ab idhar udhar kya dekhtay ho?

when its comes to spirtitual eroticism we are swimmers of terrible satin skins.

Sister : Lost and Found

spring has come...in summer!
frigidula reawakened to the wild and the forest has sent her a sweet smelling scarlet messenger.we met up with the deftones girl in uswas art class, her names saleha.clicky click.shes into a lot of good music and good vibes! plus she has scarlet hair ends.uswas turned around on the drug paranoia, and its hgih time she did anyway.I mean how can you be all admirey culty with brian molko and totally ignore the fact that hes a psychonaut? she keeps coming back to the banal idioteque question of why is it illegal then? and im like whaaaaaaaaaa?? have you not learnt anything? how the fuck can you trust these people to tell you whats good and whats bad...have you not seen the incongruency? Alcohol kills around 9000 people in north america alone(yay! debates guru skills finally put to practice!)it can be fatal which marijuana never is.There are so many ugly social side effects that alcohol contains,alcohol rage alcohol crime..do i need to elaborate on tobacco aswell?lol...no im sure you'll get it darling sister.

What about my mascara?

umm...why are they disturbed by my dancing aenima?
my colours and my silk...my eye-dust? they are doing exactly to me what they have been doing to women for a long time...snatching jewels from the other sexes statue...the same way they took away the Power from the Feminine...they're now taking the Beauty from the Masculine...making the circle smaller and smaller till it is a point...so easy to be male...so easy to be female...thats the reason why in this age...the best of people are the feminine men and the masculine women...jewels have been stolen...please dont deny it...something has been slipped in the cover of the night of industrialism...Oscar wilde could see....ahh...wilde....i can feel the ancient scent of adonis dancing from your portrait gently and gaily.(no pun intended). Oscar Wilde knew someone has stolen his mascara,his fragility and buried his aenima...he found it beneath peacock feathers and indigo..I scream the same way oh sweet wilde!
What about my mascara!...
Dirty theives!
They killed the wolf and the peacock...
you see the wolf is a feminine symbol of vicious,unfearing warriorhood...of graceful motherhood(a wolf raised the two boys who built rome)Now the only vicious element left in the modern archetype of a female is found on the plane of sexuality...S n M...whiplash...that is a celebration of the plunder of the female archetype...why is that black leather whip woman so desirable for men now? why is that a fetish?
because the mother nature also speaks through the penis! This fetish represents their subconscious longing and desire for the wolf mother...for the female warriorhood...Although i dont ofcourse blame one man for this rape of the Aenima...of the wolf...of The great mother and the female archetype...i can certainly see their sharp shining faces beaming with pride at how they shaped the wolf into a foxy vixen which now is a sex symbol for them......im sorry, and even more sorry for females who were born under the new pink baby angel archetype...In nature, the Lioness hunts,that is surprising!The only places where the wolf beats the ground and performs her ritual dance of power are the courtroom,the stockmarket.A faint glimpse of that ancient wolf mothers mane perhaps can be seen in the sweet insanity of sylvia plath...she has that fury and rage of a slain and raped wolf.Ally mcbeal is one of the many pathetic attempts at resusication of the wolf.But sadly a kitty is awoken not the wolf.
Im sorry for you, but still what about my mascara!
the same plunder happend here,in my garden...but it wasnt you darling! that much i know...again it was them...i wish i knew who they were...
In my garden they killed the peacock...
Now the peacock is a male animal...and its perhaps the most colourful one under the sun...they killed the peacock stole his feathers,painted him black and called him the eagle..when he looked like a crow...
i was raped,stripped of my colours just as you darling!
the manifestations of the assault can be seen in the colonial style haircuts that were introduced into the british army,the schools,the society...
I whiskerless schoolboy...thats what i was made to be...afraid of freedom and wildness...although growing ones hair long is a merely a small example, the door it points at is more important...the warrior became the soldier...the farmer became the labourer...the craftsman became the factory worker..the painter well hes still free...the farmer is creative,motherly and free...he sows what he wants...while the labourer is a different concept altogether...same is the case with the warrior and the soldier...and it does not suit the soldier to be colourful or have "Mascara"(i hope you get the symbolic and literal dual nature of this term) it does not suit the crew cut boy to have mascara...for the wall street man to have mascara...his is the grey and black remember...
Beauty Fragility Colour Embellishment....all of them stolen from me...
as a consequence of that the average man of today also lost the emotional energies related to those elements of beauty fragility colour....he lost sensitivity...he lost respect for the feminine...he lost delicacy...he lost subtlety...he lost emotional beauty...he lost the peacock...the same way
the women lost the wolf..the power....
im tired.

diary of an intellectual prostitute.

