I wonder how it would've been to live in the days of text-only computing. You know, terminal based web browsing, and text-only web pages... nowadays it seems like people refuse to read text unless it's on a vintage-effect picture that looks like grandma's arsehole took it. Why are we doing that, anyway? I thought we moved on to the digital age and wouldn't have to worry about film grain and shit. Instead, people are using DSL-fucking-Rs' to take pictures that look worse than they did 20 years ago. What's the fucking point then?

Dream, within a dr- Oh, shut the fuck up.

I've been meaning to do this for a really long time.

Inception. I'm going to tear it a new one.

To put it in short, Inception is like a jugsaw puzzle that tries really hard to come off as a rubik's cube. A puzzle that is confusing and so hard to understand, that solving it makes you a part of an elite society. It's the same effect that buying a cup of coffee at Starbucks induces in people. You think to yourself, oh, this is such a fine puzzle, that me understanding it can only mean I belong to a heirarchy that involves people that understand this shit. Surely not a common man. It's only one of the many ways that money makers have found of pulling people into the loop, by feeding their egos. Because the modern day mammal loves nothing more than his or her ego being fed, a.k.a. living the dream.

The plot, the concept of Inception is so shallow, that it can be explained in very simple terms in about 5 minutes. The film makers aren't stupid, I'm not saying that. On the contrary, the film makers are smart people that know this, and could've accomplished that very task - save for the fact that they would never want to. Because that's the secret, the cash cow. They managed to take a concept so simple, and structure it, and present it in a way so tangled up (to orchestral music in the background, of course,) that the common man of today comes out of it feeling like a rocket scientist. And that is the magic of "Inception."

Also to mention, Inception's shallow plot line is not helped by how the movie has no boundaries or set rules to it. No matter what amount of imagination the film makers require the audience to bring in to the movie, I feel the experience is incomplete if there aren't any set of rules developed pre-game. Imagine playing a game of chess without any rules? It just wouldn't be a game of chess then.

Similarly, in Inception it seems that the film makers did whatever the hell they wanted to, from the beginning till the end. Oh, we can go inside dreams, hunky dory. Midway through it all, oh, we can go inside the second layer of the dream too, did ja know? No, I didn't know, because what the fuck, you just made that up.

Filmaker: You know what, how about we just flip the whole surface of the planet in this one scene.

My question here is; Why?? What did that one scene have ANYTHING to do, at fuck all, with the plot? The story line? The concept? Or should I say, the lack of all those things?

It didn't. It was just a cheap trick. One of the many cheap tricks, in fact, Hollywood deploys in the present, so movie goers can just gawk in awe without wasting any brain cells.

Also see: Michael Bay, and Transformers.

It's just pleasant things to look it. Just like Paranormal Activity. There's no plot, there's no sub plot, there's nothing going on. All that it offers, is cheap thrills. Shock imagery. Scary shit happening back to back.

Back in the days, it used to be - they would actually sit down and ponder over how to make the movie more intriguing by adding story telling elements to it. By adding msytery, by adding suspense. By developing character back stories, and somehow unfolding a character's mentality to the person on the other side of the screen.

Take John Carpenter's "The Thing," created all the way back in 1982. The movie had zero to none Computer Generated Imagery. And we can all imagine what the special effects were like back then ourselves. But what John Carpenter did have - was talent, and a way with story telling.  The following is a spoiler because I want to make the whole thing about "The Thing" quick and short, because I'm not writing  review for it:

[SPOILER ALERT - because I can't talk about the sheer genius, without spoiling a key plot element.] - You see this random dog being hunted by a bunch of Norweignans at the beginning, that fail, and the dog just takes a liking for the people that save it. For the next couple of scenes, you just see this poor shaken up dog look at them from behind windows, and slumping under a table. You look it, and you say "Awww, what an adorable puppy!" The next thing you know, the dog is the mother flipping alien that ultimately ends up killing everyone. Now who would've fucking thought? [Spoilers Ended]

Now, if you haven't seen The Thing, I suggest you watch it as soon as you can, because it's not only a great movie. But it can also be used as a lesson, and something you can compare recent movies to. It has you second guessing everything, even yourself, until the very end. Strong character development, check. Eerie atmosphere, double check. Cheap thrills? Maybe a few. But it doesn't not end up serving you cheap thrills on any expenses, and delivers on all counts.

Let's go back to Inception, shall we?

It has pretty things to look at, and that's about it, in a nutshell. It has a very simple concept/story, and it makes up for that by presenting that concept/story in a very confusing fashion.

I'm not saying anything about the actors, because Leonardo Dicaprio has done some very good things. Not Titanic, no. I'm talking about things like Martin Scorcese's The Departed.

Also pardon me if this seems like a rant - but I literally couldn't sleep at night thinking about how people make Inception up to be some sort of art. Like it's so philosophical and deep, as if Socrates himself wrote it. No, Socrates would've laughed at the lack of all logic. Now excuse me while I go catch up on some much needed sleep.

It's an ugly fucking world.

This acne medication said "Giving you the power to face the world!"


Because that's just what a teenager with acne needs to read. Confirmation that the world is just a huge sack of shit where the only thing that fucking matters is aesthetics. Because if God forbid, he created you not looking like a 'real' human, and you have some sort of disfigured appearance - how are you going to face the world? Also, he created each and every one of us to be such aesthetic praising mother fuckers, that we rarely ever think of anything else.


Because our idiotic little brains retain information by making data points of every life experience, using whatever little information is provided to us, we don't necessarily take the time out to follow through on minor things like Logic and Reasoning. And what better thing to reign over all this information, than fucking aesthetics. A good looking person vs someone with a horrible looking face, it's no fucking choice who you're going to trust on a rainy day! That job promotion needs to go to someone? Fuck Ellen in accounting, her eyes aren't the same fucking size. Johnathon, however. Who wouldn't want to fuck him. Promote the bastard!


And how do we judge or calculate what is more aesthetically pleasing? Here's the real fucking joke - we don't! For some reason or another, all this has already been fed to us before we could even stop ourselves from shitting our own pants, leaving us on the mercy of our hopeless mothers! Oh, Golly Jee, isn't the world such a happy fucking place where everyone is created equal and receives equal rights?! Jumping jupiters, yes sirry! No wonder people are born with all kinds of genetic mutations and things like congenital ptosis! Fuck yeah, equality!


And then the audacity of human kind to portray hypocrisy on such a grand scale, denying judging books by their covers, not realizing it's just human fucking nature - something we can't really fight. We're flawed, which is why all our systems are flawed. But hell no, good sir! That ain't fucking me! Why, I give everyone an equal chance! So what if I start walking faster at night if an ugly mother fucker is coming down the other side of the street? Especially if they're not the same skin color as me! And by God, if they have acne, fuck this shit - I'm booking it!


So, come on teenagers of the world already tired of being on this planet for a measly 15 - 18 years! Pay up all these big wig corporations to take away the flaws given to you by God himself! If he didn't give them to you, how else do you explain them then?? Must be your own fucking fault then, you ugly mother fucker! Now cough up the dough, children in third world countries aren't going to starve themselves.

Even more ramblings of a mad man.

How about a fake blog post by the fakest of them all? Even fakest isn't a real word, but I never let grammar and spelling get in the way of setting things right. Cue laughter.

I fail to see why any of us bothers, or even gets out of bed in the morning. Or late afternoon, or in my case - even when the sun sets. Nocturnal and insomniac bastard that I am. But I can't be blamed, it's questions like these that drive me to insanity and lack of sleep.

There is no originality, it died long before you and I came into the picture. We're just products, or bi-products by this time, of the standards and "socially acceptable-ness" that was set long before we were ... products, or bi-products...

We're brainwashed, programmed, and spoon fed with all the bullshit and political correctness that the world around us thinks is stomach-able. No less, no more.

We fake appearances, emotions, feelings. We're our own heroes, and life is our hero's journey. Each and every one of us. Whose the antagonists in our case scenarios, then? The same cliche' antagonists as always, of course.

