In no particular order ..

I suppose that the motive behind this posting is a brain dump of some description, or, to be more precise, a vent out of ideas that have grown congested since my last posting to the point where the burden of carrying them inside the gray matter of one "Persian", as one very close person used to refer to me, became both weary and bogged down with carrying them around.

While on the subject of that man, giant, controversial, up-and-in-your-face, it's worth mentioning that he has perhaps touched my very being in a way that I very much doubt he ever realised or, knowing him, would have been too precarious of his own apparent detachment from everyone and everything around him to entertain - a state of conscious or deliberate encapsulation. In any case .. just being around him, having the chance to rub shoulders with him has been a privilege, and without being conceited, coming from me that's quite a personal achievement of admission.

Still, no regrets admitting that or, indeed, standing by any particular path I have chosen to tread, usually the less travelled, usually the least popular and almost always with devastating and disastrous personal consequences. Perhaps the one bitter hint of times gone by is that no matter how hard I have tried, it has proven an almost colossal undertaking of difficulty to win him back some how. I don't know if the right expression is admiration, but the encounter with this giant on a professional level has made me rethink entire parts of my own approach, values, evaluations and courses of action on both a personal and professional level too.

I feel like I'm babbling, but what the hell ! this little space has become my only refuge of escape in the midst of all the rubble I feel being snowed under.

Any way, back to him .. since our very first meeting, there was I, surrounded by "hostiles", in a manner of speaking, who grew in number and aggression with every successful delivery of a work item, however small, being met by this ever present, seemingly irate, sharp, straight-talking Aussie, who had asked my arch rival at the time whether I had "cocked up yet", and the ice was broken forever.

This is to you SM, and you know exactly how I feel about you, and how much of an admiration I have for your person, and perhaps little you know how much I feel the battles you fight inside of you to keep your sanity, your sincerity, your decency, and yes: your emotions from ever surfacing, perhaps even to those closest to you like your equally wonderful family; logical to the last, even when loosing your temper at the little people the likes of PF and EW; rational to the last even when having the biggest go at me and shots being fired left right and centre; and composed to the last tiny bit of reason arguing for and against an outsider, a foreigner in every sense, like me, to deliver when the other failed. And here is one for the record: never once have I taken a word you said to me lightly, and never once have I been more hurt than when they got to you after they have run my post over, and the flag was down.

May you live a wonderful, fulfilling life .. always .. may you, wherever you go, be the giant that I have come to respect more than I have ever respected anyone, and love like a brother that had been hiding for millennia somewhere, like Enkidu, shining his light in Gilgamesh's quest for immortality, and the tragedy that was to prove his downfall. Here's to you, from humble me.

Always,
"The Persian"

The day "justice" was done

And the world is a better place. And we are rid of the "terrorist-in-chief" on the hands of the Almighty "commander-in-chief". This is the surface, and us lesser mortals, the children of an even lesser God try to scratch the surface in vein, till there are no more nails or knuckles left to our miserable palms.

We are told that President Saddam Hussein was sentenced to death by hanging for foiling an assassination attempt on his person in Dujail. And before I go on any further, how many of you outside the borders of Iraq actually know of Dujail, and for that matter how many Iraqis are still living in Iraq ?. Last time I checked, the country was more Iranian than Iran !. The deal had been struck and deed done to exchange this most ancient land with the miserable mullahs in Satan, sorry, I should have said Tehran but any way the two are synonymous, in exchange for their support of their all-time masters in Washington.

Any way, back to the subject matter. Since today is being dubbed as the days "justice" was done, and speaking of "justice", in the non-American (aka hypocritical, racist, hooligans) sense, shouldn't justice have been done on George Bush Snr and co in Kuwait in 1990 when he ordered the execution of the assassination squad that was sent at the time by the Iraqis to assassinate him in Kuwait ?.

At the time, we, the lesser mortals, servants of our non-American, non-Christian lesser God, we were told that this was just punishment under the articles of war, and hence the deed was done and the assassination squad got executed accordingly.

