If Truth were a Diamond Scimitar.
Hackneyed ideas tire me quickly. On the other hand, truth, even
though it's unoriginal, is still truth. but for it to deliver comfort
it must constantly be repackaged to engage the mind...at least for the
over-educated whose minds are gateways to the heart. excessive
reminders only test one's patience and frustrate the search for more
complex theories to explain esoteric experiences. if articulations of
truth cannot keep up with the heart, chaos will ensue.

SubhanAllah a tree is beautiful; the birds sing in prayer; death is
inevitable. But to dwell on these things again and again when time
makes one's mental energy so exclusive distracts one's focus from the
work at hand. reflection is so precious. i know, i know. but in
trying to embrace life, reminding myself of mortality exacerbates my
self-loathing. I will insha'Allah intend to live life without regrets
- the same purpose served by reminding oneself of death - but without
the constant expectation of a grave around the corner.

These days the Islamic camp exercises where we'd go out into the cold
forest at night, lay on the earth and imagine our graves seem unfair
to me. Yes, youth are wreckless and wont to squander their most
formative years. But scholars' incessant invocations of death pushing
us toward righteous action have a side effect: limiting access to
articulations of truth by creating a sense of urgency to devote
oneself to a path. Yes, time is limited; the earlier one chooses a
path, the longer they'll have to master and contribute to it. But I
guess I have ADD with regard to life's possibilities.

Yesterday. Drenched in my parents' driveway at 2am, I felt like a
solitary warrior under the city rain. Reprocessed acid on my cheeks
have never been more liberating.

I was in a crowded subway again. Wanted nothing more than to close my
eyes and touch the palm of the person next to me. I can't believe
there are so many people in the world. I feel stupid for not being
able to grasp this. my idea of jannah is to be told how they all
managed to live. (as well as full knowledge of every aspect of
creation.)

AirTran Flight 60: LAX to Atlanta
squid and tiger sharks battle under
the dark pacific
while streetlights on the freeway
and roving spotlights from downtown hollywood
swim beneath thunderclouds
like flashlights under wool blankets
viewed from the space that hangs under
star speckled skies
the space between
heaven and earth.
we are our own signs.

Motherhood without Fathers.
I have never wanted to be a mother. But I know so many women who do.
their mortal enemies are time and the infernal race known as Men. Is
adoption then the new rage? What would it be like for a generation of
fatherless children? I want to raise other people's kids. If I
adopt, I would like to be the children's "grandmother" and I would
tell them their grandfather makes a living as stardust.

I play piano in the Fishbowl ineptly.

friends are a collection of lifestyles.
sometimes the best act of unity we can muster is a night out at
coldstone's for ice cream.

how do people manage to form relationships when their ideologies are
so different? they never talk about ideology. there are so many
other ways to form bonds. humans are so...juvenile. a joke will do
it. a smile will do it. an allusion will do it. people don't think
that much.

how can so many clashing ideologies exist in the same person? it's
not sane. it breeds incurable neuroses that no one short of a
psychiatrist versed in political science, religion, history, astronomy
and the environment can answer.