It’s nearly 2 am and i’m sitting here with my bowl of cereal and headphones feeling pretty smug with myself. I’m guessing that most of you would consider overnight indulgences on a Sunday evening to be pretty damn crazy and counter-productive to the early Monday, fresh new week spirit.

Well i have two words for you.

Screw you.

Yes, screw you. Because on my timetable, i get my entire Mondays off.

When i saw the paper, i was so happy. To think i get an entire day off, and that day being Monday!

There is just something about Mondays i hate. Something about the way the entire 7 day week suggests itself to you within that first few seconds of you waking up. It’s not as if i’m thinking “Today is Monday” but rather i’m thinking “Oh god, Today is the whole week!”

But now i get a whole long weekend to myself while Monday whizzes me by. There’s about 3 things in this house that i only do when its empty. Practising music, singing, and exercise. Having more time to myself means more time being put into those things and that can only ever be a good thing.

I feel like those passengers in planes or trains that have the first-class tickets and get to skip the queues with that hidden smirk on their faces. Yeah, thats me! Smirking as my Monday arrives with no threats.

Your life is like a huge fortress with so many rooms and corridors. Each of your experiences are shuffled away neatly into the public and private rooms of this fortress. Some doors only some people have the keys to access. Some rooms can only be opened by one person. And other doors….you haven’t dared to open yourself.

But i want to know something.

When you’re trapped in a language that only you speak, who will learn it for you?

Who will come sweeping the dust and shadows off your heart, as people trample over it?

When you’re locked in that room, crying ever so quietly so nobody can hear you, who will come to address your despair?

Trapped in a place so strange that even your own blood seems foreign.

We’re always waiting for someone to say :

It’s alright. Lean on me. Stay here forever. I will take all your tears in my hand and crush them to dust. I will never leave you and you never have to be alone again. Look at me and love me, because i am here just for that. I have been here since the start. I understand everything, even the things your heart tries so desperately in its theatrical act to conceal. Stop it now, no more. This world is full of love and hope.

Who am i talking about?

Have a think about it.

Just a short story that i had thought of two days ago, and on this morning i finally managed to push it out. Enjoy.

-----


"Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh" was the first thing i felt when i woke up to one of my first sunset mornings in a long time. I was always one of those people who woke up as the same time as everybody else, to the same sun blared windows as everyone else, and presumably setting up a day which, like everyone else, i had felt was just another repitition of all the days that had passed before it. No harm in sticking to a safe formula that works, i thought.

Amidst the aroma of a swirling cup of dark coffee, an energy boost which i cannot live without, i took the dawn in with a reserved unfamiliarity. The warm colours that began to spread across the horizon like some sort of mist, the morning music that emerged from the beaks of birds, and above all, the dark silence that filled my neighbourhood with ghost-like qualities made everything feel secretive. I felt like i was behind the scenes of a great theatre show before the performance had began. Everything moved like clockwork, and yet nothing was actually happening. I was slightly unnerved by the silence of it all, since i’m naturally used to waking up hearing my household active with my families voices, the TV running, and all those other processes and events that remind you that you’ve woken up in the real world.

This day had been destined however, to break the trend and start something new. Such a change had been suggested by my girlfriend who, on starting the summer holidays, insisted with such a fierce energy that we do something outside of London for a change.

“Come on! We’ve already been to so many clubs by now, we’re running out of places..” she said.

”What about all those other clubs further out, like say, the ones closer to your area?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes sardonically; a gesture i have become desensitized to.

“I mean all the GOOD clubs. Gosh don’t you understand anything?”

“I understood what you just said now….i think”

She fumbled in her bag and a mess of papers, makeup and countless receipts spread across the table. I sat there slightly amused until finally she pulled out what seemed to be a creased leaflet.

“Bournemouth?” i asked with an air of indifference.

“Beaches, the edge of the country, swimming…..it’ll be such a good start to our summer! We can find something totally new there!”

And so it was decided. We were arranged to get there by coach but of course the catch was that it was going to be one of the first morning coaches, forcing me with no other option except to wake up early, unconventionally early. The steam rose slowly from the mug and my nose caught some other foreign smell. A clean pure smell, the smell of grass mixed with what might have been water, but some other pure element that i couldn’t discern. I should explain. My sense of smell is incredibly sensitive, to the point where i can smell what’s cooking in other houses on my street. In my past life i may as well have been a sniffer dog, since i rely a lot on my sense of smell to make immediate sense of my surroundings. This newfound smell that i had sensed was the smell of dawn. It’s the smell of purity, before anything has touched it or defiled it. I must’ve been there for a long time, taking in this smell before i looked at the clock and decided it was time to get ready.

