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Journal: A letter

Journal by lyoz

Remember the bridge in Newport? I think we both agreed it's like a highway to heaven, a gate to paradise. It's so worthwhile, the waiting for your realisation, the awakening of you, I know it and know it so much now. On halfway, there were tears flooding my pillow, music played a thousand times. Then I knew Loving also makes you strong.

Now, I know you are there, waiting for me, going home. I let the virus invade my body. In the feverish sleep, I fell into a million parts, each of them grew into a full moon, hanging above, yearning for your love, and loving you.

Allow me to crash
to be sick
to be weak

I was reborn / will be reborn every day, if your love stretches out, from far to near.

Love me as much as you can
more than you can

Yours,

User Journal

Journal: Picturing life?

Journal by lyoz

Version 1 of a day in life!!

- 7:00 - WAKE UP!!!
Kiss and makeup,
7:00-8:00 - stretch, exercise, shower, eggs and tea.
Few moments of sitting still.. on the couch, watching her move.
8:05-8:30 - Pack lunch, skim the news.
.... or skip the news, to keep in good mood!
9:00 - 12.30 - Work and some more...
12.30-13.30 - Lunch and, if possible
kiss and makeup, chat and shakeup.
13.30 - 5.15 - Work and wrap up.
5.30-6.30 - run or jog, walk a dog, kiss her lips, sweet bliss
6.30 - 7.00 - shower again, and cook some dinner
7.00 - 8.00 - dinner and chat... music, a song-in-a-hat
8.00 - 9.00 - kick back and relax, read some poetry, paint a sack
9.00 - 11.00 - leftover work? tomorrows world.
11.00 -12.00 - In bed with her,
tired and complete. End the long day of life and love.
12.00 - 7.00 -

In dreams we speak a million lines
And love I hold in my heart
Your arms your hands, and your breath on my face
Enfold me, unfold me
I leave silently the world of my dreams
And sneak into yours to steal a kiss
Your lips... sweet bliss

User Journal

Journal: Worldly pursuits? 1

Journal by lyoz

What must we seek? Beauty, Happiness, Knowledge, or Justice.

A relative increase in any of these virtues will lead to slight betterment in the world, this I do not doubt.

But beauty and happiness are subjective, and individual pursuits--to each their own.

And knowledge and justice... Perhaps some things are unknowable, but still these pursuits are not individual pursuits. Truth can be elegant and beautiful, its pursuit may seem indulgent. Is the pursuit of knowledge ever indulgence? Knowledge, a group virtue, is for all.

Justice, perhaps more than any other virtue... Perhaps knowledge will eventually rid us of all Utopian illusions of justice. Relatively more just, for more, must be pursued with resilience.

Help me find truth and justice. I will find my own happiness and beauty (or will learn to live without). But never "tread" on our truth and justice.
User Journal

Journal: She

Journal by lyoz

There is a girl in my discussion group, and she is sitting across me. Can't avoid looking at her, because she is right there. Because she is pretty.

But she moves her eyes around. She never really looks at the face of the person who is speaking. She glances up and down, right and left, looking in the general direction of the sound. But never really directly at the person.

She is shy, lacks self-confident. Is it because she has very small breasts. She hides her breast by crossing her hands. Protecting herself.

She.
User Journal

Journal: How not to die

Journal by lyoz
Drown in human shit.

" in 1326, an ill-fated laborer by the name of Richard the Raker fell into a cesspool and literally drowned in human shit."

Source. Johnson, Steven. "The Ghost Map". pp 9. New York 2006 (Penguin)

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Journal: My life will conclude

Journal by lyoz

Using my intuition
I sense the screams of
our mutual frustration
 
Hate me
When I tell you to go
When Donts love you anymo'
When Do-es bear colors of broken rain
Of pain
 
Bleed you to death, tis only fair
They suffer at our hands
When we fuck her
When we suck her
And laugh about in sick disgust

User Journal

Journal: making love

Journal by lyoz

Sitting here forcing lines
word forms of silent minds
singing along my silly songs
the paper clowns are dancing in the rain

The paper clowns are washing their sins
painting my life in blue and purple
shades of your delayed image
bells and broken keys that open doors
to hollow empty rooms

I sleep lying flat on your belly
making a bee line for your heart
i am slowly lifting up your shirt
tracing dark red scars
facing pure black , lack of hate

I ll push slowly through your skin
melt my soul into your soft sin
we ll pull at the loose strings
together with hungry eyes
we ll push through the layers of him
and her in between

User Journal

Journal: Achcha

Journal by lyoz

Why is the subject of official emails so important? Why is the subject for journal posts required?

