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BY Meesh

12/01 Direct Link
Iíll meet you when you wear your jokerís clothes
Iím already waiting for your jokerís clothes
Come on now wear your jokerís clothes
Itís only fair
That you wear
Your jokerís clothes
Ill meet you when you wear your jokerís clothes
Itís only fair
That I meet you when you wear your jokerís clothes
Iíll meet you
Iíll meet you
Iíll meet you
There
The day
You say
Youíll wear your jokerís clothes
I remember the day you wore your jokerís clothes
I want to see you wear them again
I remember
When you wear your jokerís clothes
Youíre mine.
12/02 Direct Link
Face to face. And all I can say is hello. For all our verbosity all we can say is helloo. Just a hello. A meaningless hello. And then we look away, find ourselves again, sift through the silent chaotic moment, and smile. Polite nods. How is your family? Not well. Parents donít know one another anymore. Well you know Iím always here. Yes, I do. I know. WonderfuL.Hows love life? Oh you know, as it should be. Lovely. Well. Well. The weatherís been great. The sunís a blessing in a city where it pours every day. I love rain. Yes.
12/03 Direct Link
So. Until next time. Thatís that. Yes enough small talk. Our lives are linked spaces, snatches of conversation in which we devour each other. Itís all right. Itís expected. Like good grammar and rules broken with callous deliberation. In the end, face to face, all we will say is a hello and perhaps thatís all we will need. Just a hello. With that smile of yours. Iíll roll my eyes when you mention the weather. Youíll be exasperated when I refuse to talk of lovers. Again and again. Until we tire of one another in the manner of old lovers.
12/04 Direct Link
The rain sounds so different in every city. The bombastic rashness of the monsoons roars. The Pennsylvanian drizzle tip toes across the roads, amplifying the sound of every moving tree, drowning out bells tolling in old towers. The rain can be sudden and angry, plaintive and weak. It can be hesitant and haunting like a prayer only partially answered. But it always embraces you with the familiarity of a constant lover, lingering until it is irrevocably changed and youíre a naked version of yourself: the last ripple in a pond disturbed slowly, steadily. A repeated beginning without an end.
12/05 Direct Link
And now something completely different. CNN has apparently stopped reporting news while waiting for something of import to happen in the world. Right now, pets are of prime importance in the field of journalism and I am considering adopting a pack of rottweilers. Iíll name one Iblees, the other Zoya, the third Jasper. Other names are on the way although the dogs most likely are not. Read Pillars of the Earth recently. Best bestseller Iíve read in long time. Ken Follet puts Dan Brown to shame with startling ease. Good. I want to go to a place far far away.
12/06 Direct Link
Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.Sleep now.
12/07 Direct Link
It is getting harder for her stop talking as time goes on. His hair is longer now. It has been six months. It has a slight curl she hasnít noticed before. She plays with the tiny mole on her neck as she speaks, twisting it absentmindedly. He looks at her neck and notices the necklace. Silver, with a pendant shaped like her country. He didnít know she is patriotic. She is always a source of monotonous cheer, never passion. She doesnít know that he looks at her when her eyes become unfocused and she is lost in her own words.
12/08 Direct Link
She has a wonderful life. A full life. With children and a husband. A job. And then there is her art. She goes for a walk every evening after her afternoon nap. By then the sub is mercifully sinking and everything suddenly looks beautiful, graceful, and sedate. That is how she likes nature. Sedate. Calm. Like the afternoons when the birds are settling down, heading home. While walking in the park she keeps to the main trails. The smaller ones are often too close to the trees and shrubs and have more mosquitoes there. She heads back when darkness arrives.
12/09 Direct Link
Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine Shine
12/10 Direct Link
Write about an object that is important to your family. Object. Hmm. There were my fatehrís medals from the army. When we were young, they used to be in the drawing room. Later they were in the study in our house in X. They blended into the rich mahogany and somehow added to the roomís dignity. Object. There was my dressing table. It was a wedding present for my paternal grandmother. It had a small oval mirror that could be adjusted for a reflection. It used to be charcoal black. We later painted it a pretty turquoise. I miss it.