I managed to leave the house on time. The sun was still peeking above the horizon, taking its time before it came out. I was in for a long walk since the bus service didn’t start this early. The train station seemed like miles away, but having no other option i started to walk. My nose suddenly started to twitch and i smelt something familiar. Coming up to the park there appeared in the distance, a sort of purple haze. A big bush of lavender flowers. The smell was so strong, i almost felt like i was being drawn to it by a thin invisible string of scent. The lavender was being crowded by 3 or 4 bees, perching on its petals, desperately trying to extract its essence. Bending down, i took a stalk, ripped it from its root, and attempted the same.

The playground emerges in an instant rapture. Far away from all the pleasure, all the screams of delight, there lies a small courtyard with a sundial in the middle. Known as the “sundial” courtyard, it is crowded with a ring of different flowers, all overloading their scent to the sundial. He walks carefully to the middle. He is drawn to the purple-tipped green stalks. Bending down, he rips it from the root and crushes its petals in his fingers. Ah the smell! The smell is so gentle, so welcoming. It reminds him of what he feels when he is in his mothers arms. A friendly freshness that cradles your instant moment. And each day he may steal away a few minutes away from his crowd of friends, from his teachers, to this secret place of lavender stalks. His reminded that he is here. He is now. He will be as long as this beautiful smell lasts. Until one day, no more lavender stalks remain….and he waits patiently from them to grow….

I felt in that moment, which only lasted a few seconds, an intense childhood connection. A feeling that i had once had as a child that both me and the world were beautifully simple. And all we had to do was continue being that way. Until it came to the point where i had to abandon that. I had to be something all of a sudden and i yet still hadn’t figured out what that was. I was still in love with the simplicity of the past. The beauty of this gentle, sudden smell. It seemed to summarize everything. But since my sense of smell was something only i really had, i couldn’t explain it to anyone else. I could give them the scent, but would they really understand? I grew annoyed all of a sudden, of being alone and isolated in this secret understanding. I took a few stalks with me and carried on walking. I was already late.

When i got there, i saw her standing there with her arms folded, clearly annoyed. She stormed over to me as soon as she saw me coming up the stairs.

“What time do you think this is? The coach is about to leave already!”

“Listen, i don’t think i’m up for this.”

“What! And you’re telling me this now?”

”It’s not just the Bournemouth trip i mean…”

”Then what are you talking about?”

A whistle could be heard blowing and the person standing outside the coach was clearly growing impatient. He went inside the coach but left the door open.

“I’m not ready for all this…..searching. I’m tired of going to clubs and getting wasted and looking for fun all the time. It’s exhausting. Why can’t every once in a while can we just do something simple and normal? You’re a total party animal and it’s starting to wear me down.”

She didn’t seem to flinch and only replied in a sterner tone than i had been using.

“Look at us. We’re so young. The world doesn’t care. We’re gonna die eventually. We’ve got to use the time we’ve got to get as much fun as we can before everything turns so old and ugly. I planned this trip so we could get closer. So we could find something new…”

I sighed and looked at her painfully. “You still don’t get it do you? What we’re looking for is right here. It’s been here all along. We don’t need to travel all the way to Bournemouth, which is god knows how many miles from here, only to do the same things we do at home. I just wanted things to be simple and truthful. Instead it’s getting so complicated. I haven’t even figured myself out for god’s sake, and you’re still hauling me around on these crazy parties that don’t actually mean anything. I’m sick of it.”

She turned around and took one step into the coach.

“Fine, i’m leaving.” which she said with such an unaffected tone, it lead me to think if everything up to this point with her had really been worth it, or true. It was funny how one sentence in a certain tone of voice was enough to shake the foundations of all our memories. I turned around and got ready to leave.
She called me from inside the coach in a mocking, playful tone.

“Just what is that you’re holding in your hand anyway?”

I turned around to face her as the coach revved up and made even more noise to signal its departure. The familiar scent rose from my palms, soothing my mind.

“Just a bit of history……you wouldn’t understand.”

I was leafing through a lot of music videos on youtube and i was really happy to see that a lot of Tool fans are coming to appreciate The Mars Volta and vice versa. Its really to be expected because both these bands share heavy influence from King Crimson and Pink Floyd and if you listen carefully, you can really pick out the influenced segments.

Also whats really important to me is that these two bands are widely recognized for their work. I made a prediction a long time back that Tool would come to be remembered as this generation’s Pink Floyd but only time will truly tell, but if you look at right now as compared to a few years ago, Tool have come an insanely long way. Same with The Mars Volta.

