and then our exile

THEN WE TAKE BERLIN

It's 5.53am, i've just had a quasi-breakfast and for whatever reason am in an inanely insanely good mood. As in, seriously. Somewhere underneath my irrepressible eyebrow-twitching is the knowledge that if i look stuff in the face i'll freeze-dry-die of fright-shock, but hey. "it's the last night of the world..." i think i'm a closet hedonist. (Closet Maliki? Hmm.) The despairing glory of a counterproductive bathetic tragedy. SLEEP IS FOR LOOZAHS. You can probably tell i should change something in my life when i start talking like that. Indeed. SLEEP IS FOR LOOZAHS. Haha, all you loozahs.

Har. That was self-deprecatory, for the unsubtle. (wa qalAllahu ta'ala fi Kitabuhu-- "wa ja'alna naumakum subata...") Anyways, things over the past short while that are smile or warm or whatever, because in a few hours i'll need proof these things existed in times-past (i'm also a closet cynic, see?). i have better things to do. :

(towards a glorious sunken debussy--)
basit: whoa, check that out. "new apostolic church".
lara: (smile) yes, i go there.
bki: ha! lay out your doctrinal foundation for me.
lc: well, there were these twelve guys at the Last Supper, and so we talk about them and stuff and...they're our mystical underpinnings...and our rituals include...other stuff.
bki: hmm. such as?
lc: well, we talk about architecture.

"see, see, i made you do yoga without noticing! ha!"

Ammi waited Fajr on me. If i understood the full implicate on this, even just once, i'd wail till i wept till i ran out, or else turn superhero.

"[...next time somebody tells you the Shari'ah is sexist (and it will happen), you look them straight in the eye and go: "You're damn right it is"]" (=from June11)

Farooq's beard.

All day a smell following me around. Not like the metallic pepper before, more like...flower-perfume. i'm not complaining, just curious.

All these invitations. Attila-el-Hunness/ CKN1/ FTE/ Shuaibu.

First We Take Manhattan. (But Tom Waits makes me cringe. "Cohen except hit on the head with more gravel.")

Cold coffee. Much, with schokolade. Rememb'ring that line from Dinner with Andr'e about the cockroach.

Masada is a very ironic movie.

1am phone-voyaging at Baha'i-eskapism.

...you know the ostrich with head in sand? His name was Basit. *halo* And Aesop's eleven-year-old hare as well.

Who's read Hermann Hesse? ie., Beneath the Wheel (aka The Prodigy)? You know, Giebenrath? That was also me.

~
Allahumma thabbit quloobuna 'ala deenik! Wa yassirli 'l-imtihaan!! (wa imtihaan al-akhira too)(--i know the too wasn't 'arabi)(my 'arabi is like benaz*r bhutto's urdu, this time of morning)(i haven't thought of her in months)(ha!)(anyways, back to el du'a:)(all together now)(irony-deprecation alert) ameen!!!

(please email me and tell me i'm still sane.)