Long over due lines floating over my head. Delayed troubles come crashing into me. Silence is sweet. The ugly black cell phone that I never really wanted is now haunting me.... day and night. Cant believe things were so simple that day, not too long ago. When the sun was warm and all seemed peaceful. Despite all the work, all the money trouble, all the hidden pains and soft dreams. Simple plans for a lifetime.

Now the bells remind me of ... remind me of you.

Still cant pay attention to the lyrics of these songs. Its exhausting, its frustrating.
Tomorrow will be another day
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Journal: two cryptic (read stupid) sms 1

Journal by lyoz
SMS # 1

hi, just this new thing i found. hope it works. its suddenly more difficult. more than we like to believe? we envy them more than we like each other isn't it great, how just liking someone never matters to them. we feel lost and yet waiting to be full which matters if only to us.

SMS # 2

dont feel jealous. this time will pass and you ll look back at this day with a sorrowful, sly smile. when you are not part of a converstaion its best just to leave. restart your life. restart it tomorrow.
User Journal

Journal: an interview

Journal by lyoz

Puuch: "Ok we are gonna start now. Did you fill the form that I gave you?"

Juuth: "Yes, here it is."

p: "Good. I am gonna start with some personal questions. You dont need to be completely honest. And try Not to think too much about it. Is that ok?"

j: "sure."

p: "When was the last time you talked with your dad?"

j: "A few days back. He called me."

p: "Does he call you often?"

j: "No. He calls me from time to time, especially when I havent met him in a while. But I dont expect him to call."

p: "Do you want him to call you?"

j: "I suppose so. I have to keep in touch with him. I owe it to the old man. And I would rather prefer short phone converation than a long face to face talk."

p: "Whats wrong with that?"

j: "Nothing. Nothings wrong. Except that we never really did that when I was growing up. And I dont feel that I can talk with him. So most of the times its kind of one sided, and we both feel the gap. He is getting old."

p: "Do you love him?"

j: "I guess so. He is my dad. He is a nice guy. Just that... just that he expects different things from me, and .... I dont know. Too conventional. I dont want to be conventional. I dont want responsibility. I am a coward."

p: "What about ur mother?"

j: "I dont know my mother. Can we NOT talk about her?"

p: "Ok. Now, lets try something different. I want you to talk to me in vague and abstract terms."

j: "What do you mean?"

p: "Well lets say I ask you 'What do you like for breakfast?'. Dont tell me what food u like. Just think about that time of the day, or something particular about breakfast, and tell me whatever comes to your mind."

j: "Like the details from the Morning Show?"

p: "No, not the details. Maybe just how the show makes you feel"

j: "Its just a show. I watch it cause my roomate is in love with the hostess. Its really silly. I wish we could each our breakfast quite"

p: "Good. Thats exactly what I am talking about. So, what scares you?"

j: "You mean like a horror movie or a book?"

p: "No, nothing of that sort. I am not asking you to remmeber when and why you got scared."

j: "Ok, I know what you mean. People scare me. Not everyone though, most of them are plain annoying. But the ones who can write. And I dont mean Manto or Shakespear here. Just ppl that I know, that I could run into every now and then, especially average looking extraordinary girls. And not everyone. Just some of them, who are like all abstract, and try to make simple things sound abstract and difficult"

p: "Why do they scare you?"

j: "I don't know. Maybe cause I can relate to that. Being phoney, average looking, extraordianry... u know. "

User Journal

Journal: 3000 miles ~a kiss in my dream ~ tshirts that scream

Journal by lyoz

The meaning of "rejectee"

Communication is made so easy these days. You talk with your love-ones and your hate-tons over long distances -- phone, sms, chat, email, a 20 hr long flight with 4 days of jet lag. Communication is made so easy these days.
But it comes at a price... and you are aksed to pay more for the cheaper options. The ease brought about by the miracles of science and capitalism distance us from primitive joys, which are still best at short range. The look in her eyes, smell of her breath, a brief smile of recognition, sharing silence in an open space, the joy of an unexpected kiss, the sudden arrival of an old departed friend.
We talk sitting 3000 miles apart. Every day, for hours and hours, sharing the most intimate details, hidden secrets, and ugly desires... Still have to fight the vacum every morning before coffee or tea.

