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doing the right thing..
... and interpretations thereof. what exactly is the right thing? the anti-defamation league derides the members of the un general assembly, and especially the european union for not being able to "muster the courage to do the right thing". a resolution calling on israel to abstain from its avowed action against yasser arafat passed 133 to 4, with the nays coming from israel (but of course), the united states (ahem, but of course), micronesia and the marshall islands. apparently the whole world is wrong except israel, the us and m&m, just like the time they wanted the iraq war.
i don't even understand this new found obsession with yasser arafat, can anyone honestly claim removing him, be that assassination or expulsion, will solve or even begin the process of solving the israel-palestine issue? will it heal the situation in any manner? the problem, of course, is far more deep rooted, the solution does not lie in getting rid of an almost spent symbol, rather it does in the streets of palestine and israel. the israelis are wasting their time on arafat, and making no progress toward peace, they are helping worsen a situation that has been way out of hand for years now, these actions will in no way deter another generation of palestinians from pursuing a messed up sense of martyrdom, rather it is likely to drive them toward more violence.

dave barry takes a hilarious potshot at the california recall tar pit. via winterspeak.


illruminating
via the always illruminating, illruminations, this story from israel, an excerpt,
What was it that drew me back
there? It was something undefined and awful; an evil, whose ripples forced me to return and take a second, more focused look at what was happening: The old man, a tall Arab of about 70, wearing a traditional white keffiyeh and with an expression of disorientation and meek acceptance on his face, was standing on the narrow part of the sidewalk, his back to the stone wall of the old German cemetery, whose iron gates are always locked, and the three Border Police soldiers
were leaning on the banister separating the sidewalk from the road. One of them was holding the documents the Palestinian had handed them - he came from Hebron and had no permit to be within the Green Line (1967 border) - and was talking on her mobile phone about personal matters, while the two others chatted and laughed, going on with their personal affairs.


salam pax has talked about the raid on his house in baghdad, riverbendblog/baghdad burning a lady iraqi blogger talks about them too, this is evidence of the americans' continued blotching of their task in post-war iraq, excerpts,
Yes, we know all about the ‘raids’. I wish I had statistics on the raids. The ‘loyalists and terrorists’ must include Mohammed Al-Kubeisi of Jihad Quarter in Baghdad who was 11. He went outside on the second floor balcony of his house to see what the commotion was all about in their garden. The commotion was an American raid. Mohammed was shot on the spot. I remember another little terrorist who was killed four days ago in Baquba, a province north-east of Baghdad. This terrorist was 10… no one knows why or how he was shot by one of the troops while they were raiding his family’s house. They found no weapons, they found no Ba’athists, they found no WMD. I hope America feels safer now.
[...]
I gripped at the gate as my knees weakened, crying… trying to make sense of the mess. I could see many of the neighbors, standing around, looking on in dismay. Abu A.'s neighbor, Abu Ali, was trying to communicate with one of the troops. He was waving his arm at Umm A. and Reem, and pointing to his own house, obviously trying to allow them to take the women inside his home. The troop waved over another soldier who, apparently, was a translator. During raids, a translator hovers in the background inconspicuously- they don't bring him forward right away to communicate with terrified people because they are hoping someone will accidentally say something vital, in Arabic, thinking the troops won't understand, like, "Honey, did you bury the nuclear bomb in the garden like I told you?!"

Finally, Umm A. and Reem were allowed inside of Abu Ali's house, escorted by troops. Reem walked automatically, as if dazed, while Umm A. was hectic. She stood her ground, begging to know what was going to happen… wondering where they were taking her husband and boys… Abu Ali urged her inside.

The house was ransacked… searched thoroughly for no one knows what- vases were broken, tables overturned, clothes emptied from closets…

By 6 am the last cars had pulled out. The area was once more calm and quiet. I didn't sleep that night, that day or the night after. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Abu A. and his grandson L. and Reem… I saw Umm A., crying with terror, begging for an explanation.