Where am i right now musically? All i listen to is The Mars Volta and Tool and rarely anything else. I might occasionally listen to Miles Davis or Santana, something which just musically opens my mind, but i have developed this infinite love for these two bands and i don’t think many other musical acts will be able to touch that.

If you haven’t heard of these bands, let me briefly outline it. Tool is a mind bending sprawl through dark and surreal landscapes. It’s the kind of music that you sit down and do nothing except listen to it and peel layer after layer of its sound.

The Mars Volta is a band that has such explosive energy in their songs. I always listen to their songs in the morning and i always feel jumpy and energetic because their songs fill me with this kind of energy. My friend Tarik described it the best when he said “organized chaos” because that’s exactly what it is.

I do feel that if i go a day without listening to at least one or two of their albums then the day feels like it’s missing something.

It’s ramadan, so that means fasting from dawn till dusk, and naturally everyone in the house is really edgy because we’re really hungry and at some points – dehydrated because the intense London humidity gets to you so easily. When i do reach the end of the day and when its finally time to eat, i like to reward myself by going to the cereal cupboard and taking that big jar of chocolate spread out and eating it with a butter knife.

“Oh my god, that is so disgusting” my sister says.

“You have issues you need to sort out” my other sister says.

But i don’t mind. I sit there with chocolate happily on my face looking like a toddler while i try to contain myself. So on this occasion i wanted to grab something else to eat other than chocolate (though that itself is very satisfying) and went to the freezer.

I pulled out the first draw of the freezer and guess what i found?

Fucking salmon fillets.

Yes. That’s right. Someone had broken the sacred rules and bought seafood into the house.

For those of you who do not know, i absolutely hate seafood with a passion. There’s many reasons, but the basic fundamental reason is that it tastes how it smells and everyone universally agrees that it smells disgusting so…??? Don’t know why people keep eating it. When seafood is cooked in the house, either in the pan or the grill, i have to undergo what is called a “purification ritual.” Whatever was used to cook the seafood has to be washed vigorously 3-4 times over and over, then wiped down with olive oil a further 2 times to get rid of any traces (specifically smell and taste) of the seafood.

You know how they put warning on the packets of certain foods to warn you of any allergies? Such as “WARNING : May contain nuts or traces of nuts” or something to that similar extent? If i ever regulated a supermarket, the following warning would be put on all packets of seafood :

“WARNING : I taste like shit!”

*shiver* God knows how many purification rituals i’ll have to go through with those many fillets in the freezer.

Unpacked myself like a wooden crate,
Armies of fingers and devils,
Assaulted me like rain.
I fly upwards, walk sideways,
I escape from your heart
Like a forgotten phrase.

Did you remember all this?
All its shades, its moods,
Its twisting, spiraling connections?
I would sit motionless, thoughtful,
And think to myself --
“Dare i have the strength,
To defy the emotional orifice?”

To betray every pleasure,
Every hope and wonder,
To feed you at every measure,
And kiss you in your slumber.

Yes, i would be so foolish,
To fuel your soul with my
Abhorrent, blue diversions.

And as if obeying Salome’s request,
I would serve my severed head
On a silver platter,
With cutlery to match.

I stand at the foot of the hole now,
Opaque black shade, attempting
To mirror a passionate eye.
I have struck a deal with my
Holographic entrypoints, not to
Bleed outwardly, not to
Betray openly and broadcast my
Endless curiosity,
And endless hunger.

From my limited experience of books so far, Austen so far has been definitely the one that stands out like a light in darkness. Everytime i read just a chapter of her books, i feel suddenly inspired to write. Everytime i’m blocked and need inspiration, her writing changes it for me. There’s countless commentary and discourse on her writing, and i’m surprised each and everytime by how much people can dig out of her writing.

What separates Austen from other writers for me is her lack of mercy. She will delve very deeply into her character, and then with a very casual narrative voice, almost as if she may have been brushing dust off her shoulder, she will reveal the deep faults and virtues of her characters very suddenly and sharply. There’s no hesitation. She uses really advanced compound sentences to get the point across.

“Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful disposition; was totally free from conceit; and only desiring to be guided by anyone she looked up to. Her early attachment to herself was very amiable; and her inclination for good company, and power of appreciating what was elegant and clever, showed that there was no want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be expected. Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith’s being exactly the young friend she wanted – exactly the something which her home required.”

