Archive for August, 2003

a killingsworth excerpt

Sunday, August 31st, 2003

“and the girl lying next to me wore a perfume that smelled like falling in love over a summer vacation, smelled like kisses exchanged the night before your family would pack up the car and ruin everything.”



of red & nebula’s

Saturday, August 30th, 2003

We had to ask for directions twice. Everyone said the same thing; look for the stadium, it’s right next to it.

The professor was waiting for us outside the observatory as we pulled up. We four pulled out of the car and exchanged pleasantries with him under the stars. The entrance to the building itself was quite interesting; the walls painted with various images, the floor itself a giant compass with the support of the telescope (2nd floor) in the middle.

Mars itself was tiny on the 10-inch telescope, a white dot with shades of gray (mountain ranges) and the brilliant white cap (south polar ice cap). Due to the unique time range of Mars being so close to us, the telescope had been programmed to constantly point at Mars. Let me phrase that fully. Everything was moving, the earth, mars but not the telescope. it was setup to constantly point at Mars, regardless.

Had we only had the view itself, it would have been dull. The atmosphere, the conversation was what made the evening. There we were, in a private observatory tour with the professor lecturing to us humourously in his heavy australian accent whilst we probed him with questions. We thought we were done with the entire evening when all of us had seen Mars but not yet. He swung the telescope around with an easy move whilst we scattered below, a little un-used to having a giant object being swung around over our head. What came next was dizzying; the entire roof shifted. And the professor chuckled.

There exists an observatory in Australia where instead of just the rooftop, the entire building shifts. Everyday, the professor said, he would step out with no idea where he was or where his car was parked.

I would have rather treasured a peek at the moon itself. I’ve heard the stories of the prophet having split the moon in half with a gesture of his hand (with ofcourse, Allah’s permission). True|False, I know not but it sure would have been nice to see that breathtaking moon of ours. But I was not disappointed.

Instead, we saw the ring nebula. We were speechless to see such a sight, such a detail at such a distance. I’m fascinated with the planet Saturn, the rings of Jupiter, the moon we have. This was…subhan-allah.

We thanked the professor profusely, sincerely. Tonight he had his first open house for the public to come in and see Mars. But we weren’t treated as mere mortals.

On the way out, we saw the stadium. It was the smallest college stadium I’ve ever seen in my life.

the blank back wall

Wednesday, August 27th, 2003

I want to be sit down and write how the campus is overflooded with students now. New freshmens, veteran sophmores, jaded juniors and somber seniors walk past my building, clad barely, teasingly, sufficiently for them, not for me. Not my taste.

I could tell you about what Mrs Jones said when she dropped me off the first day of school “It’s such a beautiful town; till these kids come and ruin it”. She’s lived here for fourty+ years.

I could tell you that I myself was in the line to buy pens and notepads for my classes. And the lines were long with excited chatter in the air.

But what bothers me, what hurts me, what makes me cringe and sicken is corruption of the once good under the vile guise of self justification.

[to be continued]

the many any

Tuesday, August 26th, 2003

The other day I thought of a great tagline for alcoholic beverages:
“____! Making Halal Places Haram since 1902″

In other news, school began, new projects and teams are assigned and ‘Bowling for Columbine‘ is out on video apparently.


Saturday, August 23rd, 2003

I sat at his funeral prayers, a friend in a crowd of two hundred plus friends.
His name was Saif Idris.

I’m no superman

Thursday, August 21st, 2003

Growing up, we all go through such conversations. If we had the choice to be a superhero or posses superpowers, what would we choose. Even as adults, and with so many movies in the limelight nowadays, we still continue to pick apart at this fantasy question. I’ve had the same answer for ages now.

I look at the categories of superhero’s that exist out there. Only three main ones struck with me: Batman, Superman and Spiderman.
Now watch my mathematical mind follow the process of elimination.

Superman is from another planet and grew up on a farm. Having none of these two characterestics (especially the farm skills), I have to cross him out of my list.

Batman is a filthy rich man with a giant cave in his basement. I have but a few hundred in my account at the moment and I don’t forsee a future with billions rolling around. I also happen to live in a basement, which by the way does not have any cool gadgets, unless a blueberry iMac counts. Batman has to be excluded from my list too.

That leaves Spiderman last. I am forced to conclude that there is a higher chance me being bitten by a radioactive spider on a school trip then being insanely rich or an alien from another planet.