Abu A. hasn't come back yet. The Red Cross facilitates communication between him and his family… L. no longer walks down our street on Fridays, covered in chocolate, and I'm wondering how old he will be before he ever sees his grandfather again…


the riverbendblog is an excellent perspective on the american occupation and life in baghdad these days, perhaps not as famous as salam, but incisive nevertheless, pay it a visit.


the nincompoop confessions
i've just found out i'm grossly incompetent, stupid and have been spectacularly ill equipped to recognize how unbelievbaly low on the intellectual scale i've stood in the twenty three years of my life. this article i ran into recently talks about how how easy it is for stupid people to think they are smart for the rather simple reason that they are not smart enough to realize they are stupid, which is a paradox, but anyway. so well, the time i locked myself out of the car, with the engine running, was not a sign of absent minded forgetfulness, it was, horror of horros, clear and simple evidence that i AM STUPID. and the reason i don't have a job yet is that recruiters and hiring managers knew all along what i'm only just starting to realize, my years in school, college and university have been an absolute drain, not only on my father's hard earned money and my teachers' well worn patience but also on my worthless brain that has resisted all efforts to develop the metacognitive ability to recognize my own limitations. apparently the reason i don't get a thousand hits a day is not because people don't have the intellectual acumen to understand my very literal and absorbing posts but that my posts are neither very literal, nor absorbing, in fact, i've begun to suspect, i'm the classic, much feared and loathed, bore. i've obviously over estimated my sense of humor for it is often that i say something hilarious and people start looking at each other uncomfortably, searching for a cue perhaps to laugh or whine. or kick me out of the room. it is further evidence of my stupidity that after reading this fairly revealing bit of research, and realizing what an incompetent nincompoop i am, instead of hanging my head in shame and shutting up forever, i'm making another abortive attempt at humor. sigh! some people never learn...


praying drunk
Our Father who art in heaven, I am drunk.
Again. Red wine. For which I offer thanks.
I ought to start with praise, but praise
comes hard to me. I stutter. Did I tell you
about the woman, whom I taught, in bed,
this prayer? It starts with praise; the simple form
keeps things in order. I hear from her sometimes.
Do you? And after love, when I was hungry,
I said, Make me something to eat. She yelled,
Poof! You're a casserole! - and laughed so hard
she fell out of bed. Take care of her.


Next, confession - the dreary part. At night
deer drift from the dark woods and eat my garden.
They're like enormous rats on stilts except,
of course, they're beautiful. But why? What makes
them beautiful? I haven't shot one yet.
I might. When I was twelve I'd ride my bike
out to the dump and shoot the rats. It's hard
to kill your rats, our Father. You have to use
a hollow point and hit them solidly.
A leg is not enough. The rat won't pause.
Yeep! Yeep! it screams, and scrabbles, three-legged, back
into the trash, and I would feel a little bad
to kill something that wants to live
more savagely than I do, even if
it's just a rat. My garden's vanishing.
Perhaps I'll plant more beans, though that
might mean more beautiful and hungry deer.
Who knows?
I'm sorry for the times I've driven
home past a black, enormous, twilight ridge.
Crested with mist it looked like a giant wave
about to break and sweep across the valley,
and in my loneliness and fear I've thought,
O let it come and wash the whole world clean.
Forgive me. This is my favorite sin: despair-
whose love I celebrate with wine and prayer.


Our Father, thank you for all the birds and trees,
that nature stuff. I'm grateful for good health,
food, air, some laughs, and all the other things I've never had to do
without. I have confused myself. I'm glad
there's not a rattrap large enough for deer.
While at the zoo last week, I sat and wept
when I saw one elephant insert his trunk
into another's ass, pull out a lump,
and whip it back and forth impatiently
to free the goodies hidden in the lump.
I could have let it mean most anything,
but I was stunned again at just how little
we ask for in our lives. Don't look! Don't look!
Two young nuns tried to herd their giggling
schoolkids away. Line up, they called, Let's go
and watch the monkeys in the monkey house.
I laughed and got a dirty look. Dear Lord,
we lurch from metaphor to metaphor,
which is -let it be so- a form of praying.


I'm usually asleep by now -the time
for supplication. Requests. As if I'd stayed
up late and called the radio and asked
they play a sentimental song. Embarrassed.
I want a lot of money and a woman.
And, also, I want vanishing cream. You know-
a character like Popeye rubs it on
and disappears. Although you see right through him,
he's there. He chuckles, stumbles into things,
and smoke that's clearly visible escapes
from his invisible pipe. It make me think,
sometimes, of you. What makes me think of me
is the poor jerk who wanders out on air
and then looks down. Below his feet, he sees
eternity, and suddenly his shoes
no longer work on nothingness, and down
he goes. As I fall past, remember me.

- Andrew Hudgins


faith and truth
an interesting look at the motivations for faith, the pursuit of truth and the struggle to come to terms with both, by seyed rezavi of monkeyx,
It is said that faith cannot exist without doubt and therefore certainty is the opposite of faith for in certainty one believes that all the answers are known, whereas faith requires serious doubts and uncertainties to allow the adoption of ideas despite the sincerest and most profound doubts. Faith without doubt is bigotry.