This powerful, piercing understanding of her characters works really beautifully when the dialogue of her own characters shows that they themselves are completely oblivious to their own faults. It all unravels so beautifully and elegantly as bit by bit the characters learn more about themselves and they mature, yet that piercing Austen-esque narrative always remains.

And then there’s that brilliant and subtle use of irony. Take for example the opening line of Pride and Prejudice :

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

This is one of the most famous (if not the most famous) opening lines in English Literature. And for good reason. Why would that be, you may ask. Let me walk you through why Austen demonstrates her brilliance in a single sentence.

1. It is a commentary on how money rules marriage (which in turn connects society).

The keyphrase is “good fortune” implying that financial standing is the only reason why a man would pick a woman. Society only revolves around connections that would make people rich. Nobody cares about anything else.

2. The writer herself does not believe the statement she has written.

We know from Austen’s background and from the actual story of Pride and Prejudice that she wouldn’t believe this statement. So why write it? It is because she recognizes that others may believe this “truth” but since she does not believe it herself, it is a gigantic lie masquerading as truth that other people widely accept but never question.

3. It explains some of the characters in the book.

Some of the characters of the book would happily agree with this so called “truth”. However because it isn’t really a truth, it exposes their hypocrisy and folly.

4. The rest of the book goes onto disprove the opening line.

It turns out it isnt a “truth” and it isn’t “universally acknowledged” since characters and events in the book contradict this opening line. Its subtle use of verbal irony, where the sentence implies the opposite of its initial meaning.

5. Don’t believe things on the surface and look deeper.

Of course you could take that sentence at face value and agree with it. But that’s missing the point. With Austen deliberately dropping a seemingly straightforward and naive line, she is actually saying “Pssst. This is a hint. It can’t be that simple and straightforward. Go deeper than that.” and if you do read on, she disproves that line with the rest of the story. So that’s another way to basically say, don’t believe anything you’re told straightaway.

There’s just so much you could extract from one sentence. And it goes further. There’s characters, dialogues, situations and dynamics. And 4 other books. *sigh* I love Jane Austen so much. Why can’t anyone understand that?!

You know nothing beats listening to Bjork’s Vespertine album late at night or early in the morning. I’ll never understand why people say they can’t stand Bjork. This album has been so lovingly and delicately crafted. It’s so elegantly done and is so easy on your ears that it will just glide over you like a cloud.

This is a personal reccomendation from me. If you haven’t tried Bjork out, i reccomend you the following. Wait till it’s extremely late it night, make sure your house is nice and quiet. Either listen to “Coccoon” or “Pagan Poetry” and keep an open mind and let the music just permeate you.

On the surface it’s simplicity.
But the darkest pit in me,
Is pagan poetry.

Just four letters. However little do you know that BBCD was actually a name that i was called by my family for a good period of my life! Not that i found it to be traumatising, just mildly amusing.

BBCD stands for “British Born Confused Desi” which a twist on the phrase “ABCD” which is “American Born Confused Desi” It’s meant to be amusing since the logical progression of the letters is basically a metaphor for the supposed attachment to English culture. (Obsessive language analysis habit needs to calm down.) Another name i was called was “Britisher” which was really popular among my uncles.

So why the fuss? It’s because for a good period of my life and even that still holds truth today – i am unapologetically british. I have a posh accent that i try to vaguely mask with a badly devised hooligan-slang tone, but my accent is the dead giveaway. I watch my old birthday videos with a mixture of delight and sheer embarassment because of how much i sounded like the bloody Queen.

My dad once said that the only thing he ever respected the English people for was that they were people who read a lot. I can have the most snobbiest, elitist conversations with total Englishy bookworm types about Jane Austen, Byron and Shakespeare and feel totally comfortable. I enjoy buttered crumpets and grey sweaters. I have an ironic and sardonic sense of humour and i’m not afraid of random humour at all. I love Blackadder and Monty Python and Stephen Fry is my personal hero.

“Oh God” Shabazz said in horror. “You’re turning british.”

“But Shabazz darling, isn’t that part of me"?” is the response i thought of later on.

I think about it more and BBCD seems like a really good fit. At days i’ll go around the house wearing my shalwar and eating nothing but desi food and trying to improve my urdu and listening to urdu music – then the next day i’ll be watching Blackadder while eating a toasted crumpet.

There’s no escape from this dualistic identity. But then it is such fun. It’s fun to be everything at once. Its refreshing and exciting. I’d hate to be purely one thing. That’d be so…..boring. *giggle*

I’m naturally suspicious of any letter that comes through the post with my name on it. I rarely get letters anyway, so why should something suddenly pop through, out of the blue?

