On Emollient |iˈmälyənt|

On Beetroo(t) To Your Heart

The word "mindful" is perpetually floating around in my mind. Sometimes i even find myself visualising the actual word. I guess to see it materialises it, somehow. I wonder what "mindful" would feel, taste, smell, or sound like. 

Today, the word surfaced in my mind momentarily, as it does everyday. But today, it stayed a while. First, it shuffled around a bit until it was comfortable, and then it just sat there. 

It seemed to be waiting for something. It looked up to the sky above it, as if in anticipation. From out of the sky, some other words were falling down with accelerating velocity, headed straight for seated and comfortable "mindful". 

As they fell around it, they formed an order, in that way iron fillings slide around in a magnetic field, assuming their designated places. From birds-eye view, "mindful" and its intergalactic siblings looked like this:

forgetful of self, but ever mindful of what is Thine.

All of a sudden, "mindful" had a context, a home, a family. One must be mindful of what is Thine! 

But, what, exactly, is Thine? 

Before i had much time to revel in this newly-discovered ground, another separate string of words materialised around the "mindful" clan, as though inseparable best friends. It read:

O Son of Being! Thy heart is My home; sanctify it for My descent. 

And a moment of completely unexpected, unheralded clarity was born. 

 "Mindful" & The Heart--they feel, taste, smell, and sound like the same thing. 

pic:  skullset

On Never Satisfied

"Make sure you change things in your environment once in a while, even if its one thing or something small", someone told me recently. 

She was talking to me in particular, but I wonder if she has ever said the same thing to anyone else.  I wonder if others would find it as mobilising. 

pic:  cos mag

On Noel vs Ben

Ben. Right?

pic:  here

On Le Soleil

Lionel Esteve

On The Beginning Of The End

Begins Today.

 

pic: thisisnaive

On Birthday Part II

On Happy Birthday Sheila And Jessie

I love you.

pic: smosch

On Vahdat

Playing the name game.
With the girl who has the same name.
Game?

Po: Gross.
V: Prophet
Po: Dude, that's blasphemous.
V: Errrr, as in p.r.o.f.i.t

Po: Milk.
V: Yes please. Warm if you can.

Po: Bug.
V: Spray. or Off. Yeah, i'll stick with Bug Off.

Po: Tuna.
V: Ryvita.
Po: Eww. i hate tuna.

Po: Garlic.
V: Mayo.
Po: Really? Mayo?
V: They have garlic mayo at Ali Baba's

Po: Gum.
V: By. As in, Gumby

Po: Cushion.
V: Really? Cushion? Lame. *whispers* ppsshht, actually, i think of bums! DON'T WRITE THAT.

On Where Is Gothenburg?

I want to go there. 

pic: wiki

On Camden, NSW, Australia 2570

Yup. I grew up here. 

*The pic is not of Camden, but whatever

On Flower Children

via  yas

IS IT BRIGHT WHERE YOU ARE?

HAVE THE PEOPLE CHANGED?

On Maths

If tomorrow > yesterday, 

then today = x

Find x. 

pic: sunnyrain

On The King Of Festivals

Riḍván

On Now I'm a Believer

Driving home last night,

i saw this glittery spec with a tail
dive downwards
for a few seconds
before disappearing.

And it was THAT moment
when i mentally withdrew
my previous categorisation
of 'shooting stars'
from the first list (below)
into the second.

FIRST LIST



*

SECOND LIST

Shooting stars ARE real.
They just play hard to get/see.

* Yes, i am aware that Wonka candy IS a very real thing. But it's nothing without an Oompa Loompa.

On This Yessirs Remix

Mind the quality

Happy Birthday, Naysan

You. Are. Wonderful. 

The end. 

pic: smosch

On My Building Is A Club By Night

Dear Hilel highrise folk, 

We're getting really tired of your ridiculous 11:30 pm parties that blare obnoxious r'n'b every night, which echoes through the walls and into our bedrooms. Go away. We cant sleep. 

Love, -3. 

On How To Immortalise A Moment In Time

INSTRUCTIONS:

 

TO RECORD:

Play a song enough times on repeat in a short span of time. The song will knit itself to the thoughts and feelings of that short span of time.

 

TO RETRIEVE:

Play the song.

 

pic: smosch

 

 

On But You've Got Too Much To Wear On Your Sleeves

4 Sheila

Thats it. We're doing this. 8:30pm tonight. Lock it up.

 

The pic is from google yo.

On In My Head

Unknown quotients, you must be using potions
How else could you tie my head to the sky
This new convection has left me wondering why
I can't concern myself with ordinary tripe...