Yet in the practice of religion, doubt is often given way to Truth. If religion is an expression of faith, organised and formulised over generations, is it right to say that faith when enshrined in doghma becomes certainty? So is truth and certaintly incompatible with faith?
[...]
the entire post is here.


accidental(?) deaths
via salon, rasheed sahib, a new yorker and a soldier with the 4th Infantry Division died on the 18th of may when he was shot in the chest, not by an iraqi insurgent, but by a negligent chappie in his own division as the other fellow cleaned his weapon. agreed, accidents happen, the american soldier in iraq is not exactly having the time of his life and shit happens but to this extent? from an article in a regional tv station's website,
Since the war began in March, 145 troops have died in hostile combat circumstances. Those include ambushes, sniper attacks and bombings.

Over the same span, 115 have died from accidents. And more than half of those deaths, 59 have occurred since May 1, when President Bush declared the combat phase of the U.S. mission in Iraq essentially over.
[my emphasis]

are the soldiers in iraq improperly/insufficiently trained? is the number of accidental deaths nothing to be alarmed about? is this just another twist on 'collateral damage'? i'm sure the administration has its own spin on these incidents, what i'd like is someone who's been through such hell and knows what it's like to tell me how alarmed we should be. as of now, i'm very alarmed.


advice
talk is cheap. yap is what we do. coz its easy, and free, and some people actually read what we write! since i'm in a particularly deep trough of my creativity and giving advice is a great way to cover your own flaws, here's an earful for those starting up or making over,

use movable type and host your blog on some cheap web hosting service, if u r a cheapo unemployed loser like me you can stick to blogger, it is easy and thankfully customizable unlike xanga which i found suffocating after a while

use colors that are easy on the eyes, both for the background and the font, slightly different shades of the same color for the font and background is a really bad idea. my personal preference is a white background or some pastel color (like yaz's) with a dark font

use verdana or georgia. please.

keep the font at a comfy 10pt or 12pt, anything smaller is too hard to read, and especially scary when the post is long, larger fonts make even small posts look too lengthy and suggest frivolity

music? sooooo 90s, be it a weblog, a personal home page or a commercial site, a song clip when your page loads is an incredibly bad idea, it is jarring, irritating and completely unnecessary

see to it that your blog is 'usable', ie it is easy to navigate, comfortable to look at and loads fairly quickly. check if possible that it displays correctly in atleast three to four browsers, perhaps ie 4.x-6.x, netscape, mozilla and safari

i always add 'target=_blank' to my hrefs coz it allows people to continue reading a post while opening a link in another window. there are ways to give the reader the choice to open hyperlinks in the same or another window, but i just don't see why you'd want to go away from all the interesting stuff i post on ublog |smirk|

provide a link introducing yourself, your blog, the intended audience and the purpose of your blog. this is absolutely necessary, i almost never go back to a weblog which does not tell me anything about the author. even if you wish to remain anonymous, provide a rough background so that people atleast know what's going on

preferably, provide a section for feedback and comments for individual posts, this encourages reader participation and brings people back

get a counter, it helps you know what degree of readership you have, who links to you and what keyword searches throw up your weblog in google searches. this can be amusing (someone came to ublog searching for something akin to 'jewish underwear during world war two') and gratifying, it keeps you motivated

keep your blogroll under control, don't add a weblog if you liked one post, a good rule is to only have those weblogs that you read regularly, say once a week atleast

beware of trolls!

get involved, spend time on other weblogs, submit your url to bloglists like globeofblogs, weblogs.com and blogwise (links on the left)

what you write depends on the theme of your blog, you might be sharing life secrets or ranting about bush's foreign policy, just remember that if you'd like greater readership you'll have to give your post thought and research for it to make an impact on your readers

blogging offers the terrific opportunity to defend your thoughts and beliefs and to correct wrong impressions. i'm a muslim for example, and i've seen some really silly attacks on islam by those with a negative/flawed image of islam and i've used ublog to present our side of the story and to disabuse wrong impressions

never leave a comment for the sake of leaving a comment, say something when you have something to say, keep quiet if you don't. when there is something you feel strongly about say it but without being rude or offensive. in large forums it is easy to see your voice get lost in the din, a solution to that is post something on your own weblog with a link to the post you feel merits discussion

don't steal, when you quote, provide a reference

don't ask for money for your web hosting/blogging expenses, it is simply not polite. if you get a zillion hits a day like dailykos and tacitus, or if you provide really readable content like the sentimentalist or joelonsoftware, in other words if you have been instrumental in creating a community there is no harm in asking for the members of your community to support your efforts. a website that gets twenty to thirty or even a hundred hits a day can in no fairness ask for money, that's crude

do a grammar and spelcheck

don't do as i do, do as i say ;)

i'll keep this list going so if you have anything to add/edit/delete to/from it, let me know.



