Wasi has something to share

Nizlopi - Worry It's time to throw away your doubt, Throw away your blues. Wake up in the morning, Tear up the news. Go on slap yourself, It's been too long, Put on that motown record, Stop thinking you're wrong. You keep worrying about yourself, Yeah, you keep worrying about yourself. Oh it leads to nowhere else, If you keep worry, worry, worrying. Is your brain all angry? When you wake up to Inner-city sounds, Palastine news?  Whether you're really in love, Whether she loves you too, Whether you're meant to be doing, What you do You keep worrying about yourself, Yeah, you keep worrying about yourself. Oh it leads to nowhere else, If you keep worrying about yourself. So tired, so stay, So tired today, Oh, so tired always, So worry, worry, whoa-o. And you keep worrying about yourself, Yeah, you keep worrying about yourself. Oh it leads to nowhere else, If you keep worry, worry, whoa-o. Yeah, yeah. This whole love, yeah. T

Make of it what you will...

Today i said goodbye to a colleague who'd been made redundant.  Like a whirlwind romance in reverse, it all happened so fast it left myself and others shocked, upset, and, in my case at least, pretty angry. I'm going to leave my thoughts on the direction of organisations and the role of corporate thinking in charity to another blog, though - my brain can't deal with coherence right now.  So i'll stick to something fuzzier instead. I create things in a similar way to how i tackle life - somewhat manically with more than a touch of the haphazard.  Proper planning always seems like a good idea after the event, as i prefer to depend on vaguely thought out ideas, that i figure will work out as i go. Usually they do. Haven't made cards for ages, so it was nice to slip into the soothing focus of cutting, pasting, and just making.  I didn't even have music on, just sat in silence, concentrating on not smudging ink, or getting glue on outer surfaces. The cards are for

Dear lovely all, Just a quick one (so many other things to share, but I need to somehow clean the house and myself in the next 15-20 minutes before heading to Keats House Museum for an afternoon of poetry near the Heath). I just started an online portfolio to better present some of my photos - I have Flickr but that's a bit all over the place.  So I started a gallery on photoshop.com.  You can check it out right here: www.knoxandnur.photoshop.com I'd really love if you can give me feedback on it, with your critical hat on.  Things like are there too many photos in each album, should I arrange it differently (e.g. have pictures grouped by type/content such as live/music/landscapes/portraits etc instead of by when they were taken), quality of photos chosen etc etc etc.  I promise to not be crushed by any advice you have to offer that will make it better. So yes - there you go. Check it out. Tell your friends.  And let me know what you think.

No blog from me tonight - just a link to the most simply wonderful photos of various Muslims during this year's Ramadan.  They were taken by a couple who visited 30 different mosques during Ramadan - one for each day. I love that the photos are so candid, and the simplicity of some makes them beautiful to me.  Most of all, though, I love that they've captured so many aspects of what the month is about.  I hope you like them too. 30 mosques in 30 days - photos

Poetic Pilgrimage's music video debut.  Watch, listen and love. xxx

i know - it's nearly 2... where does the time go... ok, so i know i should be in bed, and actually intended an early(ish) night tonight ahead of a full day tomorrow, but...well, i got to doing some stuff with my mum (statement for insurance, after some idiot hit her car with a van, and dragged off the bumper, then didn't even stop!!), so didn't have dinner til late, so sat down and got online. got minorly involved in a debate over racism - institutional - - - - - I'd written two more paragraphs, and uploaded 6 photos when the computer crashed. i now don't even remember most of what i'd written. and it took about half an hour to upload the photos anyway, so not starting that again. sorry. what started as a nice happy-despite-tiredness blog is now just a bit of a blip instead. i may attempt it again tomorrow. for now, i can't be bothered. going to bed to dream of unnecessarily violent responses to the next talk talk operative on the street who offers

So, I'm typing this from bed. And that's not like 'tea and toast, lights on, music blaring' bed. Nah, it's more like 'lights off, kind of touch typing, music whispering, go to bed soon as i'm done' bed.  I'm as shocked as anyone to find myself here, in bed, with the prospect of not just up to but at least eight hours of sleep ahead of me!  I'm not sure that my heart can take the excitement.  I've not kept a diary for years, so can't actually remember the last time I slept that long, but it sure as heck wasn't any time in the near past (that I can recall, anyways, and that really is a significant factor). I guess there's a number of reasons my body finally beat me into submission.  The past few weeks (months, years, life) have consisted of consistent lack of sleep.  Hell, I'm so bad at getting my sleep, if someone were to try sleep deprivation as a form of torture on me, all they'd get is excessive giggling, and a wildly

I've had one of those days today where I've decided a whole load of things. I have a habit of doing a lot of my decision making internally, so I'll just come out with something like 'ok, so I'll be moving to Scotland next year', which tends to sound a bit random and out of the blue to those around me, but has usually been the reuslt of a long bit of internal dialogue. Anyway, the result of one of the decisions (save more) is that I plan to be in more over the next 10 months or so.  Rather than spend all that time watching youtube videos and trying to perfect my a cappella imitation of the guitar riff in Hotel California, I figured I'd take it as a time to hopefully become a bit more creative.  I'm planning to finally start teaching myself to play my Freecycle Violin with its Freecycle bow, and also play a bit more guitar, and maybe actually learn a bit more techniqe than jittery chord changes and skipping over the 'difficult' bits.  I'm hop