So this letter was curious. It was a brown envelope and the address was handwritten. I opened it up in my usual sadistic envelope-mauling manner to see what was inside.

It was a letter from Manor Gate Mental Health Institute. I was getting an appointment to address my “mental health concerns” and that i would be “assessed by our specialist Early Intervention unit.” I resent the idea of being implied as a ticking time bomb.

Given my obssessive habit of analyzing language and breaking down every sentence, i’m apprehensive right from the beginning. It reeks of medical and methodological hoodoo. You know like those people who stand in white coats with fake smiles and fake accents and try to convince you that you’re actually a nutcase so they can sell you more pills? Something like One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey.

However at the same time (because contradictions are more fascinating to mention and even more daring to live) i feel this need to go there. From my recent 20th birthday i had been skimming over my journals and looking over my past year and i just feel that one of my big problems is not wanting to acknowledge that i have a problem.

Like for example, why would there be a tall dark man standing next to my drumset in my room late at night? Instead of admitting the problem and saying “Okay. I’m hallucinating” i would just totally deny his existence.

And this has been the theme of the past year with a frightening consistency. I’d have extreme moments of depression where i wouldn’t even know why i was living, then moments of extreme humour and laughter. Peppered with auditory and real hallucinations. If i had the humility to admit that i actually had a problem, then maybe it would not have intefered with my life as much.

Have you ever had that? When you have a problem but you don’t want to admit it? That was my mistake. I just didn't want to admit that there were some screws loose. I wanted things to just move smoothly in my own way and nothing else.

The problem is, the more you deny you have a problem, the more it will creep up on you. Once the sabotage begins, since you’re still in denial, it goes from “there’s something very wrong here” to “oh, something random is happening.” This will actually screw you up more than anything else.

I’ll relate an odd incident that happened 3 days ago. It must’ve been about 2 am in the morning, and i was getting ready to sleep. I have a lamp in my room where i can adjust the brightness. At that time, the lamp was nearly dark but not quite. As i sat down on my bed i noticed from the corner of my eye there was a man standing next to my drumset. But it was weird and hazy…..almost blurry. So i turned and i saw his shoes, they were black trainers with velcro straps. At this moment i started getting really scared so i looked at the window. Then what happened next was something i’m very familiar with.

The air began to get sharper and it gradually tightened. My chest was tightening and it was getting harder to breathe. Fight or flight reaction? Not sure. Anyway, it felt like sleep paralysis. I texted a friend in panic and counted to 10 before i ran to the window and opened it and felt the cool night air on my face. I turned around determinedly and he was gone.

That night i slept with the light on. This isn’t the first time i’ve hallucinated, however it has been a long time since i’ve visually hallucinated. Most of the time i get auditory hallucinations. Of course in the morning i awoke with a deep menancholy. Almost like the man had crept inside me while i slept. Life suddenly hollow and meaningless. I took a nap and woke up again feeling great and purposeful. I felt so happy and creative and had a great day.

The entire thing has been a buildup i guess. It’s been slowly accumulating. One thing i’ve never understood is how i can grasp these events with such clarity and rationale yet simultaenously experience them in confusion and paranoia. Perhaps that’s just me misunderstanding the human mind. But i always feel split….so very split. Hopefully this wednesday will give me some answers…..and not just a bunch of useless pills.

The following was a conversation i had with an Israeli. Things turned quickly political.

Him : You know who i hate? The arabs.

Me : Oh really?

At this point i was trying to maintain that mask of political apathy that i usually keep on at all times. I make it a point that i keep a totally oblivious attitude unless i come across someone actually worth talking to politics about. Above anything else though, i was getting pissed off very quickly. He was pro-israel, and i was pro-palestine. We were on thin ice before we had even began.

Him : The arabs who hide behind their women.

Me : You know something? You’re an ignorant fuck.

So my anger got the best of me. I couldn’t help it that this moron was even daring to imply such bullshit. Inevitably, all he was doing was recycling the excuses the Israeli army uses when they shoot innocent people.

Him : The arabs were such fools to choose Hamas, a terrorist group.

I was still staying quiet, because i knew if i started responding the entire thing would go nowhere from the start.

Him : You call me ignorant, but i would like you to come to Israel and feel what i felt.

Me : Feel what exactly?

Him : What it feels like to have your two brothers say “i love you” to you before they leave for Gaza and that being the last thing for them to ever say to you.

Me : That’s what war is.