Authority. The Man. Our own personal dilemmas. Whatever we can build up in time to be miserable and depressed, all the while - faking our way through personal relationships and "life." The selfish pricks that you and I are. There is no altruism, there never can be. The game has always been about the survival of the fittest, and don't let any asshole tell you otherwise. Save yourself and all the optimistic, drugged up on stupid shit, life teachers - all the effort.

You are born, you struggle to survive and put food on the table, and then you die. I don't see what the big fucking mystery is.

So "what masks does Daanish Arif wear?," an opportunist would ask at this time.

Fuck you, that's what mask. See what I did there? I'm the forever rebelling, sticking it to the man while sticking one up his wife's ass - not taking shit for answers, and making my own rules - motherfucker.

It's much easier to claim you don't like the game itself, to save yourself from having to put any effort into playing it.

Fuck all the rules, because I didn't make any of them - and neither did you. Then why participate?

Such a pacifist, aren't I? And so easy to get along with, as long as you don't put any rules on the table.

We're so full of hope, and so full of shit. (Thank you Marilyn Manson.) We will forever lust after results, and we're all fucking superstars according to our own rites. Right... rite, right... Whatever.

Why do I love self destruction so much, an opportunist would probably ask. Well, we all beg to feel something or the other every now and then, don't we?

We all have to play with the cards we're dealt, of course. And what cards was I dealt that hadn't ever been dealt to anyone before?

It's all been done before, it's all happened before. We're not living any special stories, we stopped a long time ago. As soon as the nth number of person born took the same exact route someone else did. Probably long before your great grandfather was even born.

The only thing that surpasses our hopelessness is our insignificance. Yet we strive to correct people on their beliefs, on the color of their skin. We continue to stigmatize the poor moron that had no choice where he was born, or under what religion. We continue to kill in the name of pissing all over the place and marking our territory.

The only thing that surpasses our insignificance, is how primitive we are. Except, we don't climb trees and throw feces at each other any more. We climb social heirarchys' and use bombs.

We're like a speck of dust in a universe so huge - our minds can't even contemplate it. It would make our idiotic heads spin, and one look at how it all works is enough to drive the sanest minds insane.

"If life is going to exist in a universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion."

What's the point to anything at all then, you speck of dust?

Us, the non contributing zeroes of the universe, just trying to contemplate it all and making our own realities. Anything to belong. Anything to help us sleep at night. To save us from the boogeyman, any shoulder to keep us warm and comfortable.

Fuck, that.

"Cynical Realism is the intelligent man's best excuse for doing nothing in an intolerable situation." - Aldous Huxley.

Musings from a plane again.

You can't smoke on airplanes, and my flights back and forth between Riyadh and New York are usually 12 hours. Nicotine withdrawal makes me a very angry person. I sometimes laugh at my anger, and write down mean things, especially on planes.

It's because I have all the time in the world to sit there and converse with myself. Observe:

My keen spirit is chafed by involuntary inaction.

There's a kid walking down the fucking plane corridors wearing shoes that light up while he walks, while people are trying to sleep. He's lucky air pressure prevents these doors to open, or I would brighten up the Atlantic ocean sky for a quick few seconds.

How fucking retarded do you have to be - not only to buy your kids this horrible fucking bastard child of disco club and shoe, but also let the little fucker run around on a plane in them?? Seriously, parents. Pay more attention to your kids, before they prove Darwin's theory of natural selection... actually, never mind...

Maybe I'll extend my foot down this dark lane the next time the little jackrabbit Christmas tree decides to come running down. Redefine 'flying colors.'

More ramblings of a mad man.

In my nightmares, I'm mostly in Riyadh. The backdrop and lighting is almost always dark red or maroon. I wake up depressed, and as if I've witnessed or experienced something deeply disturbing. I feel sick to the stomach, and very sad.

The nightmares come and go, though. Every now and then, sometimes multiple ones in a night. Sometimes they're just dreams and not that overwhelming even - but it surprises me each time when that happens and I wake up feeling just as depressed as I would if it weren't just a simple dream.

I'll wake up humming an old tune, something I heard when I was growing up. So I'll put my headphones on and revisit it for a few minutes. Sometimes I wake up humming to something I've already revisited a day or two ago. Sometimes I wake up and hum something I haven't thought about in a while, and then I revisit it. It's very weird. I'm kinda confused.

Every book I read gives me an analogy, or reference that I can't get over for a few days. That's why I like good works of art and the sort - they leave imprints on your brain for a while. At least for me they always have. I find it hard to let go of grasping subjects and details from any story. Even if it's fictitious, but not only if.

I read Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury a few days ago. I can compare myself to Guy Montag in this situation then - just because of the confusion.

I might just be homesick. Not so much that I'm sick of not being home, but that the thoughts of going back home are making me sick. I don't know.

I'm anxious and nervous to going back to my previous lifestyle for various reasons. Mostly alienation.

I remember the last couple of times I went back home, and things were completely different for some reason.

I hate the fact that I can't just write whatever I want here. I also hate not being able to say what I want, when I want to. This has got me into trouble in the past, and I'm afraid of it getting me in trouble again, especially when I go back home.

A question that sometimes drives me hazy,
Am I, or are the others crazy?

Redefining awesome since 1989.

I just honestly don't have anything to say.

It's kind of scary, to be honest with you. I've never experienced a writer's block of such sorts. In fact, it might have actually evolved beyond the point of being just a writer's block - into a lack of things to say. That is the scary part, and I'm not even trying to be funny (or sarcastic.)

I turned 22 a day (or two,) ago. It's funny, I got wishes from the most unexpected people and places.

My girlfriend made me a lot of cheese cake, which was pretty awesome. I might actually have just about enough cheese cake, for once in my life. My love of desserts worries me sometimes. But then I eat cake to feel better, and it always works. I think it's the reason I love cakes to begin with, it's one of those remarkable viscous cycles.

22 years old and I write about cheese cake. This would not be a problem of course, if I wasn't a man (or attracted to women,) of course - now would it? But alas, I can't resist cake.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I think I just can't do the stupid public service announcement birthday blog post any more.

I thought it was cool that Nobia remembered - I have no idea how she does it, but she did. It's a little scary.

Sheeni remembered too, even though I have long felt that she has a birthday calender on a wall in every room of her house. I don't think her (or her mom,) has ever forgotten a single birthday. Ever.

Sam remembered too! It was ridiculous, he called from Saudi Arabia. It was awesome. I really wasn't expecting from hearing from anyone back home.

And can you blame me? I think my parents forgot too, this year. It was kind of funny, but I can't blame them. I would forget too, if I had 4 kids. I barely remembered my own birthday this year, and I don't even have one!

Lala remembered too, which was pretty awesome.

I don't have any profound or introspective thoughts to offer.

Being 22 isn't anything special. Everything is the same as I it was when I wasn't 22. I don't know what I was expecting would be different. Maybe I hoped I would be wiser by now. Or have more answers to the great mysteries of life.

On the contrary, however, I find myself even more lost than ever before. This is what purgatory must feel like, in fact.

Whoops. I just gave out an introspective thought. But still, I didn't lie though, it wasn't much profound.

Or maybe it was. That'll give you something to think about while I go back to exploring things.

The love of silly games.

She slammed the door behind her, as she entered the apartment with a bucket full of fresh clothes that smelled like a valley filled with green somewhere that was fake. It slammed shut extra loud, a little louder than she hoped it would, but the doors in this building had a way of doing that. And gravity didn’t help a lot either, especially considering that the house wasn’t built on a straight piece of land. Either that, or the construction workers all had vertigo.

“I’m putting your laundry down here next to the couch. Are you ready yet?” She said in a semi-loud voice, so he could hear him in the next room.

He, was tieing his shoelaces before standing up from the bed and walking to her. “Yeah. I suppose so…” his sentence ended abruptly as he remembered to comb his hair one last time, “… almost done.” He looked up at her and she immediately knew it. She made a quick mental note to get ready for a series of questions, and then another one to remind her to stop making mental notes. She had already known this was going to happen, and she didn’t need any mental notes.