12/11 Direct Link
We used to play cards on nights up in the northern areas. We would sit next to the fireplace in a circle and play 3 2 5, rummy, bluff, and so on. None of us were graceful losers. It would be fun, and then somehow the room would get claustrophobic with everyone pretending to get along. Someone who won the game would be too nonchalant everyone else insulted. Weíd play the first night and it would always end in ill-tempered accusations of ill-temperedness. Then weíd go to sleep and the vacation would be like home. The same dynamics and games.
12/12 Direct Link
The red painting hangs, was hung, is hanging. Itís like a brand on the wall which is gray and weary. The paints are rich and thickly applied. The hues look like they might drip down on the creamy white carpet below. It is a room with splotches of colour here and there. There are red roses. A red couch. It looks like a place recently abandoned by a horde of people. Dishes with remnants of dinner on them are still on the table. The place suddenly smells of curry and rice. The door opens as someone enters. Theyíve left.
12/13 Direct Link
She had something to say but didnít say it. They were facing each other across the small table. It was deviously decorated with coffee mug rings and haphazard stack of old newspapers. When she was young, she used cut out pictures she liked from newspapers and magazines. She would then put into a special box she kept hidden under her bed. The box was a deep mahogany. It was carved with flowers on the corners and was heavy. She used to have trouble lifting it when she was a child. Also inside the box were old ribbons and movie tickets.
12/14 Direct Link
Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And let let gods will be done? Sleep. And thatís it.
12/15 Direct Link
I fell asleep while writing yesterday. I slept well. It night time again. I missed the sunset. The kettle is on the stove and soon itíll start whistling. I wonder what they put in this new tea I brought. Smells like a mixture of tea and cinnamon. Infomercials are playing on the television. I need to call back my friend, she called twice today and I couldnít pick up. Lost five inches total all over. Sorry. That was the T.V. I remember going on road trips with my family. We used to spend more time driving than exploring our destinations.
12/16 Direct Link
Why do I write about it? My journal is full of it. I spend days on end without thinking about it and then when I sit down to write, it comes out like vomit. I thought it was over. Maybe short stories never really end. Ughh. Three people talking at the same time. At the same time. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow.
12/17 Direct Link
I have become a sort of chalice. Friends come, unburden themselves and then Iím left with no time to think about myself. I am not complaining. I like it this way. For now. We went on a trip to an island once. We got onto an old wooden boat and were rowed to a small island where we had a picnic. I donít even think it could be called an island. A big rock. I could go from one end to the other in a few minutes. The rock was covered with tiny shells ďseepianĒ where it met the ocean.
12/18 Direct Link
I have never seen a pink clock. I have seen yellow clocks, mahogany clocks, shiny black clocks and even gold plated clocks. Never a pink one. When I was a young my room was pink. Iím sure pink rooms are common, but mine would become newly awash in pink every day. The pink curtains were covered with white lace and when the sun would shine through, the room would glow pink. Even the shadows cast by things on my shelves were a deep pink. They were like dizzying lights you see after having stared at the sun for too long.
12/19 Direct Link
They could often be found loitering around, throwing coloured glass bottles against the wall or digging up dirt in the narrow pedestrian footpath in search of marbles to play with. Everyone could hear their parents screaming across the street. Constable Jamaal worked the night shift at the busiest intersection in Karachi and it was because of the resultant deafness that his marriage endured. The house next to his had been inhabited by four different families over the past three years and the neighbourhood knew there would be more for such was the potency of Shamshadís piercing screams and blistering curses.
12/20 Direct Link
Street number 19 was a nondescript row of unexceptional houses stacked against one another in the heart of Gulistan, a nondescript neighbourhood in city of Karachi, which is, and always has been at the heart of many things. As Karachi bulged and heaved like a giant on a binge, Street number 19 was choked and constricted until it began to dangerously resemble the spiderweb of alleys leading that branched out of it. Street Number 19 teetered on the brink of an existential crisis. And then there were the urchins who were not really urchins- Constable Jamaal his insane wifeís progeny.