There was this split second of “Oh shi-“ in my head when he implied that he had lost two brothers in Gaza in the war. Because after all, why worsen someone’s grief when they’re already finding it hard enough? Part of me wanted to say “You think that’s bad huh? Entire families have lost CHILDREN in the war.” but that fruitless in itself. He had reached that position because he couldn’t help it. Of course he was going to react that way if he lost family.

Him : Some day i’m going to kill some arabs myself.

And there it was, the cycle of hate. I’ve always wondered what it is that makes Israeli soldiers tick. Like, are they actually human? Or are they just demons in disguise? The answer is that they are just probably just continuing the cycle of hate. The only difference is that they are the ones with the superior technology and the bullying power to be that destructive. God knows what the palestinians would do if they had that kind of firepower. Regardless, it was apparent that what fueled this guy was pure unmoderated hatred. And can you really argue or reason with that?

I’ve been absent for a bit so its time to make a few updates. I’ll start with the most immediate.

I had my 20th birthday last weekend, which was basically celebrated on two separate days. Saturday was a bit weird in the sense that it was a dual celebration, as Jiggy’s wedding was on the same day so me and Osman went to see him. In addition to not seeing him for about a good 3 or 4 odd years, it was nice to turn up and give him a bit of relief because he looked fucking terrified. “Thanks man i really appreciate you coming” he said with a coy smile and even though i didn’t get to talk to him much, i was very happy for being there. Among the usual circle of friends, i managed to meet up with more people from my class who again i hadn’t seen for years on end. I was a little apprehensive because i felt that things had changed so much that i would totally find the whole thing to be a prick parade. But the lovely thing was that everyone was totally cool and nobody was nasty to me or overly judgemental to me.

It was also odd seeing the perceptible changes in age in some of them. Their faces had become a little more defined, more harder, gaunt-like. I found myself thinking randomly about how age and time moves us from a state of beauty into a state of decay. Yet the process of growing older is one that has so much potential happiness in it. Everyone came wearing suits, i came wearing casual clothes. I suddenly felt like some sort of misplaced kid in a crowd of grown up adults talking about grown up stuff. It’s funny how much older a suit can make you look.

Being around my classmates and remembering times, a thought crossed my mind. I thought about how when you’re young, it instills you with a natural arrogance. Because your life hasn’t even happened yet, and the future is still in front of you, automatically you gain a psuedo-superiority over others because you have that space and that time to make anything of your life as you see fit. As you get older that flexibility decreases. I sat there thinking, “these people could totally put me down if they wanted to, yet they dont. Similarly, i could look down on 30 year olds with my youth and vitality and make a fuss about how superior my life is, but then where would be the good in that?”  i loved the way that just because we were older, and that our situations had changed, and there were all these dimensions to each of our lives that twisted and turned in their own graceful complexities, we still kept things original. We were just the same people, the same kids. Time and change hadn’t interfered.

On the Sunday i had the family gathering. Again i was intimidated because of the overwhelming amount of spotlight you can get on a birthday and it can end up feeling all so uncomfortable. I sort of carried on my normal day and found myself getting irritated at the prospect of having to leave the house to go to this birthday thing. Before we had even left the house however, there was a few people that were supposed to come that said they didn’t come. We had originally planned 15 people but that whittled down to 11. Naturally i ended up feeling a little disappointed and wondered why people couldn’t make it but soon i shoved that to the back of my mind. Mum even told me that she had asked Dad to phone on the birthday evening but he didn’t call.

A little twitch of anger, a little spark ignited in my head. Then i thought “Fuck it.” because there’s much more worse things in the world to be angry about than an insensitive father. I was determined to have a good time regardless of all the obstacles.

Surprisingly enough, the entire thing turned out to be such great fun. I had just one conversation with my cousin about my guitar about 2 months ago and suddenly he comes up to me on my birthday talking about Gibson SG’s and Fender Stratocasters. That was hilarious! Everyone was really nice and really pleasant, and i even had Sidra turn up later on in the evening (so at least i had someone in my age range to talk to) and we did the whole birthday shenanigans. I went home with a huge chocolate cake (that will help stem my chocolate cravings for at LEAST a week), a bit of money, Guitar hero for the Wii, and Osman lent me the ps2 to play Shadow of the Colossus.

Everything went really smoothly. I was worried that i’d end inconsolably depressed after turning 20, but the truth is i don’t really give a fuck.

A deck of cards is being hastily shuffled,
One swift hand dealt across here and there,
Its instance and gravity remains troubled,
Since the cards the world deals you is rarely fair.

Still a spread of bone-white cards lay,
One card for hope, for despair, for fate’s plot,
A card and a choice displayed for every day,
Since you must play with the hand you’ve got.