Now, I eagerly board any bus I can find.

white gleaming bars

Wednesday, August 20th, 2003

Ever capture something wild and keep it caged?
To try to observe it and watch it fade?
To poke it gently then hard and let it jade?

To keep it captured, because you/it wouldn’t know how else it could be.

A body fighting its soul, an innocent breath captured by cunning lungs.
All for the ghost in a ribcage.

of hidden volatile containers

Tuesday, August 19th, 2003

I’ve seen friends of mine who, due to their swamped workload, miss out on going to a gym for weeks at a time. Their arms ache, their hands grip invisible rackets, their eyes seek a ball that isn’t. Withdrawal symptoms of lovers. Be they lovers of hearts, of sports, of words, or of a thought that could not would not should not ever be.

I’m on vacation right now. My vacations this past year, rather, since the birth of my arch nemesis have included massive amounts of babysitting, despite my hardest to plan other activities in my apparently hard earned freedom time from school. It reminds me of those times my mom would tell me that when i’m ready to take a break from studying, I can vacuum my room. That’s not a break. That’s an un-break. A non-break. A ha!-in-your-face-you-still-gots-more-work-to-do-sucka!-break.

I can’t complain. I try very hard but you try complaining when you have the following in your lap:

Today me and monkey went and fed the ducks. After which we both read the sign that said to not feed the geese. Since I think they’re ducks, not geese, I think I’m ok. Plus I like fat ducks. Who doesn’t?

Those ducks by the way, are vicious little critters. There we are, me and little monkey, dolling out cinnamon raisin breads and they’re almost snapping her hands. They actually snapped up a petal of the flower she had just plucked. Slightly in fear for her, I took over the tossing of ye bread rituals and tossed them to the ducks, but further away from her. She just stood there, in awe, marvel etched nowhere but her eyes and lips. Lips that went just a little ‘oh’ at the sight of them, eyes that went from glaze to focus in an instant.

But I fear for her and I hate it, love it, taste it each time I think about her and I can’t stand it sometimes. I fear for her steps, her eyes, her hands that reach out to touch new things. I’m in fear of alligators that could mysteriously appear to snatch her from us, of kidnappers that would make her cry tears endlessly and not feed her right, of falling down and having a bruise that a mother could not kiss away, of being left alone, of being orphaned, of crying from hunger endlessly.
I hate it. I loathe this feeling inside and I cannot categorize it.
I’m in fear that Maryam will not grow up properly, that she will be abused at later ages, that she will not be loved sufficiently by those around her, that her lack of eating will cause her to die and cry as she lies on the deathbed, tears that only my Rabb could explain to her. I fear for her and I don’t know why sometimes. I fear for people hating her because she’s muslim, a child still, a baby forever, my baby, go away from me baby girl, go away, you played a wicked game on me. Do I really want her growing up in this world today? Do I? I’m afraid of her meeting that one person who will break her heart, because I cannot make those tears go away.

I cannot stand her tears, those horrible angelic pearls that strip me of all my strength, reshape it, redesigns it, before pressing it back into my heart. You know that feeling too, it’s the one where you take a breath too fast, too much and halt, because you know it, she’s doing things to you, magical things.

I know what it is. This fear for her. It’s called caring, it’s but one facet of loving.
And she’s not even my child.

I’m afraid not ready to have children.

dheem dheem tanana

Thursday, August 14th, 2003

i like not plastic hair.
i like not green eggs. and i definitely don’t like ham.
i like not worn out socks that itch. and i don’t like mice which don’t work.
i like not cheesy music. and i don’t like cliche clothes.
i like not blue pants much. and i don’t like slow machines.

but i like you. and i’m glad you like me.

now, if we could all just learn to like ourselves a little more.

3 for Denmark

Wednesday, August 13th, 2003

In the name of the most beneficent the most high
He who holds my soul before and after I die
See I’m lost in confusion so please help me lord
I wanna act right but can’t play my cards right
Don’t let me go astray show me the right path
So I can be amongst the righteous and not those who catch your wrath
Any fool can make a baby only a man can raise one
June 17th you granted me a son
I know the first look is forgiven but the second isn’t
But I’m already at my 5th lord now I wish I’d listened
To the truth I know a part of it still in denial
If I knew what your loved one knew I would barely smile

-lyrics from Eyes Never Dry, Outlandish