“Who were you talking to in the hallway?” he asked.

“Oh, you heard?” She pretended to be oblivious to common sense. It was either a defense mechanism, or just something she did for shits and giggles. This while, continued to comb his hair and pretend nothing was out of order or out of the ordinary. “Yeah. It was pretty loud.”

“Oh. No one,” she started, while looking around to see if she was forgetting anything of her own. But mainly just to avoid eye contact. “it was just your neighbor. The one that plays guitar?”

He smirked a little and said, “of course it was the one that plays guitar.”

She stopped in her tracks just a few multiseconds before he could even finish his sentence, because she was expecting this just as well. Although perhaps she herself didn’t realize this, in keeping up with the silly games all couples probably play. Involuntarily. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she enquired for herself.

“Nothing. What were you guys talking about anyway?” he continued.

“Oh, just this and that. He was asking if I live here by myself, so I told him about you,” she said, before quickly adding, “and us! And I told him where we go to school, and that he plays guitar well.”

He stopped combing his hair, and just stood there for what seemed like a quick second. This was another thing that was sort of expected and unexpected at the same time. Like you know it’s coming, but you’re never too sure, so you sort of push the envelope to find out. Sort of like those things, you know?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he enquired.

“What? What do you mean? I think he plays the guitar well.” she retorted.

“And how exactly do you know that?”

This made her think for a while, but a very short while. If she had stopped to think longer it would blow her whole spot, and she was losing credibility by the second. “What do you mean? We hear him through the walls all the time…”

“Through the walls, all the time!” he repeated, trying to make a point. “And how do you judge someone’s musical talents while listening to the distorted sounds that you only hear through a damn wall??”

“Wow, are you serious?” she said, with great disbelief. Much greater than it actually was, of course, she didn’t want to lose any more credibility.

“Yes?? How do you figure someone’s good at something without even seeing it for your own eyes. For all you know, it could be a recording of some really distorted guitar player.”

“Wow, that’s one of the most retarded things I’ve ever heard.”

“Really, you’ve never heard of Scientology?

“Wow,” she repeated, still feigning disbelief, and without much else to add. “…wow.”

“That’s it? Wow?”

“I don’t know what else to say to you, that’s one of the most unbelievable things I’ve ever heard.”

“…”

“…”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“That’s dumb.”

“No, what you said was dumb.”

“wow, forget it.”

“I already have.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

With this they both finally decided they were ready to go out, without talking to each other of course. Talking to each other would mean one of them was weaker than the other somehow, wouldn’t it? Of course.

They walked quietly together for a while, her with her pouted lips, and him with a cigarette in his mouth. They decided to stand at the corner of the street and wait for the rest of the group of people that was joining them for dinner.

“I can’t believe we argued over something so stupid,” she finally said.

“We’ve argued over dumber things… and what do you mean stupid, anyway? I was making sense.” he retorted.

“Making sense? No you weren’t.”

“Yes, I damn right was. You’re probably the only person that doesn’t see any sense in it.”

With this, they saw the people they were waiting for walk towards them and her first response was to hush him up before he could continue what she considered to be “the most ridiculous thing shes’ ever heard.”

“No, no one will see the sense in that because there isn’t any. Now if you can be quiet, we can go to dinner with these poor folks.” she pleaded.

Small talk ensued as expected, hand shakes, hugs, the usual social obligations.

“So where do you guys want to go eat?” asked Jim, or Joe, or Jane, it doesn’t matter who.

He quickly made way into the conversation without even considering the question, and said:

“Ok, here’s a hypothetical question… you hear someone playing an instrument through the walls of your apartment, right?”

She just rolled her eyes.

Tumblr-ing along.

Click on this link: ----> Linkage. It will take you to [daanish.tumblr.com/linkage]

Click on "Tumblr." It will take you here: [daanish.tumblr.com]

I blog there more often. It's a place for every tiny little thought that I have or want to put up on display in a sort of online notebook. Or a bookshelf filled with really tiny books. Enjoy it, will you?

They're just words.

Remember I talked about feeling like I’m leading two lives?

I’m in bed, and my very American girlfriend makes me coffee. She’s bringing it to me in bed, and I mumble:

“Udhr rakh do na…”

She gives me one of the most confused looks I’ve ever seen before I finally realize what I just did.

“Um, I meant - put it on the table there. Sorry.”

An honest drugged-up-by-sleep mistake, of course. It’s a bit difficult to be balancing two vocabularies at once, though, I’m not going to lie.

Especially if you take pride in the fact that you’ve managed to learn more words than the average person. In both languages.

Humans: 'Social Networking' Whores.

Aah, what us foolish sheep will do to get into a fucking social group that's somehow significant or special, in that it doesn't let just about anybody in.
We cry all the time against racism, and insist we're all just one. How hypocritical, when in actuality, we try so hard to find a group to join that's somehow exclusive.


Our cliques, our social groups in colleges and universities, even the fucking clubs you can or do join.


Blackberry Messaging Service is just one of those many services/social groups/clique/club.
This is the whole foundation, or philosophical concept, of the multi-million internet company - Facebook.


But not just. It's also what powers any 'social networking' website.


Our desire or irresistible need to 'break from tradition, flow against the current, not follow the norm.' Having some chance of standing out in a fucking room when you're with a group of people.


The Blackberry Messenger Service crowd. Once you're part of this group, some things that are automatically assumed or 'enabled' are:

• You are a "professional." Period.
• You have enough money to own a blackberry, and of course - have service.
• You don't own just any other phone. It's a blackberry. Also see: ipods.
• Only the cool people have the service. You're not missing out on the action if you have a bbpin. Because even if you know what Sally is bitching about Thomas on Facebook, she might be bitching about someone else on the Blackberry Messenger Service. You need to have this information, and now you can get it

I type this with a Blackberry in my pocket, and the thought of writing this came to me when I was contemplating whether I should get Blackberry Messaging enabled on mine.


Why did I get a Blackberry? I don't think I would see everything I just wrote about, as clearly - or in whatever way I see it now, if I didn't.


To know how sweet or sour the apple is, I wanted to take a bite out of it instead of listen to the Apple seller. Funny that I used an Apple for this analogy.

Curry.

I was recently asked on a quiz in Sociology class what my race and ethnicity were. Or what I considered them to be anyway.


I've always considered myself to be free from such social obligations and never really considered the question before. Association with a group of people that you were fortunate/unfortunate enough to be born into due to sheer chance and fate doesn't make much sense to me. Admittance into this 'club,' isn't really difficult, is it now? All I had to do was ... well, nothing really, it was my mum and dad and the doctor who pulled me out - that did all the real work. I probably just cried a lot and wet everything I got within peeing range of. I didn't make the choice here, do you see what I'm trying to get it? It just happened.


And so I can consider myself 'Indian.' Because Pakistan and India were pretty much just one country, not to forget Bangladesh. And I don't care what anybody says, Kashmir should just be left alone and given their independence. Territorial bullshit about a piece of dirt that we walk on (aka 'land',) just doesn't make any sense to me.


Besides, don't India and Pakistan pretty much speak the same language? We have the same old traditions and prejudices, the only differences have mere face value and just seem so on the different on the surface. We also hold the same old fashioned prejudices and notations about how the rest of the world works.


UPDATE: This, however, does not mean I want to be considered 'indian.'  I don't want to be associated or considered a part of anything that happened any time before i was born.  I deserve to have a life that starts with a clean slate, and to not be judged by what happened before I even started. 


I'm deviating from the main purpose of this blog post, however, which is: CURRY.
I love that shit. Whatever 'Asian' restaurant you take me to, as soon as I see Curry on the menu, the decision has already been made.