Today, we are told that President Saddam Hussein is being sentenced to death because he bestowed exactly the same sentence, under exactly the same articles of war, on a bunch of Persian-, Mullah-, Terrorist-, Racist-incited thugs who tried to assassinate, yes, you guessed it, the head of state, in his OWN country. AH ! that was the difference ! George Bush Snr wasn't even in his home country, and let's not get into the background of how the so-called Americans came to savagely take the lands from the Native Americans in the first place. He, Bush, was in Kuwait, not his home country, and not even a recognised sovereign state in many private circle, regardless of what the puppet UN says or does. Yet, still he saw fit to hand down the assassins to the hangman

Oh, and let me give you some bullets to fire at my humble self: Perhaps you would like to call me a "terrorist", to which I would say look in a mirror, or even read the news for a glimpse of the biggest, stupidest terrorist of all, his Royal Grand KKK Dragon Highness GWB, or you would call me a Baa'thist, to which I would proudly reply yes; Surprise me. I am open to suggestions.

Long live Iraq. Long live the IRAQI people. Long live Baghdad.

QED

Shock

I am falling more and more into the belief that perhaps I belong to a dead creed of people, or is it so ?

This afternoon, a situation took place that had me shocked wondering whatever happened to standing by those you love, regardless of consequence and irrespective of whether or not others approved ? Is it me, or has the world changed ? Or could it be that it is I who stood still, by some ideals and pillars, and I lived a lifetime defending and living by them, as the world moved on ? Passing time, watching trains go by as the saying goes.

You see, by my book, blood is not only thicker than water, blood can never be compared to anything else. Blood means that I would be by you, next to you, fighting with you when you are remote family, let alone close family like a son, brother, a sister, father or mother, and I am damn confused to the core.

For it seems that those values no longer hold fast when subject to the close scrutiny of the reality of our existence, or at the very least my existence. It seems that push come to shove, people are prepared to forsake you no matter who you are, in exchange for fervor with a spouse or when it comes down to their own stupid misjudgment, when those very same individuals had only you by their side, when close and far abandoned them to criticism, ridicule and character assassination. It seems that it is only I who puts blood family first and foremost, when subjected to the same situations, pressures and circumstance.

Once I read in a novel, depicting true accounts of what had happened post October revolution in Cairo, I read about two men who grew up like brothers, shared the same food, gone to the same school and lived under the same roof even though their parents could not be more different: one was the son of an aristocrat who occupied a lavish palace, while the other was the son of the concierge at the same palace. Regardless, the former's father was reputed to be quite a noble being, and treated the latter's son as he treated his own. Charity, chivalry, humanity, call it what you will.

Post revolution, there were laws enacted, rightly or wrongly, to confiscate lands and assets belonging to the former aristocracy, with only enough proceeds and funds being released to allow them, the aristocracy, to live a basic life. Needless to say, the remaining proceeds, assets and such like found it's way to the pockets of the so-called revolutionaries. Typical of political change methinks, but that's not really the gist of the tale in the "Here and Now".

To cut a long story short, this aristocrat's son went one day to collect whatever little they had been allowed to receive every month, and that used to take place at one of the "State Security Investigation" bureaus, scattered in abundance all over Cairo, and all over and Arab homeland, that has been plagued with a cross of evil rulers and greedy occupants. Any way, this man walks into this God-forsaking building to collect the monthly allowance from his dues, his family's assets, only to be told that the chief of that bureau wished to talk to him. So in he goes into this luxurious office, to be faced by another man, his age, with his back over to him. He greeted the official, who subsequently turned around to face him, and there he was: his life-long friend, whom he considered a brother. His first instinct was to rush over to him, to hug and to great him, but something in his train of thoughts, and the body language traversing the distance between the official's chair and himself mesmerised him. I guess it would have been some concoction of shock, fear, coldness .. How am I to know ?.

