeing Akram Fazi could not resist but kiss him. Amateurish and awkward. Like that first time. That is when Fazi shamefully admitted to himself how wonderfully unrequited this was, without redamancy. It did not censure affection, maybe allowed sexuality but it was not the love he had wanted. Akram allowed that kiss; participated in it. As a liberation. All those years ago he participated to understand the same wave encaptured it now. For Fazi it was a good goodbye to a something that had no working or destiny. For Akram it was an end of an age of confused wanting and frustrations and feeling his wishes neglected. It was a complacency coming to an end. Both were cleansing out a selfish knot that was binding them.

Soon they raised their cups of lassi for a toast. Lingering on lips was the coyness of foams gone and foams to come.▬

 *Authors note: When I write fictional pieces I will label them as “fictionic” from now on 🙂

isolation in quotes

what do “I” call myself? — a labyrinthine thinker, late bloomer prodigy,
a colloquial slut, a porn actor/actrice, a menagerie of moods, a glass fountain,
a granite slab of boredom, an equanimous person, likely to succeed/fail, tagger of
facebook slogans or pages, popular only in staying unpopular, a blood cycle, a sperm
cycle, a gestation of uneasy testosterones or a nest of comfy oestrogen — what am I?

asking is imperative; you cannot be classes you have to be a class, not a binomial variant,
but a simultaneous crack-whore who can easily be cancelled linear-wise and not charted
in graphs — and the graphs all mounted highs and lows like some floppy or quick erectile tissue
bounded by some bondage mechanism easily quacking or nervously fretting — yeah our so-called
civilized world transcribes to the sexual all too quickly yet will not transcribe to intimacy or a
reproduction of kisses because to the mythical layman fucking is as easy than typing 2+2=1

we are isolated by so much wave and wires — first by seas and mountains now the technical metaphors
of technology; it;s easy to build walls you just need crude, undisciplined yet disciplined, refined geometry:
we learn math in isolation was not Alice there telling the Queen that for to her a jabberwocky is a parable
not a persistent lover of existence. We learn languages in isolation, fruit of needs are supposedly tasted and
tested in a bedroom — when have we so easily conquered all human instincts and personality checks and put
them airtight into a bottle as though everything and anything was masturbation. If I am vulgar you were vulgar
by lacking vulgarity by never breaching or broaching subjects that could make me spill my coffee but be grateful
I had sipped and dined with you in a natural state — and by natural state I do not easily picture you in your
birthday suit happily playing the flute of your clitoral-erection or playing drums with your bosom-chest…yet
you want me to easily think that — when I am flawed will you not know my flaw and tell me so why wither
it as a flaccid beam of self-denial — yeah, I talked all innuendo-like; it’s a language we all easily adopt too
though I think millions never adapt nor else we wouldn’t cry in tissue papers hoping it was the tender skin of
a lover…

why are all our information and acts and knowledges isolated; even with modern precepts of civilization
we love playing colonial pipes, steal the lands of many, decrepit the food and bones of the different,
make outsiders more than insiders and treat wealth the money as though it was a concubine that gave us
all the frenzies our heart desired — we are training ourselves to think heights are step-ladders and all binaries
are trusted celebrities though we all aspire some balance in ourselves. When did we become consumers?  Merely
eaters? Not inventors or hunters or gatherers or builders? — Is only the daft eating the way f the world? Are we only
engineers of a time-stinking buffet or rather a potpourri of so many essences and open to the architecture of the many?
Should we not rinse our tongues and teeth to the palpable instead of the vacuous? I ask myself questions, even dumb stupid
ones that are trivial and exhaustive but only because I think I was born to be hunter not predator or prey. But a gatherer
of immutable gems parasailing in a mutable universe… the scents and dotages of those exquisite structures with their
non-structure and flexible narrations have made me both weep and be teem with adrenalin. I do not think the deforestation
of the mind with conformed categories can easily help. Core beliefs are beautiful but they inhabit more ample space than we
give them credit for; our bones are calcium arranged as leaves of variables…how lovely was this trail of stones and bread…

and because I have these thoughts I may be isolated called mad by peers and hated by equals in class, birth, jobs, counter tables
for I did not drink coffee with cream and sugar but wanted to try a honeyed mix and that made a different in the tongue-nectare
made me mongrel to the refined and I do not know what more I could do — did I not also taste that coffee republic, nod to a placebo,
in the world of narcotics and so much medicinal shots. When I meet others who liked coffee and tea like me would we recognize
each other skins, meats and marrows or has the narrow cubicles sealed that kiss? Wonder if isolation is the new economy of trade…▬

No Apology | Mehreen Kasana

This was such a great article I decided to  quote some of its intense yet true parts. I truly thank Mehreen Kasana from my soul to do this as a person for both equality and a social voice for those people who cannot do so, so easily:

By the time I have figured my criminal-by-default status out, we are on the Manhattan Bridge headed toward Canal Street, which means there is mobile reception. My old white friend is on his iPhone telling his friend something about ISIS. He looks at me every single time he says ISIS or Islamic State. I take it lightly; I don’t want to yell at a guy who looks like his joints would fall out of place if I raised my voice. But it’s insulting and several people look in our direction, at my keffiyeh and at him enunciating ISIS while talking to his friend on the phone. That’s when I debate engagement or flipping him off. I decide on neither but I reach into my bag, which alerts him, and pull out a bomb in the form of a plastic bottle containing tap water.

