Monday, January 17, 2011


here's to your devilish concoction, saeen.

we understand.

to the nights you must have spent. the anger, and the refusal to acknowledge what stares at you through the haze. but strengthen the haze- the fog of ready ingredients- till your stomach turns sour and you can fight it no more. drift then into a calming oblivion, and wake up, hung about your cheap escapism.

to stare at the truth and inner beauty and pretend it doesn't exist. must be a lonely world. to look at paintings majestic, to hear music of soul and pretend that all you see is grey, and all you hear is a buzz.

that buzz, friend is the ego that lies bruised and takes the support of the devil. but it is his piss that you grab, and while it may numb the sensations you have yet to feel, these will persist. these will make sure that they are felt.

we deplore thy self-defecation, and we urge you to get up, and stare up at the heavens and cry and scream. run, till you tire yourself, and then run some more.

true sleep will come, and the morrow will bring with it tidings of a chaste beginning, a sober silver lining on these murky clouds.

cheap fuck. x

Friday, January 14, 2011


you're here, 3 flights up. i could be upon you if you chose to run. i would pounce and stifle your screaming.

are you scared?

but we've stumbled upon this great fashion of vicarious living; projecting through objects and people that seem to be no better than objects but like clay urns with the insides painted, hold complex and exasperating beauty. how do i get to you without breaking you?

and perhaps an even greater fashion of penning down inspired words with a purpose. echoing, mimicking, learning, evolving.

god is in poetry but prose is the devil's domain.

in other news: the chills have returned, and i no longer bask in the cinders of a triumphant december carnival.

themes for consideration:

-brats connecting emotionally.

-crooks with winning personalities

...can you breathe life into the dead?

and a soliloquy to follow: to those who would be powerful, to those who would take it all!

but for the beating in your bosom, this mind would have taken you anywhere. you are caged in the rhythms of your pathetic mortal existence.

dance away you stupid, worthless thing. you don't even understand that you might as well! such is your vanity.

and so weak! you struggle with your breathing, still. you addicted, needy thing. the resigned, low tones and i barely make out the 'oh well'.

you don't deserve this.


they killed a Wali yesterday, and something in me stirred. this time it's personal.

a graduate in journalism, this pathan was not quite thirty and was living with his brother.

the afser speaks of the bastards that killed him with a fury i always knew he possessed but that i had never seen before today.

i persisted and started with my usual theory on civil duties. but he just will not vote. it was hard to decide which one of us had better manners- and the question of footing will rest on this matter- but he is fast becoming one of my favorite police officers.

in the familiar parking lot, in the pleasantly chilly karachi afternoon, the mountain-boys posed with their guns, armed to the teeth in menacing gear. boys in the big cities trying to play the part. needless to say i could relate.

to every person, every song.

Monday, January 10, 2011


where have you been?

doing what, exactly. you call these girls broads but you've got a board up for fun camp.