After exchanging a simple hello, this official starts preaching to the young man how the aristocracy, exemplified by his family, has stolen what really belonged to the people (huh !); how they have ill-treated the peasants, and how all of this has changed now; no more titles, no more aristocracy, and no more assets; "We are all equal now. Long live the revolution". Reminds me of the Orwellian line "All animals are equal, only some are more equal than others". So the young man asks about releasing their assets, only to be faced some more rhetoric, and so he gives up, and simply says to this official, in his luxurious surroundings, afforded to him by the God-blessed revolution, and an imposing photo of "Big Brother" Nasir overseeing even the void, he responds so calmly: "I understand now, and how I longed to have understood".

QED.

Irony

Half man .. half horse .. not human, not animal. The combination of the non-sentient and sentient .. the centaur reaches for his mate. The gaze in his eyes convincing me he is human; oops .. did I say he ? or should that be “it” ? once an bitter, stupid old man told me that “it” is a horrible word, though that was for a completely different reason. He, the man, was too sensitive to my referring to his cat as “it”. God .. whatever brought that up ? perhaps it’s simply that my brain is overloaded, and about to crash or shut down .. whichever is more attainable.

Any way .. back to the centaurs, I suddenly realised that past this creature and his mate, he, for lack of a better reference tool, is reaching for her; or longing for her ? any way .. I repeatedly asked myself about the sense of placing those two criss-cross creators at the entrance of one of London’s most famous landmark shopping centres, and failed to reach a conclusion. Whatever the case maybe, he and she have now seen me through one marriage and three-quarters .. and a few girlfriends on the way. What a sadistic, black comedy this fate of one’s path has .. leaving him much like the he-she-sentient-non-sentient icons in exactly the same co-ordinates on the plane of human existence: lonely, yet no alone .. married, yet unmarried .. this time round struggling to do what is compassionate, and humane, by someone who has so swiftly, and without a fight, become the core that is me since the very second he was born, at the sound of his first cry to announce to a long empty, dead world inside of me that he is here, and that he is the messenger of a compassionate God above, bringing my soul redemption .. for he is me, though to do what is right by him is tearing me apart. No matter. Is this sounding confusing yet ?! well .. I know I am damn well enough confused to the point of a total meltdown of the nuclear reactor up in my head.

The centaurs are still there. He looking at, longing for, her; she with a neutral gaze, straight into his eyes, and they dance the dance of life in the criss-cross existence of the intersection between who they are, what they have been made into and the practical reality of her being a female, nonetheless, and he being a male regardless. It seems to me that one common denominator survives all arguments across sentient species, even those on the fringe of awareness; That common denominator is the very definition of this emotion we so-call “love”, and the different shadows and impressions it casts on the two different genders, wherever gender can be identified. Simply, that glaringly obvious inability of the female to “love” in the abstract. She, the female I mean, may well be more sacrificing, or selfless, if ever that is the case, or even the magnet that is between the pieces of a relationship, but is she capable of the abstract “love” ? of the emotion of psychological, physical and intrinsic pairing between herself and her partner, to the point of being in “love” ? for no other reason than simply for the person that is he, for himself, regardless of any other pillars that people seem adamant to ascribe as to “why” you would “love” someone ?.

It is so disgustingly and hopelessly obvious that the only gender capable of such emotion is the male of the species under observation. He is able to love to the point of killing, able to self-sacrifice and ask questions later, whenever or if ever there might be a later; able to experience the abstract emotion that is “love”.

Once, in a rare moment of naked admission, a very close person told me that “men are so soft”. She had me thinking about this a life time, and for every situation that I have encountered or, to be more precise, every relationship that I have been in or had the chance to observe, I would listen to her voice loud and clear in my head, trying to come to some sort of sensible conclusion as to why she may have said that, and like magic, time and again: you see it in the female behaviour, expressions, even the way she makes passionate, crazy, uncontrollable love to you. She is the one on top, no matter where you are in every possible sense, physical, practical or emotional. She is on top. The irony of all of this, and the hopeless reality, is that no male will ever admit this and no female will ever let you extract this out of her. Not by choice, but simply by genetic programming.

QED