The barometer shows a low pressure,
I can feel it in my heart,
and head.
The thoughts keep crashing inside,
why do they make this head so heavy?
They grate so, till they make me think Blake was a happy Bard.
It's always the same thoughts, same themes.
I was stupid to think I wouldn't feel like this in sunny Karachi.
I am me, the issues are unresolved, I am me, static.
Whether it's Sudan, Palestine or any other people being oppressed, we self-professed Muslims
WILL remain quiet.
How to balance the end to be in the immediate moment of your own life and with the entire world as humanity?
It just seems so dark.
Family life is in the crapper, money is always such a back stabber. It's got me in it's grip and I don't even have any
career is a no-go (no, I didn't write the cover letter, and I didn't email my resume, thank you)
All I want to do is watch a movie or a sitcom, and I can't do neither because it's Muharram.
My soul is craving for a music fix, something loud and unrepentant, like Keane
(is Keane loud? I would say yes - they sing what my soul sings)
I cannot do it. Why? Because, once again, I have promised to lay off the music.
Why these false promises we pretend to make to ourselves but
are actually to our Creator?
I try to purify my heart, try to see beyond the superstitions and "show one hair you go to Gehenna" and recite this so many Fridays and this will happen.
And so you sit, reciting this Arabic tongue until it drips like lard
and your heart is so not into it.
And you wonder, is this the religion we all praise?
We all CHOOSE to remain in Arabia the dark all those years ago.
How does a person really become? When her brain has tied her up so effectively, she sees blood when she prays to God.
She expects no answer.
There is just blackness, and darkness, and fury and nothing.
Why does it all seem very dark today?
What hope? None. In spite of the sun shining every day and blue skies and butterflies. And the crickets.
And I am so hopeless right now about my therapy.
Twelve whole bloody sessions.
What do I have to show for it?
A huge deficit I owe my mother for the bills.
The shrink is counter-transferring and doesn't realise it, or if she does, isn't addressing it.
2009/1430 is so not my year. Optimism got the best of me.
Revertigo is the phenomenon whereby you regress when in the same house of your childhood, or with the same people. Now that I try to look out of the sand, I see life as it was ten years ago. It wasn't pretty. And it's killing me.
I've lost the ability to express myself anymore.
I can feel it in my heart,
and head.
The thoughts keep crashing inside,
why do they make this head so heavy?
They grate so, till they make me think Blake was a happy Bard.
It's always the same thoughts, same themes.
I was stupid to think I wouldn't feel like this in sunny Karachi.
I am me, the issues are unresolved, I am me, static.
Whether it's Sudan, Palestine or any other people being oppressed, we self-professed Muslims
WILL remain quiet.
How to balance the end to be in the immediate moment of your own life and with the entire world as humanity?
It just seems so dark.
Family life is in the crapper, money is always such a back stabber. It's got me in it's grip and I don't even have any
career is a no-go (no, I didn't write the cover letter, and I didn't email my resume, thank you)
All I want to do is watch a movie or a sitcom, and I can't do neither because it's Muharram.
My soul is craving for a music fix, something loud and unrepentant, like Keane
(is Keane loud? I would say yes - they sing what my soul sings)
I cannot do it. Why? Because, once again, I have promised to lay off the music.
Why these false promises we pretend to make to ourselves but
are actually to our Creator?
I try to purify my heart, try to see beyond the superstitions and "show one hair you go to Gehenna" and recite this so many Fridays and this will happen.
And so you sit, reciting this Arabic tongue until it drips like lard
and your heart is so not into it.
And you wonder, is this the religion we all praise?
We all CHOOSE to remain in Arabia the dark all those years ago.
How does a person really become? When her brain has tied her up so effectively, she sees blood when she prays to God.
She expects no answer.
There is just blackness, and darkness, and fury and nothing.
Why does it all seem very dark today?
What hope? None. In spite of the sun shining every day and blue skies and butterflies. And the crickets.
And I am so hopeless right now about my therapy.
Twelve whole bloody sessions.
What do I have to show for it?
A huge deficit I owe my mother for the bills.
The shrink is counter-transferring and doesn't realise it, or if she does, isn't addressing it.
2009/1430 is so not my year. Optimism got the best of me.
Revertigo is the phenomenon whereby you regress when in the same house of your childhood, or with the same people. Now that I try to look out of the sand, I see life as it was ten years ago. It wasn't pretty. And it's killing me.
I've lost the ability to express myself anymore.
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