The gentle glow of the lamp fills the room with a warm invisible hum. It casts gentle soft-edged shadows along the walls, reminding me of how a city inherits a certain industrial beauty when placed against the momentary amber of a newly-dying sunset. Yes, that’s it. These silhouettes and sunsets are my private moments of beauty.

The light filters through the dark household, creating profound golden lines at the foot of every doorway. As if beckoning to some sort of long lost secret, “come, come hither! There is a golden treasure lying in wait, our ambience does not dare to betray your hopes” and i rediscover this treasure, everytime i enter the room.

It’s just that this room reminds me of a similar room in my soul. It too, glows with a golden truth. And similarly, it is shrouded in darkness, though not a darkness that is impenetrable. Adorned with countless symbols of literature, memoirs of some distant forgotten past, this room is perhaps the one that i have any freedom over.

You feel it too don’t you? That gentle nudge that stirs ever so silently when you know something’s not meant to be. That prickling on your tongue when you know you should say something yet you feel strangely muted. But also the joy that ignites within you, spreading its soothing mist into your body.

I stare at the golden, gentle glow with an inspired depth. Somehow, somewhere, i no longer think, but i know that this light will grow soon.

Materialism, vanity and hedonism are all natural human qualities. We all feel that material spike, where the glitter of the world shines that little bit more, scattering itself around your soul.

Once those initial phases pass, or those initial impulses, the search begins for something wider, permanent, and more beautiful. But then once the search for beauty and truth begins, you also become frightfully aware of a pain and a yearning beyond yourself. Rumi talks about the sadness of the flute of being taken away from its spiritual source and being bound to earth.I won't claim to have enough spiritual clout to claim that a source of my menancholy is being deprived of the spiritual realm.

But yet i grasp with such intensity, an overwhelming feeling of pressure, menancholy, depression that seems to manifest itself in so many different forms but yet always originates from the same source. And this source is so intangible, so untraceable, so ultimately beyond myself. I can never truly address that deep hunger in myself, never.

At the same time, it is a source of creativity. It is that vunerable spark in my writing and my personality. The dark unravelled coil that has so elegantly wrapped itself so secretly yet so effectively around my life that although i feel drained by its presence, my method of coping with it is through creativity.

The battery on the laptop is dying now. I can't write more even if i wanted to. I don't even know what i'm saying.

Creativity is something that disrespects edges and limits by overflowing them. Sometimes when in a social situation, or those few situations where i was at “work” my mind would drift either to some insane piece of music or some other place, far more abstract and obscure. At no point could i just put a plug in my creative/analytical thoughts and just focus with a blank devotion. And then these thoughts obviously overflow when i am trying to calm my mind to sleep.

It’s funny whenever i’ve asked people the question “so…how do you sleep?” and they look with me with a mix of surprise and confusion and say something along the lines of “i dunno i just…sleep?” as if it was some sort of natural thing that just happened and clicked as soon as you lay down. Not with me. My mind is most active when i’m trying to sleep. That’s because there’s nothing i have to physically do. The day’s ended, so it kind of gives my mind free reign to just run around.

It’s an odd dichotomy really. That you can both be entranced and ensnared by your creativity. Love and hate. At some moments you feel inspired by what you experience, and at other times you just need it to shut up so you can live a somewhat normal life.

But then there’s one blissful moment. One moment where the storm becomes the gentle breeze. And for me that’s either writing or practicing music. It’s like you have all of this raw, uncontrollable energy that assaults you and suddenly you’ve tamed it and bought it under control.

Except there’s a slight problem i’d like to admit to myself. And that is i’m something of a half writer. I don’t write everyday when i really should be. Because if i dont, there’s all this energy that gets gradually stored up and adding weight to my life. Once i get it out on paper, i can breathe and focus again. Even though i’m working on a story, i’d like to think that even if i didnt contribute energy towards that project, then at least i could write in my diary. Even if it was just a sentence.

This post has come off as really self centered. I mean, maybe i should’ve written this in the diary because i hate coming across as self-absorbed, even if that may be the case sometimes. So the message is this : if you have some sort of secret energy in your life, whether that be an intangible sadness that you cannot manifest, or an overwhelming joy that you wish to share with the world, then express that energy in whatever creative form you can practice. Writing is natural to me, but for others its different. Others express themselves in sound, in paint, in dance, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Just make sure you release that energy into the universe….and who knows…..it may just come back to you in an aspect of your life that needs healing and positive energy.