So, Belal and Frank are having a completely irrelevant conversation about Curry, when one of them (presumably Belal) starts adding 'Curry' to movie names.
We came up with quite a few, actually:

• The Bourne Curry
• Curry Hard
• The Da Vinci Curry
• Lock, Stock, and Two Smokin Curries
• Curry with a Vengeance
• Curry Hour
• Curry Movie 1, 2, 3 and 4.
• I know what Curry you ate last summer.
• The Curious Case of Panang Curry
• Curry Club (of which, Rule No 1 is, you do not talk about Curry. Rule No 5 is, if it's your first time at Curry Club, you must have some Curry.)
• 127Curries
• The Day After Curry
• Curry is Forever
• Curry, Actually
• Deep Blue Curry
• Curries of the Caribbean

Musings from the sky II.

Instead of saying bio-degradable, the package to this sandwich says it will "disappear even if you bury it in your garden." How stupid do these bastards think we are?


And I realize flights can be as long as 22 hours, but i don't think that's enough time to grow a garden. Where the fuck am I going to bury this?!

Musings from the sky.

I wrote the following while I was on the plane to Qatar. I was reading "The Restaurant at the end of the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams, so all the quotes that follow are from the book. 

"In the beginning, the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move."

Douglas Adams wrote about me!

• Hmmm, the lack of taste of these sesame crackers almost make up for the foulness that is this cheddar cheese.

"If life is going to exist in a universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion."

• This flight attendant has the cutest British accent ever. And she keeps calling me "hun," or "lovie." I could get used to this.

"The function of art is to hold the mirror up to nature, and there simply isn't a mirror big enough."

• This guy sitting next to me is watching Prison Break season 3. He's either very late to the party, or a time traveler. Hmmm.

No fun at all.

I'm scheduled to go back home on the 24th of December. That's Christmas Eve.

I'm taking a flight all the way to Qatar, from New York. Even though my destination is Riyadh in Saudi Arabia, which I'll be flying over to get to Qatar for a 4 hour transit stay at the airport. After that, I'll fly back in the opposite direction from which I came, and reach where I originally wanted to be.

Yay. So the 12 hour flights back home that I hated with a passion not only got longer, but now there's a 4 hour stay in Qatar.

Isn't that great? It's absolutely fantastic. I can't believe my good fortune.

I could've picked a much more comfortable route for much more cheaper, and have transit at a country like France or even England. But much thanks to my Pakistani passport, and ''my fellow country-men's'' willingness to cause violence - not a lot of countries around the world like us.

And not a lot of countries like me. Just because of my passport, that is correct. Note that I don't blame them. I'm just commenting on my good fortune.

I'm also a little cynical and whiny because I'm depressed about going back home. Does that sound a little odd? I'm sure it does.

I'm actually looking forward to seeing my family. I actually miss them, and don't really get to talk to them while I'm here. I hate conversations on the phone, and I made a point not to spend too much time on the internet... which didn't help of course.

It's leaving behind life here which is depressing me. You've probably heard me say this before, but I hate this feeling of leading two lives that I've had to deal with for the past 2 years... It's like I don't really have a home anymore. I don't really know much about what's going on back home in the middle east, and my parent's don't really know much about here. Other than the fact that I'm going to college and what not, but isn't that about 20% of your life?

I don't know any of my sibling's interests anymore, for instance. They've always grown so fast that I'm surprised and shocked every time I go back home, every 6 months. I don't know what they're ''into'' or what they've been doing in the not so distant past.

In short, I don't really communicate a lot with people 'back home.' Unfortunately... but can I be blamed for trying to pay more attention to life in the country I am currently residing in?

I can either live life and indulge in it's abstractness that can't be verbalized. Or I can pass by it, jotting notes down, trying to keep track and narrate it to an audience that doesn't really exist?

Besides, audiences are like the Gods we create and place on high chairs. Then they fall one day, and we're just like, "aww man." Bummer.

I'm depressed because... I like it here. And I wish my family could come to me so they could see what I've fallen in love with, instead of me having to go there and trying to verbalize it.

It's depressing... I think I've already mentioned that. Maybe I just felt like it needed more emphasis.

It's no fun being depressed, is what I think I'm trying to say here...

No fun at all.

How to be famous and liked.

Consider this theory:

Someone narcissistic is truly, on the deep-down inside, a really insecure person.

To some this might just click as a faux wisdom, something that will click just because of the irony.

To others this might sound preposterous.

Narcissists usually love themselves and nothing else as much as they love themselves.

And to add to the fun of going against the grain, I'm going to take being insecure up a notch and say truly Narcissistic people hate themselves.

In short, the more someone displays Narcissistic behavior and traits, the more insecure they are and the more they hate themselves for it.

The kick here is, they just can't tell. It's a part of being the program and just playing on to ''who we really are,'' ... this, of course, isn't who we are at all. It's just the program, running us. And we're running on an even bigger program - planet Earth's program, so we're programs ourselves.

Operating System >> program >> script.
The World >> us (you and I) >> tunnel vision and the world we see due to it.

We wouldn't go on and talk about ourselves until we felt there was something that needed to be changed there. Or a change needed to be expressed.
No one lifts a finger unless they feel something needs to be done about something or the other. D'uh, right?

It doesn't matter if anyone cares or not, to the Narcissists' tunnel vision - all he sees is himself. And he talks about it and discusses it all day because he doesn't like what he sees. The root of all critique, or criticism.

Then again, aren't we all a little insecure?

Then again, doesn't this society, or the script, harbor insecurity to begin with? Because it's turned everyone into a borderline Narcissist - to say the least?

The way to go, man, is to not give a fuck about what anyone else says. Believe in yourself, son, everyone will keep hating no matter what. What matters is what YOU think of yourself. And nobody else.

Now go out there, you little Narcissist and show the world what you can do! Let's tear each other apart with our insecurities.

Hiss like a Python!

I've started my own linux blog here; Fuck Yeah, Ubuntu!

I've started to learn how to program! It's been crazy fun, progressing doesn't seem like work at all, it's more like a game. I started with Python, and plan on studying Java, Javascript, and PHP next.

I don't know what to blog about. I'm just going to be honest and say that.

I feel like I just can't do it anymore. I don't remember how I used to... I don't remember what I used to write about, or even why... maybe that proves that it was just useless ramblings like I thought?

I also blog here ; daanish.tumblr.com

Or tumbl... actually... heh. Go check it out?

My list of top 5 Ubuntu applications.

Ubuntu has been really good to me lately, and so I thought I'd talk about the applications I frequently use in Ubuntu to get things done!

The beauty of using Ubuntu, in my opinion, is the fact that almost everything seems to work out of the box. I actually prefer looking for native applications that I can use, rather than 3rd party applications. They look better, they're simple and minimalistic (keeping with the Ubuntu way,) and they just plain and simply work!

I do, however, have a few 3rd party applications I use to get some added functionality. Just don't think of this as a guide to what applications you should get as alternatives for the native installed programs.

This is my list of the applications I run the most frequently in Ubuntu, and find to work for me. Think of it as a list of suggestions. =]

"5 Applications in Ubuntu that everyone should try at least once."


Google Chrome
I was a strong advocate for Firefox when it first came out. But that was before Google Chrome was released, and I got a chance to take it for a spin. Ever since I tried Chrome for the first time, I've never looked back. I was ecstatic when I learned Chrome was officially released for Linux! I had been running Chromium (an unofficial, open source browser based on Chrome.) It's fast, and it's minimalistic and doesn't hog up system resources.

Tomboy Notes
A native application found in Ubuntu. I am in love with Tomboy Notes! The ability to create 'notebooks' and manage your notes using them is just amazing. I used to create endless text files on desktop to archive all the useful information I run into on the Internet. Tomboy Notes is a much cleaner and simpler way of doing so, and it also has the ability to link your notes together! Every time you type the name of an existing note in a note, Tomboy will automatically create a link to that note. It's amazing!

Ex: You have a note file called "Cheesecake recipe." Every time you type ''cheesecake recipe" in any other note file using tomboy notes,
it will automatically turn into a link to the Cheesecake recipe file.