I drink the water, man. I’m tired.

In this binary, the Bad Muslim is the constant malefactor. Since s/he is fed up with attempting (in distressing futility) to show his/her legitimacy as a human being – forget the title of American as it becomes unavailing in this case – s/he refuses to apologize for Islam. The Bad Muslim is the exhausted Muslim. A Muslim whose morale has been drained by perpetual anxiety, hostility and social marginalization for being seen as a criminal for acts of violence he or she has never committed. The Bad Muslim is the Muslim who makes the mistake of thinking he or she is as human as the next person and should be given a modicum of respect as anyone else would receive, such as the random white American who is never harangued to apologize for what KKK did or modern day Neo Nazis do. The Bad Muslim is unhappy with being profiled “randomly” at the airport, for being rejected employment because his or her name sounds a little too Muslim ergo a little too Al Qaeda or ISIS or Taliban or what-have-you. Unless he or she is rich, a Bad Muslim – who is often a working classindividual, a mere wage earner – cannot afford the temporary getaway financial stability provides from this interminable environment of contempt and xenophobia. The Bad Muslim is often aware of RAND-constructed typologies that identify ideological tendencies in Muslim communities and exploit inter-sect divides to promote US strategic interests

No amount of polls of Muslims denouncing ISIS will authenticate our humanity to the average Westerner who trusts propagated tropes from a culture industry more than anything else. It does not matter to the average bigot whether 126 senior Islamic scholars hailing from various parts of the Middle East, Europe, South Asia, North Africa and beyond theologically make clear in an open 24-bullet letter that the deeds of ISIS are entirely un-Islamic because to the average bigot, Islam is beyond redemption and its followers deserve to be punished by virtue of the faith they follow. It does not matter if one explains, as Alireza Doostdar does meticulously in this essay, that ISIS is not a religious problem but a political exacerbation that necessitates a contextual understanding of its chronological development and proliferation. This hostility is not innate. One is not born with vengeance for a specific group of people. It is instilled and socialized through social and institutional production of ideology from the State, media outlets, academia and everyday social exchange. It is manufactured by ever escalating dosages of premeditated images, sound bites and seductive rhetoric that lures one into regurgitating falsities about a people. It reaches to a point, as we see today, where simply appearing to be Muslim (as if there is a specific aesthetic embodied by us) elicits some of the most unwarranted suspicion, invasive questions and in many cases, outright violence.

Take it this way: In 2011, white men constituted over 69% of those arrested for urban violence and yet black men made up for the majority of the prison population thanks to the American prison industrial complex. The majority of school shooters and mass murderers in the United States are white men (97% of them being male and 79% being white) from upper-middle class backgrounds. But for some curious reason, Twitter or Facebook or even your favorite news channels have not seen a flood of apologies from white men under the hashtag #NotInMyName. I already expect indignant comments to tell me that these men were lone cases who had mental disorders and no friends because it’s the go-to reason when a white man decides to shoot schools up. Unfortunately, brown and black men cannot use the same excuse. 

 

Any country with a majority acts like this. Even in my country indigenous people are always mistreated, murdered, harassed and also denied jobs because who they are. Religion at times make no point but when it does I say the same thing. For example, it is also how you look. The fair skinned or even brown Nepali looking man is not as trusted as a brown skinned or even fair skinned majority or, get this, foreigner. Then my country also has a bad reputation of gender discrimination as in not female or male but to the transgender/transvestite community known as Hijra. The Hijras are always being ostracization and due to this ban of their proper recognition they do  act more flamboyantly and do deeds that otherwise they wouldn’t care to do. Social impregnation of values of acceptability or colouring of class, race, gender, sex and religion do have repercussions. Please be attentive.

Thank you for reading.

No Apology | Mehreen Kasana.

What I am doing?

I think maybe to many my blog is confusing. It is not a chronology of memoirs; nor is it an intellectual repertoire on things, nor is it a well-written non-fiction blog or a fiction/poetry blog. I am pretty sure that one must be wanting to know why do I blog because I am not sure as in not fixed on a subject matter. I mean most prolific, most famous blogs are always “genre” or rather “subject” oriented — even if it is trolling (a subject in a way) the most prestigious blogs are all about that. I am not insincere about the blog as it mixed medium, buffet blog that is a mixology of many mixes and stuff. I do prioritize on show reviews or opinions on another blog knowing that not everybody would love knowing which anime needs a gear repair or what new show is what.

Yet this blog is all the weird discontinuous-continuity, mixed platter of sum and something is me. I am not someone so aimless but I guess I go through extremes, middles and ambivalence all the time. And I am happy I guess. Though I do not if that discourages anyone from reading my blog or make them think it’s not for them.

For my readers and non-readers what do you think I am doing? Feel free to tell me 🙂