12/21 Direct Link
Youíre never mine and always lost. Like love in a rose. Like resting pelicans with a slender, eternal, twisting fire. Iíll break the dawn, drown the sun, and watch you blink and awake, slowly, with a blush. There will always be a fear of words. There will always be too many of you and too many of them. There will always be me: made of you and everything else. A green bottled motley of lives and dreams, a messenger within a messenger. And someday I will float away, waiting for the walls to break, for the shards to hurt again.
12/22 Direct Link
The kiss was a bee's sting.
It was feverishly beating wings whispering,
defying gravity in a microcosm of everlasting time
Lethologica is the state of not being able to remember the word you want,
When thoughts swing like a pendulum of gold,
Glittering and soft,
Slowing with each breath
My sky was a supernova of flying kites.
Furious, jubilant.
Full of blushing blues
solemn, like blood dipped in ink
and at that moment
you were only a tiny wound
Only a sting
And still I drift
Like the scarlet scarves that danced
To the rhythm of the breeze
That day.
12/23 Direct Link
We had been talking for an hour as we always do at about the end of each monthÖand then she told me to write a love story. I laughed at first. I have never written one and have always found the thought of writing one absurd. Iíll give it a try. Iíll write about two nonentities existing only for one another or only for themselves (isnít it the same thing really?). Maybe the fringes of their solitary universes will touch and meld. Maybe theyíll be allowed only a hundred words; and maybe when they do touch, silence will be best.
12/24 Direct Link
We had been talking for an hour as we always do at about the end of each monthÖand then she told me to write a love story. I laughed at first. I have never written one and have always found the thought of writing one absurd. Iíll give it a try. Iíll write about two nonentities existing only for one another or only for themselves (isnít it the same thing really?). Maybe the fringes of their solitary universes will touch and meld. Maybe theyíll be allowed only a hundred words; and maybe when they do touch, silence will be best.
12/25 Direct Link
One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. One hundred words. 100.
12/26 Direct Link
Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming in the ocean as the sea gulls fly. By.Bye Bye BYE. Swimming by. Fly. Bye.
12/27 Direct Link
Are diseases of the mind curable? She isnít well, they say. Sheís ill, they say. As if that explains the grave digging, the overdose, the clothes on fire. Illness can be contagious. What if these things erode on oneís wellness like limestone and clay worn out over time. Every day is a new reality, a grapple for balance, a struggle of the imagination to pretend there is sanity to be found somewhere. Amongst the dirty dishes that need to be washed, the report that needs to be written, the laundry that needs to be sorted. Soon it will our turn.
12/28 Direct Link
I wonder how many languages have been lost over time. I wonder how many times two of gthem blended into one indistinguishable form. Will all of them merge someday? Will mine become obsolete? Hmm. There was a girl in my class who would come to school with feathers in her hair. Striped feathers, red feathers, blue and green feathers. She was like a character in a childrenís book. Like Little Charlieís cool aunt. I might be traveling soon. Looking forward to it. Yes. My thoughts are becoming rather incoherent now. Today was a perfectly lovely day for a boat ride.
12/29 Direct Link
Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now.
12/30 Direct Link
Rose Petal tissues. Kiwi shoe polish. Fauji cornflakes. Nurpur butter. Rose Petal tissues in Mamaís hands. Shaukat shining my fatherís shoes with Kiwi she polish by rubbing the shoes with a thick bristled brush. He periodically presses the brush against the shoe polish which is in a circular metal container. Fauji cornflakes in a stoneware bowl. Nurpur butter, golden against my toast which I like slightly burnt. Our kitchen had rust coloured tiles decorating it. When the sunshine came in through the windows it shined. We used to sit at a pinewood table that had become slightly unsteady over time.
12/31 Direct Link
One of the legs had become shorter than the others , no one knew how. So we put a small block of cardboard underneath the shortened leg. In the kitchen, you were never alone. Someone was always there, chopping onions are getting a glass of water. The rest of the house was more spacious. Every nook and cranny with an invisible name on it. Sometimes doors were locked and sometimes they werenít. The door to my room usually was. It had green curtains and walls with a faint turquoise and pink wash. The floor was white marble with green tinges.