XChat
Do a lot of IRC? Or maybe since you're running Ubuntu, you need constant help finding and fixing things? The #Ubuntu channel at irc.ubuntu.com is home to fellow Ubuntu users just waiting to help!

You can use the native Empathy IM client in Ubuntu to connect to IRC servers and such, but I find it easier if IRC is run using a seperate client than the one managing all your other IM services.

Runner ups: IRSSI - IRC chat in terminal windows.


Twhirl
A lightweight adobe air based twitter client. There are many, many, many air based twitter clients out there today. I don't know why I particularly picked Twhirl, but it does what it says and isn't very complicated. Plus, I think the color theme just changes automatically based on the current ubuntu theme, which I think is pretty neat.

You could use the native application for twitter called Gwibber, but it's just plain ugly.

You could also use Tweetdeck, but I never found myself that dedicated to Twitter.

Destroy Twitter is another application that is very similar to Twhirl, in that it is also adobe air based.

Runner ups: Tweetdeck, destroy twitter


Liferea
RSS feed reader that automatically becomes a part of the Ubuntu messaging panel in recent Ubuntu releases. Does what it says and just joins the gtk look, which is why I love it! Simple and easy to use, as well as lightweight.


That's it for now. Look forward to similar lists and application reviews in the future!

"Operation Failed," in Ubuntu while using the Software Center.

Just fixed my very first ubuntu solution for someone else! And on Reddit/r/Ubuntu [Link], too, at that. I'm pretty proud of myself. =]

Give Reddit a look if you don't already know what it is.

"Maybe some of you Ubuntu veterans can help me out with some problems that are keeping Ubuntu from being my main OS.

I've got ubuntu on an HP dv4 laptop.

Here are my issues: -Skype sound doesn't work -Can't stream Netflix online -Whenever I install something I get an error that says "Operation Failed," but it doesn't actually fail (this is just an annoyance).

Maybe you guys can help me out?"

The Solution:

"The operation fail thing - my girlfriend was getting that on her laptop too, but it got fixed fairly easily.

The problem was, her cache was out of date, all she had to do was update it. ("sudo apt-get update" in terminal without the quotations.)

If this didn't work (didn't for her either at first,) you need to change the server you're getting your updates from. Go to Update Manager in System>>Administration from the panel, and click on Settings.

Go to the Ubuntu Software tab and click on "Download From:"

From the drop down menu, select "Other" and click on "Select Best Server."

This will download dummy files from every server until it figures out which one is closest/the best server for you.

After you're done with this, it should automatically search for updates, and update your cache too. If it doesn't, just use the command earlier mentioned (in terminal,) or use the update manager.

Hope this fixes that problem. =]"

And it did! Here's a link to the Reddit thread: [Link]

So if you're having similar problems in either 10.04 or 10.10 (because it seems to be common,) give that a shot and maybe you'll be good to go.

Terminal based Web Browsing and Instant Messaging in Ubuntu 10.10

I've been having a hell of a time learning how to use Terminals in Ubuntu. Some fun things I've picked up in the past day or two are using command line based instant messaging and web browsing!

Two programs easily available on Ubuntu that let you do this are:

Finch - terminal based IM client and W3M - terminal based web browser!

They're both extremely lightweight since they run in a terminal window and don't hog up any system resources! Here's what you have to do to get them:

W3M:

W3M is already included in Ubuntu 10.10 (Maverick) and if you're running it right now than you probably already have the packages! I'm not certain, but previous releases probably also carry it, at least 10.04 would I'm pretty sure.

If not, in terminal:

sudo apt-get install w3m

After w3m installs, all you have to do to browse the internet from a terminal window is:

w3m http://www.daanish.tumblr.com

Whereas you would replace this blog's address with the website you'd like to browse (d'uh!)

Finch:

Terminal based IM client that runs using the same technology as the popular IM client found in older versions of Ubuntu - Pidgin!

To install Finch, in Terminal:

sudo apt-get install finch

After it installs, type ''finch'' in terminal to get it up and running. Here are some useful shortcuts:

Switch between windows: ALT + N (next window) ALT + P (previous window)
Resize selected window: ALT + R (use arrow signs on keyboard)
Move selected window across the screen: ALT + M (use arrow signs on keyboard
Quit: ALT + Q

Here's a screenshot of me having some fun with Finch in Ubuntu 10.10:

Ha Ha Ha ...

Download your facebook.

From the download page itself:

Download Your Information
Get a copy of the data you've put on Facebook.

This tool lets you download a copy of your information, including your photos and videos, posts on your wall, all of your messages, your friend list and other content you have shared on your profile. Within this zip file you will have access to your data in a simple, browseable manner. Learn More about downloading a copy of your information.
Security
This is a copy of all of the personal information you've shared on Facebook. In order to protect your information, we will ask for authentication to verify your identity.
WARNING: This file contains sensitive information. Because this download contains your profile information, you should keep it secure and take precautions when storing, sending or uploading it to any other services.

Here's how to do it:

Sign on to Your Facebook Account

Click on Account >> Account Settings >> Download your information (click on learn more)

That's it. =]

Rawring Pandas!

Here's an ubuntu screenshot for you to enjoy. It's what I've been doing over the weekend:
http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs781.snc4/66120_10150346125595441_689045440_16177916_3691774_n.jpg

Here's a side project for all of you to look into. Instructions are at the link. Maybe you can be a part of it. Leave a comment if you're interested.

[Rawring Pandas]

Down with the sickness.

I've been sick for the past 3+ days. I fell sick on Sunday, and I haven't quite recovered yet. Damned chronic tonsillitis. When I was about 15 or so, a doctor checked on my tonsils and told me I had a case of 'chronic tonsillitis.' What that meant was, apparently, that my tonsils had grown to such a point, and the inflammation (the pain, in simpler terms) had gotten so bad, that I juts couldn't feel it anymore.

Of course, apart from the fact that - that sounds extremely fucking badass, specially when you're 15, a doctor telling you something like that always sticks in your head.

So, I don't know if I really do have chronic tonsillitis or if the doctor liked making 15 year olds feeling like badasses.

Whatever the case, I'm pretty certain I have a throat infection. Evidently so, by the fact that my left ear popped closed last night. It's back to functionality now, but that shit was pretty freaky. Specially when I couldn't hear all the special notes on all my favorite rap songs. Bang, bang, skeet, skeet.

Oh, baby, you give me fever. Specially when you have the flu and we're making out. That shit always gets me sick.

So I tried making myself tea. Not being able to figure out why the tea was never strong enough, I emptied out two tea bags for 1 cup of tea. That's a lot of tea bags. I later found out I was trying to make tea like my momma used to, using Lipton iced fucking tea.

Iced tea is for jackasses that wear loafers and white shorts on beaches. That drink Bacardi with older women while they listen to slow sex music in the white sand.

Jackasses.

And if you know me by now, you're probably aware of the fact that I'm not a jackass. See, contrary to popular belief, it does not take one to know one. At least not all the time.

You could be as straight as a stripper's pole and know Parez Hilton is as gay as all living rainbow colored hell. Couldn't you?

Unless you live in a world where heterosexual men love to poke their noses in other people (none other than celebrities') affairs. And even write about them.

Oh, wait. Dammit.

Everybody, calm the f*ck down.

Chuck Klosterman wrote of Kurt Cobain in "Eating The Dinosaur," (and this is all paraphrased,) :-

You're a writer, and you write for yourself. Then you get an audience, and you're writing for them, all the while still writing for yourself. No matter what you do, you're still writing for yourself, while still trying to please an audience.

It's inevitable, the guilt.

Then imagine receiving emails from women claiming your words make them cry, changed their views, changed their life, how they look at things - and gave them optimism.

Imagine these messages coming in right when you've given up on most things in life.

It's like being made into a God when all you wanted to do was sit it out. It can make people do ridiculous things. It made Kurt Cobain kill himself.

Well, either that, or he was just plain crazy. To which Chuck Klosterman also has something to say:

"Not all crazy people are brilliant, but almost all brilliant people are crazy."