Like what's this morning's paper got to say
And which brand of coffee to make
This is no umbrella to take into the wind
And before we begin is there nothing to kill this anxiety.

 

But your lips when we speak
Are the valleys and peaks of a mountain range on fire.
So let me walk these coals till you believe
I can cut the mustard well enough
Cause you know as soon as breathe we scrutinize
The paint away.

 

pic: smosch

On Swatch Out

My swatch watch is ridiculously loud.
I don't just hear ticking when it's face is against my ear, i can hear it from across the room.
It positively SPEAKS to me.
It is constantly fighting for my attention.
Or reminding me that time is of the essence.
Or that i should be having the time of my life.
And that time flies.
And that i shouldn't just simply kill time.
Or that i should buy Time magazine.
And stay with the times.
And ask, 'what's the time Mr Wolf?'
Or dream of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

Or maybe, it's simply time to get a new watch.

On This Evening, At The Cafe

Its 7-ish pm on a Friday, and Yas and i are sitting in a cafe with our macbooks. The 3 other people inside are sitting at the bar, slumped over it in that post-work hunch people in pubs have. We're sitting by an open window. My attention span is dwindling with the setting sun. I mostly stare at the inanimate objects on the tables outside, while my computer serves as a giant ipod. Friendly Fires' "Paris" is on repeat. Over the blaring reggae. Yas and i decide reggae was created for road trips and beach bars. Anywhere else its just obnoxious. She shows me pics of her next stop after Haifa - Sardinia. It looks bright and sunny and symbiotically populated with happy, healthy-looking locals and tourists. I stare out the window some more and daydream about potential beach holidays in southern Europe. 

I snap myself out of it, shuffle around, take out a pencil, and slump myself over the table, like the people at the bar. Scrunching my eyebrows together to mould a focused composure, I begin sketching the picture of a disheveled 20-something guy, once purposelessly saved to my desktop, as though it were overdue homework.

pic: skullset

On You're Just A Girl That Misses Her Dad

On Orchids Revisited

From: shadi tw
Date: Fri, Apr 10, 2009 at 3:56 PM
Subject: bec winnel
To: Nazanin F

i saw this and immediately thought of you!
ive seen her work around the place, shes incredible.
it reminded me of that orchid phase you went through.

On Homesickness Home Remedy

Mona F to me

dear nazy
i love you
and miss you
and have collected some things for you
x

The Classic. 

My "orchids in space" phase

Home.

The only baby photos we could find to put in this double frame thing to give to dad one father's day where we actually mildly resembled one another. 

 The infamous blankie, circa our childhood

Le Piano

I have the best. sister. ever. 

Thanks for the pics pumpkinface, you completely lifted my spirits. 

Circle the correct answer.

This picture of The Virgins makes me feel:

 

a) Uncomfortably inferior

b) Homesick

c) Like rolling my jeans up

 

pic: wikiwiki! pedia

On 16 MONTHS

Is how long i've been away from home.

Ie, 15 and a half months longer than i thought i'd be here.

How much homesickness does that entitle me to?

Cos for the past 24 hours, I have developed an acute bout of homesickness.

 

& & &

 

(Shakedown 1979, cool kids never have the time
On a live wire right up off the street
You and I should meet
Junebug skipping like a stone
With the headlights pointed at the dawn
We were sure wed never see an end to it all
And I dont even care to shake these zipper blues
And we dont know
Just where our bones will rest
To dust I guess
Forgotten and absorbed into the earth below
Double cross the vacant and the bored
Theyre not sure just what we have in the store
Morphine city slippin dues down to see
That we dont even care as restless as we are
We feel the pull in the land of a thousand guilts
And poured cement, lamented and assured
To the lights and towns below
Faster than the speed of sound
Faster than we thought wed go, beneath the sound of hope
Justine never knew the rules,
Hung down with the freaks and the ghouls
No apologies ever need be made, I know you better than you fake it
To see that we dont care to shake these zipper blues
And we dont know just where our bones will rest
To dust I guess
Forgotten and absorbed into the earth below
The street heats the urgency of sound
As you can see theres no one around)

 

pic: Arezo

On Make-Believe

Pigs Fly.
And Eggs grow from Plants.

On Ready or Not

I got cold today.
Not because of air con or ice-cream.
But because it's now that time of year here.

Not ready for the chill.
But i admire Autumn for it's punctuality.

On Port*man*teau

1. A large travelling bag made of stiff leather and opening into two equal parts

2. Consisting of two or more aspects or qualities

 

pic: smosch