When this eye dwells amongst the mist,
Searching in air, smoke or night,
The ghosts i had once sought to kiss,
Still obscure this blurry sight.
O! This love is without chance,  
Wounded, bled dry and maim'd,
In its future hope may wish to dance,
If in thy bosom my love doth still remain.
Till then, my patience doth erode,
Like cracks mark'd in this memory,
I wish a fool’s wish; such is my mode,
To evade time’s worldly currency.
A struggle 'gainst thee is a struggle in vain,
I step back; and the tears flow out again.

My excuse : it’s 3:48 am, i can’t sleep, and i was feeling creative. This is a sonnet written in Shakesperian style, complete with the archaic words.

*yawn* Goodnight. Or should i say Good morning.

The following post is just a collection of metaphysical and philosophical reflections of mine on an anime called Ghost in the Shell : Stand Alone Complex.

Stand Alone Complex is when the collective mind of society moves together as a whole, independently of a leader or a mastermind. It stands alone in itself. Imagine a future in which the internet becomes a sort of alternate reality, with its own protocols and subsystems. Society can then exist physically on the normal plane of reality, yet ideologically in this internet utopia.

Since the flow of information becomes directly injected into this cyberspace, (meaning the elimination of education and information being sourced from books and hearsay) it becomes totally synchronised and superflous. This is of course, happening right now as we can witness the advent of video, music, and even our social and individual makeup becoming synchronised in a way like never before, with sites like youtube, myspace and facebook.

That’s the preliminary stage. What really defines the Stand Alone Complex is cycles of behaviour. Someone may for example, scribble a thoughtful piece of graffiti that talks about overthrowing establishments. Suddenly in an almost virulent effect, whoever comes across that piece of graffiti will start spraying some of their own, spreading ideas to other people. Then all of a sudden everybody is moving in a direction to overthrow the nearest establishment despite the fact that there was no visible, identifiable leader who started the revolution. Nobody started a campaign and no leaflets were handed out. Instead ideology and inspiration worked from the root, independently of any forceful influence, and suddenly an entire bulk of people were all thinking and moving towards the same purpose.

SAC works a lot like a revolution. The differences however, are as follows. A revolution begins because the people are already unified beforehand by some overarching conflict or oppression. A revolution is also characterized by its revolutionary(s) who basically symbolize that struggle within their persona. A Stand Alone Complex is different because it arises completely from the normal fabric of life. It has no leader and so what unifies it is the seamless movement of information and hysteria.

Although the idea of SAC applies quite well to political situations (which happens to be the scenario in the anime) i find it interesting when you apply it to society in general.

Take for example, consumerism. The instant gratification culture that exists in all of us could be seen as a Stand Alone Complex. We all desire instant gratification in some shape or form. I have an overwhelming addiction to chocolate cereal for example. And yet what’s odd is that it wasn’t like this a hundred years ago. Or even fifty years ago. Did the de-emphasis on modesty, integrity and generosity formulate a Stand Alone Complex where the whole of society moved united in its quest for the ultimate individual pleasure? I mean it’s just odd to me, that we can all be so universally selfish.

Or let’s view it from another angle. The internet. We all feel an insatiable need to be connected to this utopian network. And infact the protocols of society have even become cemented in cyberspace. I remember when i was job hunting, and i spent the entire day around my area for jobs – and i got the same reply – apply on the internet. So, what, i couldn’t even hand in my CV?

And of course, facebook. I hear passing conversations of people talking about their facebook drama. People i don’t even know. And then it strikes me that there’s a very sizeable fraction of society already contained in facebook. Or another social networking site for that matter.

The internet Stand Alone Complex is society moving and coming together to become interconnected in a cyber framework, for this has succeeded where reality has failed. Some would argue that the next step in evolution for man is when we overcome our egos, or when we become telepathic. But i disagree. It is when we will become connected and sychronized through the internet. The Stand Alone Complex will see to that.

I’m really just giving a label to an otherwise very abstract concept. What’s interesting is that though we are so intense and immediate within our own individual selves, if we start lining ourselves up with other people in a greater framework, what emerges is a new order. New kinds of behaviour and protocol that we have no conscious control over. After all how do you know that your behaviour isn’t just a reaction from all the pre-prescribed stimulus that exist in the world around you? You could be just operating as part of a crowd, even though you are free in your own thoughts, your inability to see your actual synchronization with others disables you from seeing just how automatic you may have become.

Those glowing cornerstones. Those special people. You breathe the energy into my lifeless being like the wind gliding over grass. Without this support network, these intricate connections of ears, hearts and hugs, i will wither away into dust. I love you and need you all.