It's almost been 6 months since I last wrote anything on this blog, and I didn't really contemplate how long it's been before this minute.

To be honest, everyone that said; "You'll come back to writing," or, "you're going to write again, watch," only pissed me off even more. Here's for the records: Fuck you.

Nothing is more agitating, when you're trying to step back and genuinely take a look at your life, and someone says, "you're just being a poser." Fuck you.

This blog turned into something much more than just a channel for my passive aggressiveness, and it scared me. Gained followers, gained people that actually started commenting constantly, and then I started receiving the emails. It can be really scary.

I'm no Jesus Christ, please don't turn me into one. It's the last thing I ever wanted. It's scary.

I may be living a life that's poetic on paper, or maybe I just have a way of sensationalizing everything I say. I'm only human. I want to remain just human. Everyone makes mistakes. Please stop poiting and calling me a; Poser, Savior/Messiah.

Once you turn someone into a god, you start expecting a little too much. Think about it, just how much can you expect from another human? Shouldn't you be expecting the same you expect from yourself? Shouldn't that be about it?

Fuck you. I still hate humanity, even though I'm trying really hard not to.

I've come a long way from the last 6 months, to be honest, it seems like an eternity. Traveled time, space, and the depths of insanity. Not trying to claim I did anything special, or have achieved enlightenment, god forbid. I just needed a little time to myself. That's all.

I could've tried to explain it in nicer terms, and unfortunately, anger is an expensive luxury. Given the circumstances however, I don't regret anything. What happened, happened, perhaps for the best.

I'm still learning. More about me, more about you. The problem perhaps was, that I had stopped focusing on the me, and only focused on the you.

I'm hungry now, and my heads starting to hurt... maybe I'll write more soon, maybe I won't.

Stop turning me into a poser, a messiah, a savior, and stop expecting things, no matter what they are.

I'm not obliged to provide anyone with anything, never was, never will be. Perhaps, never want to be. Unless it's involuntarily, and just happens.

"I am human and I want to be loved,
just like everybody else does."
- 'How soon is now?' The Smiths.

update: I don't really hate humanity... at least I'm telling myself now that I don't and that I shouldn't... it's just sad what we've become... can't we please try not to be so retarded? Surely we have more IQ than a glass of water? (Much love to my babe for that metaphor.)

error 404: file not found

More like I've moved, actually.

Moved on in life, to other things.

My life is just moving too fast for me to be sitting around a computer and writing it all down for an audience that may or may not be there.

My opinion doesn't matter because ignorance will always be bliss to all of you people.

This has never been worth my time.
Pleasing your humane pettiness is not worth my time.

I’ve realized, that the only reason I was so addicted to this stupid concept is because from a very early age I’ve realized people have always been too stupid to see what is clearly right in front of us.

Growing up I realized how machines, computers specifically, are so much more superior in comprehending and working with logic when compared to humans.

That is where this connection began, all those years ago. My opinions and thoughts, that were directed at a computer – that listened without offering a bullshit opinion that was blinded by the inability to think individually, soon turned into a fucking social event. A fucking social event that highlighted the angst and depression of an insane teenager, that only wanted people to open their bloody eyes.

I refuse to partake in this foolish and petty waste of my precious time, that I will no longer throw away, by writing to an audience that is clearly not willing or ready or even able to comprehend a reality that is different from the illusion that is letting everyone sleep comfortably.

Fuck this. Stay asleep. I don’t care anymore.

We are only restricted by our own stupidity.

And you refuse to accept that and break away from restrictions.

Maybe I can’t blame you, it’s only your fear.

I’m sorry, I can’t help but laugh at how afraid all of you are though.

All the laughing I’ve ever been doing has always been alone, and that’s something I’ve accepted now.

And since you refuse to break free and accept reality, you might as well sleep with your ignorance.

Without me gently rapping, tapping on your chamber door.

Nevermore.

The Top Ten Marilyn Manson Quotes.

I was just reading up on the man, and came up to a few things he has said in his lifetime. So I’m putting them up here.

Bear in mind, Marilyn Manson is a very smart man. Evident by the articles he’s written and interviews he’s given.

He’s just crazy, is all. But then again, and I will testify, thinking for yourself is prone to do that to you.

I’m not even a big fan of his music. But I can’t argue with success, and logic, so here goes.

“I'm tired of people calling me a devil worshipper. It's kind of pointless you know. Because if the Devil did exist, he'd be worshipping me, because I'm more successful than he is.”

“Anybody intelligent enough to realize what America is, is not going to sit around and do nothing about it. They're going to be the same way that I am. They're going to be the same way our fans are. They're going to be pissed.”

“I fear being like everyone I hate, I fear failure, I fear losing control. I love balancing between chaos and control with everything I do. I always have a fear of going one way or another, getting lost in something, or losing everything to get lost in. And I fear being a completely acceptable sheep in society.”

“In the end we're all Jerry Springer Show guests, really, we just haven't been on the show.”

“Is adult entertainment killing our children? Or is killing our children entertaining our adults?”

“Music critics get their records for free so their opinions usually don't matter.”

“Society has traditionally always tried to find scapegoats for its problems. Well, here I am.”

“We live in a society of victimization, where people are much more comfortable being victimized than actually standing up for themselves.”

“What happens someday if more people own my record than the bible? That will make me god because a lot more people believe in me than him? Because it's just about popularity. There are plenty of people in the world who have never heard of Jesus, while America takes him for granted.”

“You should have to pass an IQ test before you breed. You have to take a driving test to operate vehicles and an SAT test to get into college. So why don't you have to take some sort of test before you give birth to children? When I am President, that's the first rule I will institute.”

- Marilyn Manson

A letter to you, sweetheart…

It’s funny how I let you take control over me, as so.

It’s beautiful, love.

How you torture me so, with these games you play.

This agony you put me through, playing with my darkest, deepest rooted fears and insecurities.

Treading on my dreams.

You don’t even realize it.

You don’t know what this side of the garden looks like, dear.

You never have, you never will.

What being insane feels like… what seeing life as poetry in motion feels like. And bear in mind please, that poetry isn’t what you – or everyone else thinks it is.

Hallmark cards don’t have anything to do with poetry, love.

I can try to take my time and teach you all of this. Teach you how the world works. Maybe you could’ve seen how my head works. My mind, that probably shouldn’t do so much work.

But I guess you don’t really want any of this, darling.

You never did, you never will.

I’ll just weep to this letter then, sugar.

A simple prop to occupy your time – is what I feel like I’ve always been.

But you don’t see that, babe. You never did, you never will.

Forgive me for all those times I never called, or wrote back. Something always came up.

I told you about my condition, right? So many times, I keep forgetting. But I’m sure to mention it to everyone, every time I meet them.

Rest assured, love.

All the scars on my wrists, only prove I’ll try again, love.

Ever since I became dude.

I still remember. I always will.

Don’t ask me why my hands are so cold, love.

Or why I crave to die so much, all the time.

Or why I crave to kill myself so much, all the time.

All the dying is spiritual, mental. It takes place several times a day, love.

All courtesy of you too, love.

You’re a part of my world, love. As joyous as that sounds.

My world is like a blurry picture, of a picture, of a picture, love.

And he keeps assuring me he’s only playing. But I keep telling him I still smell you on him, love.

Why would you do such a thing though? It’s all I’ve ever wanted to know.

Why. Why, much more than how. How is … subjective, as you so innocently put it, babe.

You mean the world to me. I thought I should let you know somewhere in between here. Always and forever.

Only you, love.

But I can’t get myself to forget to ask why… and I can’t forgive myself for it either…

So, won’t you be my sugar plum and write back to me please? Please tell me why, love.

Just once?

I’ll just sit and wallow with myself until then. You can watch if you want… you have a habit of doing just that, love…

I won’t beg to have your fingers run through my mane again.

Just let me float in nothingness forever, please?

I don’t see why you didn’t just let it happen to begin with.

I mean, why poke the pond for no reason? I was just laying there, calm, with no cares in the world.