Well...im out of my fathers rehab/programme to make me straight as an arrow,white friday kurta-sheep boy...could they invade my purple? no not really...Ironically my therapist has turned the whole thing around and rendered it invalid and useless...hes a real wise mother...he used to be a marxist but now hes in my mothers sufi silsila...smoked pot throught college and university and now what? he chants the beautiful names in the presence of camphor,musk and sandal...All the hue and cry about me crashing and burning,about my self destructive tendencies,about my unhealthy abstractions,about my unfounded liberalism,about ,about my perverse romanticism,my headspace,my gender issues,my bohemian radicalism...all these things turn to a new rainbow when he talks about them..with a swerve of his hand he named it bullshit...suddenly after a few hours with him...all these diseases that they had pointed out in me seem like gifts...im painted you fuckers!not tainted!
Although you have no fucking right what so ever, but would you trade me for a modified car-driving,papi chulo listening,mujra watching macho boy?NO! you hate that boy aswell...but imagine if i was that boy...would you put me in a programme then? NO! why not? is that not uglier?
what is this hypocrisy? My therapist says, self improvement is masturbation...not in those words but still close to tyler durden ;)
Daddy...daddy never prayed...oh but preached...preach preach...always order..never beseech...a lazy angry boy...thats what you are...and now when we go for nihari...i have to start the fucking conversation while you make that hurt/grieving face of yours? You're wounded father?
welcome to the club? If i have a fucking disease than im pretty sure i caught it from you...You who has been running from the scarlet from the purple...you who has been pushing away the feminine...
the empathetic...the nurturing...running so hard you crashed into me..into mother...and thats why your wounded father!
if i ever wounded you it was the wound of a warrior...what you gave me is the wound of an angry fool...if i made you bleed..it was intentional...and even neccasary for my sanity...but when all through my childhood i bled smiling you were unaware...caught in childish skirmishes with mother...
When i showed you a mirror of the ugly beast inside you, you came at me...but i know sweet father...you werent hitting me..you were trying to break the mirror...is it really so ugly the image of your past...oh ofcourse not to you...because as you said once,wife beating was a sport in the glorius golden days of the punjab...i forgot you are a fucking rajput afterall...aurat ko nahin maro gai to kis ko marai gai pyaaray?
And I think you were right...maybe i dont have the ghairat you were talking about...but i have something else that i find a lot more valuable...
Empathy,Respect and Equality...know that they are?no? thats ok i'll explain...didnt expect you to :)...You see if i date gaarls and taaak to them on the phooon...i wouldnt give two hoots about my sister doing the same,so yes im not a good ghairat mand bhai..but you know what i am? not a hypocrite....thats equality for you...When I have a clash with my spouse i will not beat her up infront of my kids and paint a scene of colonial correction performed by the great virtuos sovereign...Thats respect for you...i will call out my spouse by his/her name like a HUMAN BEING deserves to be called....the last word requires to long lesson believe me...so lets just leave it there...aap itna hi karlain Bohat hai...
So who needs a program really? me or you?
all that bullshit about me being a disapointment...Welcome to the fucking club daddy! your pretty late but its still nice you came...i've been here since my tiny pink eyes opened!

My sweet prince...

The prince came...my blushing prince came,
its morning and my blues have sprinted,
so beatnik and posh...and he remembers what i said...
it was too dark too see..but his ears bless him...
he remembers everything like it was yesterday...
well it WAS! we sat down and drew together praising purple and black..
he has double shade iridiscent nail polish...so exotic my prince..
he let me touch his hair and smell him...home cooked food,cherry?gardenia,tobacco and coconuts.
I told him all about sufism,and he already knows a lot!
my sweet prince...you amaze me...went back to my room...
the park can be filled with annoying yapping 14 yearolds....my sweet prince daniel says he can only stand them for 30 mins...he doesnt know i spent most of the summer bummed with them...they liked it when i played oasis though...he chose the incense...its called black love..
i cant ever get tired of smelling him and touching his garden hair...sandal sandal...bishi bishi...i have to bring him out of his beauty-case shell...probe him with pretty words...and then comes one mellow sentence...im satisfied...i have enough tongue for both of us ;)

oft hobbits and sufis...