Its hard to sing-a-song. Easier to drop-by-for-a-while and drive-on..... dr-eamon. Its easier to watch a movie and feel silly.
She said a kiss would be nice. I said. I told her a kiss would be divine, will distract my mind from the deamons and monsters of this hell i never believed in.

Kiamat kay fitnay ko kum deikhtay hein

But then I dream and kiss someone entirely different. A stranger, with a familiar face. I never can get my dreams right. You never could talk quietly, hide ur smiles and mute your laughs.

I cant even get real life right. Keep sourrounding self with impossibles. As she walks through the door, the room becomes blue, heavy and stuffed... I am naked fading behind the leaves.
My green shirt is just like her one, and we both love it, for us and for em. I am the kind of guy you can go out with, smoke a joint with, sing a bad song on a 5-string acoustic guitar. We cant dance but talk the crap out of each other.

This as ever... becomes predictable. I write, they keep whispering and urging me on. She waits and makes it to the other side. Without fear and worry, without desire of glory, without I...

The meaning of "rejectee"

Its not even a word

User Journal

Journal: Money is like...

Journal by lyoz
... relatives

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
forget about your worries and your stress
....

Where do all the idealists come from? And what happens to all of these insignificant clowns, these... them.

There is this guy that I barely know, and he greets me eagerly and with warmth. People show their eagerness through their smiling and hungry eyes, and they show warmth by physical contact... a handshake, a pat on the back or even a hug.
I don't like it when people, whom I cannot hug, greet me eagerly and with warmth.

We surround ourselves by people, the basic requirement for a sane existence. We define categories, like labeled boxes, and pack our friends, family, relatives, colleagues and acquaintances in these boxes. Handle with care, breakable goods. We define ourselves by defining our interface and our relation with others. But is it only human beings that we fall in love with, hate, lie to, hurt, destroy, or hug.
There are some boxes for certain tangible objects, like the red sports car, or the lounge couch, or the old t-shirt. We rank these items, love them, hate em, shuffle them around, hold on to them... It makes us feel more real, giving life and meaning to these mere objects.

I hold my opinions dear, I hold my relations strongly with conviction, and I respect my decisions no matter how bad things go. You cannot live with yourself otherwise, can you? Everything I do, I do it for self, through someone else... a person, a thing, or an image. Moving people in and out of the various labeled boxes is something dear to me. And when someone in a smaller box, with eager and warmth, talks to me about some things, tangible or not, that I had placed in a bigger box, out of necessity or choice, I find this offensive and almost frightening. You see, people talk and give you their opinion. They say things. They mean things. They believe they are saying what they mean. You cannot just ignore that. That would be dishonesty to self.

User Journal

Journal: another Mudassira-like story

Journal by lyoz

Today the newspaper told me another mudassira-like story. Only this mudassira was three years old, and her ex-drug addict poor wretched and miserable father was acting out of pure concern and love for her, and his other two daughters... 5 and 9. The 38 year old beast could not make sense of his life, and could see no future for him and his daughters. Who would feed them, educate them, find them suitable matches and pay the dowry.

What was going through his mind when he did it? Did he plan out the steps, saw it all in his head before he actually did it?

And so I quote from Dawn, the leading English Newspaper of Pakistan:

"I picked up my daughters one by one from their cots, took each of them to the courtyard of the house and slaughtered them," Ashraf said, adding that his two elder daughters did not put up any resistance but it was difficult to kill the youngest one.

"Eisha kept on begging for her life. She did not blink her eyes even for once. She asked me why was I holding a knife and why had I brought her to the courtyard. I had no answer."

He said he once thought of leaving her unhurt, but then "I thought it would make her life more miserable." After growing up, she would be known as daughter of a killer and sister of two slain girls.

"Time had been killing me every second. Sometimes it so happened that I thought if I would die any moment. I thought about the future of my daughters after I am dead. And I thought why shouldn't I kill them before I die," he told a senior police officer, who visited him in the lock-up.

User Journal

Journal: two blue socks lying in my backpack

Journal by lyoz

Two blue socks lying in my backpack
Remind me of the night,
when you and I
Sat in the theatre
with gloom,
and pondered and mused and laughed
at the twisted fake lives

drifting in and out,
i can see u smile
And
incapable of being subtle,
looked at your face
all the while

User Journal

Journal: another slow day

Journal by lyoz

The news of the day.
It starts with sorrow
And hate

The touch of your hollow stares
My head in her hand
And we quietly agree
On this exchange of
thoughts and smiles

I share my suffering
And wish to see you
play with your hair
And sing

Never trust a computer you can't repair yourself.

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