Except for the worry of myself. The worry I’ve carried for so long. So long, love.

So long, and goodbye.

I’m sorry for most of it, I suppose. Isn’t that what you’ve been expecting for so long, love?

It’s not like you ever really wanted anything more.

I’ve kneeled. I hope you’re happy now, love.

Played my part, I guess.

I didn’t ever feel bad tossing cigarette buds to the ground after I was done with them.

Why should you?

Don’t sweat it, babe. I’ll be perfectly fine, cut up and a mess.

Served cold.

As cold as this winter, love. Or the winter we had together. Where I couldn’t have withstood being out in the cold, if it wasn’t you I was out for.

Or that time you put me to sleep, and I couldn’t believe my sheer luck. It got me regretting not believing in luck.

Poetic justice, love.

It all is. It always has been, it always will be.

I’m going to stop talking now, love. I just wish I could do it while you were in front of me.

But you wouldn’t want any of this, anyway…

I hope you still did, but you don’t…

I mean… at least I got to see you smile from so close…

An attempt at audacity.

Public Service Announcement.

Deactivated my facebook today.

Hopefully/probably for a good while.

I realized, I wasn’t really gaining anything from it. All it was doing was help the cause of the stupid. All it did was piss me off. A lot.

All it did was help the world use me against me.

So, I’m good without it. Hiatus.

Thank God for like, Skype, and Tumblr and Blogger and stuff. And MSN and Aim.

Hit me up wherever instead of facebook. I mean, if it’s really important, you’ll know where to find me, right?

Right.

Some things I risk.

I think I might be undergoing a life crisis, or something of the sort. I mean, let’s slow down things for just a little while.

I’m still couch surfing. Even if the term doesn’t technically apply, it’s still more couch surfing than anything else. So.

Also, I have 25 dollars left in the account, again. I’m broke again, yup. Twice in a month. Hidden bank fees and gluttony combined with a little old fashioned and traditional Danish carelessness is how I got here.

Last but not not the least; college is going to be the end of me.

With all this and much more happening all at the same time, I’m having a very hard time recollecting everything. Comprehension is as far as I’m willing to go at the moment.

Why risk being just another opinion on the internet anyway?

Wait… Never mind.

One giant leap for insanity.

I may just be paranoid, but to be honest, I am panicking.

And it’s not cool.

It’s actually pretty depressing. Just so bound by being human, it’s not nice anymore.

Just because no one will ever get it. It’s too hard to explain to people. Takes too much time and effort. There will never ever be anyone like that. I’m not being pessimistic, just stating facts.

It’s so hard already, to live with the burden of being labeled a label. Just to really think about it, even. It’s such a disgrace. One you and I created and decided to play along with for all these years. Not knowing what it was really doing. But what can you do, really, you’re just so bound by being human. By the time you develop any real cognitive abilities, it feels like it’s too late.

Blue on blue, heartache on heartache.

An eye for an eye. It’s a viscous cycle, but even that name isn’t as demeaning as it should be. It’s something so hard to describe. It’s our system. It’s you and I.

You are so bound by it. Just by being you. It’s sometimes the knowing that’ll drive you up a wall. I know this because it’s what got me here.

Being one step ahead, sure. But what does that put you closer to? I would want to make sure I’m not trying to keep running, just for the sake of being ahead.

If it’s not that, then it’s the never ending quest to figure out what it is. Just the drive to the park. The destination doesn’t stay as important anymore, the journey takes it’s place. Because that’s what life ultimately becomes.

At least that’s what I’ve seen on the walls of this pit I fell into. I’ve been constantly tumbling at the same speed, downward spiral and all. And I get to see the craziest shit on my way down, it’s sad – but in a hilarious way.

The source of all this insanity, if you may. There is obviously something wrong with this head, for it to function so dysfunctional. I probably am just a sociopath.

Why can’t you just realize that and give me a break?

Calm before the storm.

Twisted Nerves

I thought I knew who I was when I fell asleep. I must have changed multiple times until then. Then I woke up, and now I don't know who I am.

I would try to explain to you how it feels, but I can't. It's not that I'm at a loss of words. I just don't know where or how to start. Or where it ends.

Maybe I'm just in no position to be steering any ships.

If I stand still, I'll feel the crumbles fall to my feet. Make sure I'm falling apart, and it's not just in my head.

And it's so cold, that the wind just cuts through skin, like a blade. It's so hard to tell if there are any clouds or not, I'm missing all details with my gaze being so out of focus.

"A movie so crass, and awkwardly cast, even I can be the star."

I died a long, long time ago.

Oh no, not me, I never lost control.

You're face to face, with

The man who the world sold.

This is perhaps just an episode.

This is perhaps just a phase.

Perhaps, it's just a rut. That I'll walk out soon, and everything will be fine.

Maybe I won't ever, and things will just continue to come crashing down, like they always do.

Fall apart. Break into pieces. Crumble.

But where does it end, if it ever does? If it ever will.

It can't be my fault. I've been designed to be this way. If our experiences shape us, I've only had very fucked up experiences. I'd be willing to blame God for it, but what's the point?

Fearless leader.

Just a nice guy.

Nice on the deep down inside.

So deep down inside, there's a doubt any such thing even exists.

So I press my palms down hard against my forehead, hoping for the anxiety to stop. The will to self destruct to go away. The want to stop living to vanish.

The storm might not pass until my twisted nerves untangle.

Couch surfing.

According to UrbanDictionary.com:

A cheap form of lodging used mainly by college-students or recent college-grads, where one stays on acquaintance's couches rather than a hotel.

And that’s what I’m doing right now. And going to this park alot, that’s like the most wonderful place on earth for a lot of reasons.

I like life at the moment. It’s not bad at all. =]

Things are like, almost perfect. Still house searching and crap, but moving ahead. It’s just a slow pace, but progress is being made.

A lot else has been happening too, I just don’t know how to put it all to words. So I’m just going to stop trying for now.

Poetry, yeah.

I love how the wind feels so peaceful on a sunny day, when there's nothing to worry about.

I love the feeling of being completely free, and being blessed with freedom.

I love how your fingers are tall and slender, and just how I like them. Shaped like nature spent extra time to shape them maybe.

I love how your smile is a curve similar to a sun while it's setting or rising. It's just as beautiful too. Makes me warm too at the same time, isn't that funny?

And I love how everything makes me feel like a poet. Like I could write a book. Make your heart melt, maybe, make you imagine all my words in your head.

I love how you can pretend to be angry, and do such a good job at keeping it up. It's like you should be in the movies.

I love how you have these childish mood swings. Maybe it's because you are like a child after all. It's such an animal-like behavior, it's cute.

I hate how losing games is so harsh to both of us. It's like too much pride for both our shoulders to carry, but the game is so cruel. It must be played. I love how realizing it is relieving. I now feel certain that it's me flying this plane we're on. I'm the pilot, in charge. Just how I like it. And deep down inside how you like it too. How you've always liked it. It's a shame, but it's poetic justice that it's all so visible to me. You should just bask in the fact that you get to kick your feet up, and enjoy the ride.

It's funny, that my mind and my heart is a train wreck. My head refuses to ponder, or to play any silly games anymore. It's had enough it seems, and so has my other popular organ. Yes, that'd be my heart, I can use it in context, as an entity, when I feel like being poetic and maybe a little frivolous.

A poet.

Right?

I hold in my hands, all the lights, all the suns, all the flowers, all the trees, all the grass, and all the leaves. All the colors, all the stars, all the fairies, and all the ink.

To write history.

The 36th Chamber.

This is going to be a run of the mill blog, because this absolutely needs to be done.

Today needs to be written down, just because of how epic it was. I finally have something genuine to write about.

One major reason is, because I ran into the fucking RZA today. In the flesh.

If you don’t know who the RZA is, I have no words for you.

The RZA is an American Grammy winning music producer, author, rapper, and occasional actor, director, and screenwriter. A prominent figure in hip hop music, he is the de facto leader of the Wu-Tang Clan. He has produced almost all of Wu-Tang Clan's albums as well as many Wu-Tang solo and affiliate projects. He subsequently gained attention for his work scoring and acting in films.

