Mi Casa Su Casa

Yes, I began a post, the way i always did. With a title that rarely has anything to do with the post itself. Lets say its tradition now.

I havent written in my blog for months, nearing a year now and its just so strange to be typing again. I read somewhere that the most narcissistic and egoistic job next to being a model, is teaching.

I beg to differ.

I say its writing. Whether you blog, or write travel editorials *waves hand in the air, si si, me write for travel ppl* or whether you write novels - oh not to mention self help books *shivers*, you're really full of yourself. I mean, who said i want you to stuff your ideals down my throat? OK, so maybe i did spend $49.90 on you and got you on my Kindle as well. but STILL.

Yes, the pot is looking at the kettle. And the kettle at the pot. And yeah, i'm black.

And if you didnt get that reference, you may want to reduce it to something racial, whatever tickles your fancy really.

Interestingly, during my hiatus away from the blogosphere, people came to me saying, "hey whatsa happened with yo' blog man. I was diggin it innit. Man write again man. I wanta be rea'in it. yeah. "

Okay la horh. Noone said it quite like that. Tsk. Same same but different lah. Point is, I'm back, I'm black, and im a hell of a shag.

Snort.

Aaaaah, babies, somethings really dont change do they?

Meaanwhoiille, (haha i havent said that in age-s), Eid is coming, Ramadhan has been flying by waaaay too fast i feel like i need to hit a pause button on life and just retreat into myself cos im losing my soul to the hustle and bustle of uni life and excessive facebooking (someone cuff me).

Ive got a baby brother. Okay a half-brother. On the 26th of July 2010, Yusuf Bawany was born:)

The lovelylondoners are in town, as always this time o' year. Difference is, Imaan is going to be staying back and living with me. Looks like i gained a sister too.

Uni life has been hectic. This past year, rather, uh, a haze. Just waaaay too much self-division and investing myself in people and relationships that just didn't deserve all that much effort. Not that i regret anything, Ive learnt a lot and grown a lot. And its just another chapter.

Im loving this book called Life.

I'm hating the whole issue about Mosque at Ground Zero though. I mean, i am so enraged. First of all, its not a mosque! Its a culture centre! With a prayer room. And and and its not at Ground Zero for crying out loud, its two blocks away. There is a strip joint three blocks away. How much more offensive is that. Oh but of course, a bunch of strippers didnt hijack planes did they. A bunch o' mozlems did it. And and since its just a prayer room, what about Muslims who pray at the corner of ground zero? Does that make Ground Zero a mosque?!

Oh, world, you've got to be kidding me. Ignorance is not being feigned by the thousands. Its being embraced as the holy truth as prophesied by a brutish sort of man, with a hooked nose, sitting in a production studio somewhere smoking pot.

On a lighter note,

tis good to be back,

and tis girl hopes to stay.

Much Love,

Farah

raking maple leaves off the sidewalk

Stilleto strapped and mascara laden scanty words
Provocatively stick out their scarlet tongues And
gyrate to the swinging beat of my undecided
desires. They
tease and entertain but
leave As fleetingly as they arrive.Ever-Ready to
straddle yet another lap,
Whisper lacy vowels to another
ear And devour desires
Lavishly and lasciviously As
you do.

I must not let these

satin sheets
sheath me from reality but it is too
easy to
go down in those dense Indian ink eyes and
precariously cavernous lips.That
smooth tongue that exhales
longing goodbyes and butters
necks ever too often.

I must not
Fall for your

Glittered, glazed
Gravity.

:)

It is this,
This
Haunting
Heat
And
Your
Frantic
Feet
Dancing
To this
Erotic
Exotic
Brazilian
Beat.
This.
Cathartic
Concoction.
This.
Impeccable
Inoculation of
Inhibitions
When
You press your body against mine; fluid in the unflinching drop of beats and the mobilization and eviction of our consciences capturing and releasing of hips and hands
Conquering and re-conquering
This
Crime Scene.

touch down

We need a cat

No, we don’t. we have enough on our plate as it is.

But mum, okay.we’re like a married couple right…

Silence

So, just like married couples find that they think twice about getting a divorce cos of their kids, we’d do the same if we had a cat!

But we’re not getting a divorce , Farah. (irritated)

Yeah but I’m just saying. It might be good for you and I. There isn’t enough love man. WE need more LOVE in our home. C’mon. Ill take care of it. Please?

Stop pestering me Farah. I said NO.

But muuuuumm Im LONELY. I want a cat to keep me company.

Silence

Fine. Be that way. I wont get a cat. I’ll get a boyfriend instead.

Good. Let me know when you do.

Tsk. But MUM. Its .. its.. its easier to get a cat than a boyfriend.



And theyre so much easier to handle and feed.



Ohmygod. I’m a spinster in the making.



I want a cat and not a man.And, and , and I’m looking for love in a CAT



OHMYGAWD MUM. IM A SPINSTER. MUM! MUM!



WHY ARENT YOU ANSWERING ME!



Tsk. You see. THIS is why



we need a cat.



Mum?

ressurection

How do you ressurect a blog that has been so dead you feel the posts were written by an entirely different person?

You can't just blow the dust off of it, pen down a new date, rip out discoloured pages and start anew.

Or can you?

Perhaps i could mutter incantations and do a naked moondance ritual when night falls and then use my magic marker to draw a new page, a new design and a new blog for my new life.

Yes.

Now, that sounds like a plan.

You

You and your unfamiliar ways,
making waves,
burning days,
and paving ways.
Away.

It hurts to remember who you were,
what we were
when all that remains is a frayed
thread of what once was.

You say you dont know who i am anymore and all you see are glimpses of a person you knew before.
Let me tell you it hurts too much for me to even think about the person you were because it reminds me yet again of what you are now.

coined in the shower

Tossed sheets,

coffee stains

and hurriedly drawn curtains

that whisper last night's

secrets to passerbyes.

-

Cigarette ash secrets that

carelessly fluttered

away from our crashing, twisting limbs

and perused the contoures

of

your

flesh

on

my

flesh.

-

Secrets that spied

in crevices

we

dented

(un)dented

(in)dented

and

(re)dented

as

we reinvented karma - oh karma

fucking

sutra.

-

Sectrets precariously

perched peeked

as we peeled,

pressed,

pushed,

pumped

and

pleaded.

Pleased.