Wednesday, October 05, 2005
having successfully tempted amenbob to iniquity (book five of the earthsea series. what's the singular of series? serie?), i am now wilfully not reading my readings, or doing GRE things- nope, instead i am trippin' on poetry and getting all dressed up for school, ainwee main:'wait a minute!' *squint* 'your eyes are brown!'
*amused chuckle* 'yup.'
'how strange! they're usually hidden behind a wall of glass'
and other peer-and-comment observations like 'oh, it's kajal, i thought it was something fancier'
have i mentioned that my tennis balla is YELLOW? yellow and black like a bumblebee....a wumblewee, since it's wilson. hahahaha my racquet is henceforth named wumblewee!
ursula k. le guin's last three lines to the foreword of 'tales from earthsea' is brilliant (and in this visual order also):
things change
authors and dragons are not always to be trusted:
nobody can explain a dragon.
i must pause typing to clap :D
world eleven wala match's on, and the rec room is a testosterone den full of boys smoking and squinting at the telly, discussing stats and who'll win, or just frowning like belligerent bears as sehwag fumbles a shot. there were only two girls in there, including me! hahaha! all the australians have an AIDS ribbon on their shirt which is really wonderful i think.
was reading barks' rumi and it occurred to me that love makes beggars of us all. any kind of love. all of it. now i will proceed to sit outside in the autumn breeze and read my reading because i'm tired of a/c air and people who smell strange- acidic and musty, like paper but without the eatable nutty scent of old paper...more like mangled old government and politics notes in pencilled cursive long smudged- or money, money doesn't smell good at all, i've never figured out why gangsters in mafia flicks smell their money, it smells gross and you never know where it's been :S
speaking of old books, i recently discovered the first floor of the library! some lawyer in karachi's entire library's ended up at lums- khalid ishaque. there're about a thousand books spilling out of boxes, stacked in mammoth piles on tables waiting to be catalogues, some shelved...and it's this dream, it's like going through a closet and ending up in a sort of narnia, but with books instead of snow! it smells like heaven, it's quiet, full of the peaceful, dusty mumbly silence that a lot of old books in one room have....i showed ammara, and we danced about in the empty aisles at the back for sheer delight. every book up there has khalid ishaque's stamp on them....if he's still alive, what an amazing man he must be! okay, boy-sammich coming about; i will flee the den of CS major armpits now.
Mina at 2:53 PM