The Wu-Tang Clan (pronounced /ˈwuːˌtæŋ/) are a New York City-based hip-hop group, which consists of: RZA, GZA, Method Man,Raekwon, Ghostface Killah, Inspectah Deck, U-God, Masta Killa, and the late Ol' Dirty Bastard. [www.wikipedia.com]

He also produced one of the best beats I’ve ever heard. Ever. C.r.e.a.m.

It was amazing too, I was already pretty high and was walking down the street, when a friend of a friend [wearing the ‘Beats by Dr. Dre’ headphones,] who was walking towards us – told us that the RZA was actually standing at the street corner.

That’s when I started walking aimlessly down the street hoping to see the legend. And I did, too.

I don’t even know if what happened next can even be considered me meeting the guy, so you figure it out. My jaw fell to the floor, my mouth was shaped like an ‘O’ [literally,] and I didn’t know what to do. So, the RZA, who is on the phone and looks very tired, extends his hand and we all shake it.

And then we just walked away. I could not believe what had just happened. I had shook hands with the RZA.

And even though something so epic happened, we were mad at ourselves, me and my friends, by the fact that we didn’t ask the RZA to toke with us. Hopefully I’ll run into him again someday, and it’ll end up happening.

But nonetheless, I feel like I can die a happy man now. I have actually met the RZA, and have shaken his hand. I feel blessed.

Other than that, all I did all day was hang out with Mary Jane, and read Prometheus Rising by Robert A. Wilson while under the influence.

All at Rittenhouse Square – the place I am officially dubbing ‘heaven.’  I met the RZA in front of it, for one. And it’s where I hung out all day in the beautiful weather, with lots of very awesome people. A scene of the M. Night Shyamalan movie “The Happening” was also shot there. I’m going to take lots of pictures of the place soon. ^___^

So all in all, today was a pretty epic day.  I’m just going to end it at that. I still can’t believe most of it. Yeah.

Aren't I a little crazy?

I read The Hacker’s Manifesto (blogged about below) for my speech in public speaking. I got the review forms and stuff back.

Scored a 92 out of a 100. I’m pretty proud of myself.

I’ve been having an okay week.

I don’t know what else to write about. I feel like I’ve found isolating myself from things like society and everything is just so much more fun.

I can’t help it… otherwise, I feel like Im being strangled by everything. All at once. It’s not even funny.

It’s a demon that needs to constantly be awakened.

So when there is angst and depression, the best companion is the lack of companionship.

It’s like poking the demon with a stick on fire, just to wake it up.

And then it wakes up, the lump in your throat becomes heavier, and it feels like it’s about to rain.

And get very dark. And the walls and everything are just going to close in.

It’s like claustrophobia. Don’t you think?

The thought of being lonely. Or just loneliness in itself.

But it’s a demon that constantly wakes up.

And then it nibbles and shreds apart all the delicate fabrics of a comprehensive reality.

So that there is no more vision of the common truth.

It’s more likely a transformation, or enlightenment. Or maybe more like de-enlightenment.

And to think it all starts with depression and loneliness.

But it’s like a headache that won’t ever go away.

Because the demon isn’t just something that you can put back in the bottle. And you get to make no wishes at all.

Because nothing is listening to them, really. So it’s pretty much pointless.

When you realize this, you can rest assured that the threads of reality have been worn out. And the knot is loose, and the petals are all falling to the floor.

Bloodshot red, on the white grainy pavement.

Why do we tend to create Gods to begin with? Only to place them on a pedestal so high, that they’re prone to fall off one day, sooner or later. And everyone does, because everyone is human. Everyone will one day fall of the metaphorical pedestals they are resting on, in someone else’s head. Imagination. Vision of reality. The common comprehensive reality.

But it’s just a dream to me, anyway. Because that’s a reality that’s much more understandable to me at this point. Every other reality has fallen to the ground to be shattered into a million pieces of confusion. And so, this makes just as much sense as everything else has to this point in life.

It’s funny, but is this what you would describe living?

A constant tumble.

A question mark.

An unexamined life is not worth living.

Deep too, I remember I had a heart somewhere in there before the incident.

And now it’s just a black organ that pumps slug throughout my body. It’s like a void, actually, more like. A black hole. Yeah, pretty fucked up shit.

Can you start to see how fucked up things are?

Just some innocent victimless ramblings of an extra ordinarily depressed and angst-filled writer.

Don’t take things too seriously. There is no point.

The Hacker Manifesto

The Hacker Manifesto
by
+++The Mentor+++
Written January 8, 1986

Another one got caught today, it’s all over the papers. “Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal”, “Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering”…

Damn kids. They’re all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950’s technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?
I am a hacker, enter my world…
Mine is a world that begins with school… I’m smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me…

Damn underachiever. They’re all alike.

I’m in junior high or high school. I’ve listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. “No, Ms. Smith, I didn’t show my work. I did it in my head…”
Damn kid. Probably copied it. They’re all alike.
I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it’s because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn’t like me… Or feels threatened by me.. Or thinks I’m a smart ass.. Or doesn’t like teaching and shouldn’t be here…

Damn kid. All he does is play games. They’re all alike.

And then it happened… a door opened to a world… rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict’s veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought… a board is found. “This is it… this is where I belong…” I know everyone here… even if I’ve never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again… I know you all…

Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They’re all alike…

You bet your ass we’re all alike… we’ve been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak… the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We’ve been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert. 

This is our world now… the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn’t run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore… and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge… and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias… and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it’s for our own good, yet we’re the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can’t stop us all… after all, we’re all alike.

Situation Report

I’ve been missing in action, I know. I don’t know how or why – I think it’s just the fact that I’ve been too busy, doing too many insane things in the past few months, that I can’t pay blogging any attention.

And it’s sad, specially because I have even more things running together at the same time now. It’s specially hard, because my attention span is so short. But I can’t help it!

I need to work on refining all the previous pieces of writing I have compiled. Will do that as soon as I stop being lazy, and maybe get time to do it.

Spring Break is going to end soon. If it hasn’t already. There was Saturday today, that I spent lazily doing nothing productive. Thanks to a stoner buddy that tends to go crazy every now and then. Not complaining.

Tomorrow is Sunday. I doubt I’m going to do anything tomorrow, but I plan on going to take a look at the new place I hope to move in to, tomorrow. It’s something that just doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. I semi lost hope, but m’eh. Maybe it’ll finally go through. It’s also something I’ve been meaning to take care of for almost a year now. Also to be done tomorrow, is the laundry. I wish myself luck.

After I’m off the break and college officially starts again, I know exactly how things are going to be. I’ll be struggling with class timings and project/homework due dates, like always.

–sigh- I don’t like college very much. To be very honest. I don’t think anyone does, though. And people that say they do are either crazy, or lying. And I’m not talking about the partying or socializing aspect of college, no, I’ve got that right under control. Can’t get enough of it. I think half of Philadelphia might know me by now. It’s the other part of college that has got me frustrated. The debatable concept that college is a system that can educate and is a process - necessary, or un-doubtfully fruitful. I don’t like it, no. But I’m trying, I really am.

I’m thinking of doing much more than I am right now. Maybe, somehow, hopefully. Managing and running a successful Youtube channel, is something I’ve been contemplating. For a while, too, actually.

Will take a lot more pictures as soon as the weather turns back to how I like it. Sunny, of course. It was just like that a few days ago, but it’s raining again. And it doesn’t seem like it wants to stop either. Soon!

Need to start podcasting again. I just need to be motivated, is what the problem is. No lies.

I really like this, writing down my thoughts. I don’t know why I haven’t been doing this as much as possible. Maybe I’ll start writing a lot again, like back in the days. Remember? I wonder if I still have the same amount of readers that I did a while ago. A number that I liked. Probably not, only one way to find out.

Publish!

Ps: Did you go take a look at my dA?