drunk as drunk
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

have i mentioned before how totally in awe of pablo neruda i am? his peotry is like the rhythm in my head that i cannot draw on paper, like happiness, only better. these days i'm leaving the writing and thinking to the fantastic blogs on the left (no pun. actually, yeah pun!), i'm concentrating rather, on listening :)


cuba
My eldest sister arrived home that morning
In her white muslin evening dress.
'Who the hell do you think you are
Running out to dances in next to nothing?
As though we hadn't enough bother
With the world at war, if not at an end.'
My father was pounding the breakfast-table.

'Those Yankees were touch and go as it was—
If you'd heard Patton in Armagh—
But this Kennedy's nearly an Irishman
So he's not much better than ourselves.
And him with only to say the word.
If you've got anything on your mind
Maybe you should make your peace with God.'

I could hear May from beyond the curtain.
'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
I told a lie once, I was disobedient once.
And, Father, a boy touched me once.'
'Tell me, child. Was this touch immodest?
Did he touch your breasts, for example?'
'He brushed against me, Father. Very gently.'

-- Paul Muldoon
i find the concept of confession rather strange, the idea that a supposed sin can be committed and then repented for by reciting a holy verse an arbitrarily decided number of times is odd at the very least. most major religions however, proscribe the practice in one form or another, perhaps in an attempt to console the sinner or maybe to load him with so much of recitation that he thinks twice before brushing against a woman again.


a new voice
a dervish's dua is the latest addition to the blogroll, and andrew sullivan has been deleted, i find his posts either too shrill or too boring. in the six months that i've been blogging, i've occassionally come across some brilliant writers, people with such clarity of thought and expression it makes me want to crawl under a carpet and stop blogging for good. ideofact, the american sentimentalist, tacitus, al-muhajabah, winterspeak, billmon, maryam, excellent writers all, thank you very much.


solaris
solaris is one of the most spectacular movies i've seen in recent times, frame after luscious frame of breathtaking visuals, sustained suspense and a paper thin yet engaging story line. the treatment of death and after life, our visual and mental perceptions and the degree of credibility that we assign our faculties has been masterfully translated to the big screen by soderbergh from stainslaw's book of the same name. the movie also has a wonderful poem on death by welsh poet, dylan thomas, and death shall have no dominion, which goes like this,
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Through they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.




the spirit wooed

Once I believed in you,
And then you came,
Unquestionably new, as fame
Had said you were. But that was long ago.

You launched no argument,
Yet I obeyed,
Straightaway, the instrument you played
Distant Down sidestreets, keeping different time,

And never questioned what
You fascinate
In me; if good or not, the state
You pressed towards. There was no need to know.

Grave pristine absolutes
Walked in my mind:
So that I was not mute, or blind,
As years before or since. My only crime

Was holding you too dear.
Was that the cause
You daily came less near—a pause
Longer than life, if you decide it so?

-- Philip Larkin



a pot of tea
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and dirty, and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!

Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To rum they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!

I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.

-- Robert Service

bob, i hear ya!



that cowboy from texas
with every american soldier that falls victim to iraqi guerilla resistance, with every bomb that rips apart the americans' attempt at rebuilding iraq, with every dollar spent and asked for in keeping this occupation going, president bush's image as a reckless cowboy gather greater credibility. from his boast of 'bring them on' to his historic rhetoric of 'they are either with us or against us' this president has demonstrated an appalling lack of statesmanship, an unforgivably short sighted view of things. an article in the washingtonpost says,
The planned request -- which congressional budget analysts said will be nearly double what Congress expected -- reflects the deepening cost of the five-month-old U.S. occupation and serves as an acknowledgement by the administration that it vastly underestimated the cost of restoring order in Iraq and rebuilding the country's infrastructure.
[my emphasis]
what remains to be seen is how far bush is ready to continue with his flawed policies before he starts finding solutions to problems he's so ineptly created. as a side question, how safe is it for america to continue nuclear/bioweapons research in the face of such trigger happy, war mongering short sighted leadership?





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