I cant remember why i've made it a duty to hang out with hormony teenyboppers...some of them are pretty funky..but definately tooo energetic...a bit like hobbits...ofcourse me is an elf in this analogy. instead of hanging round at the bandstand we went to jeffson gardens..its a lot more serene there..most of them went home around six...i walked over to this other group...spliffy spliff.also stingy sting..one of them stuck out like a sore thumb...and i was there to kiss it!
spider hair...i swear he looked like a demon child...And thats what i said!
what came over me! he told me he got his hair straightened...and then uttered the awkward okkaaayy...i dreaded...had to leave on this fucking townie's bmx! so embarrasing not here...infront of this delicious creature! when i find the cherry in the pie i drop it on the floor!
i should stop this..trying to find molko...chasing invisible friends...colourful ghosts...i should just go to university with mum and finish castaneda and huxley..sarida, our host has been a pleasent presence...i helped her in the garden yesterday,weeding...still cant get over the pun..she seemed to enjoy it too...shes in the sufi healing order...
started by hazrat inayat something(who came to europe with a spiritual errand...) over a hundred years ago...over the years due to its establishment in the parisienne suburbs the order has become milder(whatever the fuck that means!) and has opened its doors to non-dogmatic mystics...they have rituals,but like the bahai call their order
universalist and harmonizing spirituality...she says they do something called universal worship....with white candals and sufi chanting...a pentagram to represent the major religions...but again it seems utopian...nations can be reconciled through respect and aestheticism..but spiritual paths? i dont think so...to feel the need to reconcile...is a whispering sign and witness to the fact that they have different names for a reason...in the domain of theosophy...most world religions align like planets many times in the orbit of their teachings...
world wisdom..is a very relevant term...but The ACT! it destroys our ride on the moon of diversity...almost all of the religions push the flesh and and what controls it in different ways...sacred history,human conduct,individualism,morality,mental environment,politics,economy,social structure,the sexes,marriage with time..these discourses are where the party starts to fall apart...
they are what most theologians call the lifeshell of a religion..the mortal dogma...engrossed in life...defining and shaping the human experience...
no bullshit all relevant....this lifeshell is what paves the schism between (most) of the religions...gives the religions different colours,iconography,
emotional energy and creates the exoteric...this is largely where most of the differences lie.
so clearly if the sufi healing order isnt having problems uniting the faiths,
it is throwing something out the window...the lifeshell and form..whether thats wrong or right...is irrelevant and prudish to ask right now...

one long thread of thought...from hobbits to sufis..train of thought...and look where it stopped on me and my heart..
writing about things like these make me heavy and dissonant.
so many words against so many others...
where to oh my bewildered mind?

Waiting...

The Waiting Room 8/28/2005 11:45 AM
We are all acting,
embracing roles in utter devotion
until it becomes our subtle dogma
a few dare to change the lines
of the script with mild inquisition
a voice at the door of the theatre says
look busy cause the lord watches,
break a leg the boss is watching
take out your hands mother is watching
construct in haste a conversation,
for the girl in pink is watching.
inside the black suit he wears like a skin,
the boss's small heart beats monotonously
look cold distant but alert
they should always think you're watching.

We are all waiting.
musing ourselves and our hands
with countless verbs of our choice
carefuly selected from a shiny dictionary
In the waiting room assembled in comfort
we have picked our tools of killing time
the boy with freckles plays with a boat
perhaps he awaits his union with the sea
an aged man tired and weary sweeps
the floor till it sounds squeaky clean
a gentlemen in black admires his yellow pencil
and with his scientific calculator
even he is waiting for real numbers.

8/28/2005 11:51 AM
wait why am i talking about you?
when i am the one most eagerly waiting
with sweaty palms and rocking knees.
Something must break the ice...
strangle this suburban stagnancy
which so closely resembles serenity.
my angst skates on the hard ice,
it is a little girl with earmuffs
whistling away some dead anthem or tune
that still carries the echo of life
of glory of war of picnics and of victory
that little girl is my silent desperation
to the people watching she is just a girl
flying on white in yellow naivety
she enjoys their delusion for it obscures
the furious dance of her feet
that little girl is my thought
skating on the ice of snoring society
she carves it slowly and patiently
carefull not to crack the frozen segments
shrewd wise and clever is the little girl
for she knows that waves of change
must be small strong and many
what use if the ship were to drown
in the storm of recreation?
She knows and she skates and she sees
all around her to be a long rain dance
a parade procession and preparation
only her eye sees the finger crossed
inside the pockets of insulated coats
All except the little girl are waiting
no perhaps even she is waiting
for someone to fall and break the ice.