~ There are no definites...~ There are no definites, no absolutes, Or rather, there are, but very few. Mainly, there are a series of possibilities Each with its own likelihood of being true. The probability of likely truth varies, As much for each individual as for each theory ever posited. No-one has all the answers, No one person knows everything for sure; Anyone, anyone at all, that claims such omniscience Should be first to be summarily dismissed From your list of trusty consigliari. We’re all seeking knowledge, On a quest of curiosity; From the day we’re pulled, Mewling our indignation, Into the cold, harsh light of here, The original rude awakening; Until the time we’re returned to darkness, Softly slipping or sharply shoved, Mostly unprepared for our final earthly transition. And so it is, why we question, Why we take elements of every day, and dissect, Always rooting around for the root cause, Forever attempting to satiate that innate urge for answer

~Catching up~ for you i will stay awake and ignore night's call to surrender fretful it sirens sleep, begs me to my bed til almost i could succumb, but just a breath from you the merest hint that you are or have been awake and in this world without me and i shun slumber, shrug off buzz of doze that drones return to puzzle how i ever can make up every moment spent unaware and without you

This is an old one, written after an argument with an old friend about what he referred to as 'football banter'.  And I don't mean terrace chants or the actual team/fan-related putdowns.  I mean sweeping negative comments that go beyond the game - "ah yeah, well you know those scousers - they'd nick anything not tied down". That kind of comment, that's attributed to 'banter'.  I do get a bit het up about it... But the hate makes sense   You have no idea you see yourself reflected in them their chants, their jeers, their cries sea of heaving masculinity repulsive, compelling attractive if you're honest --------------oOo---------------- You see yourself you have no idea their red your own strident love, rising anger, fury, rage blazoned bias passion stamp out reason no room for equanimity apathy the rival --------------oOo---------------- You see yourself you have no idea pride in partition pity the uninitiated embrace the hate refuel partisan

~~Replete Exorcism~~ When last you happened upon me My world was not empty or broken in two, Though perhaps it was lacking - to delve would harsh. Hectic and crowded, all and nothing at once. Intransigent transience teeming so slowly My own mind left me reeling, And control had a vague and tentative hold. And then you. And you showed me above and beyond and around. And the gifts that you gave were the sun and the moon and the stars; The ebb and the flow of the waves and the winds; The hush and the morning, silk cobweb in mist; Still peace in the moonlight, and swift, fleeting shadows. And you passed, as you do, though I craved your return Until finally I saw fit to embrace your absence And as I let go, I reached for myself And i found you and I were me. And so I was. Replete, and in baffled amusement, I realised. And I was enough. ~~If we hadn't met~~ The world would be an inordinately sadder place If it should have been that we had not met. Obviously, we'd have k

(for a.) the night you came to be stars, startled from their slumber were brought the news by passing clouds awe-struck, this stellar host vibrated set aglow with their joy glimmering radiance, one to the next 'til it shone clear across every constellation galaxies hummed, strumming astral melodies of celebration clouds erupted, their thunderous applause manifest in purple rain honouring your new earthly existence no longer able to hold it in, the stars burst forth a chorus of pure light showering jubilation cosmic t(r)ails blazing scattering their glittering homage from every corner of the skies so it is, they say, that shooting stars were born and you the first among them

I should preface this by admitting I know nothing about haikus except the general 5-7-5 syllable structure, and the link to the seasons.  I've no idea if these would class as proper haikus in the traditional sense, but they are fun to write. ~For May~ I remembered you quiet, grass-stained 'neath bloomed trees smiling, sun-dappled ~Sundiata~ Sekou spat it hot rhymes tripping from his tongue like tap dancers on speed ~Bubbles~ Pure irridescence light framed, sheer shimmering sphere magic.  Then it bursts. ~Love~ A nuisance really; anguish, longing; must be borne; and he, unaware. ~Haiku 3~ Tadpoles of rain swim across the window; tattoo light beat on tin roof.

It all started huddled in that red... as I stand unplanned melodrama demands a scene the scarf falls apart in my hand what was once whole explodes, expands, becomes silk strands filaments of fabric, shards of light bite the carnage of sequins ejected this perfect sequence, expected, it frequents my mind on a regular basis the stasis a consequence of nonsense memories, that time, terrible and sublime fingers sticky with childish guilt and grime the crime: a full-blown mime of our estate, more a state of mind of mine to test weight of judgeful glare they stare - i tear, bare behind closed doors and keys and nets hiss - steam jets kiss pressure outlets bloom late, regrets and outstretch hands mark bets and fetch marks set deep in the flesh of remembered wrongs

We saw it coming But perhaps believed too well our own paltry assurances that procrastination would work just as it had so many times before we swore that time was still left the door of opportunity only half swung shut, not fully cleft to the jamb of beyond So overcome and yet, shrill, insist that this is still a warning, push back dawning realisation truth past blatant yawning maw, evidence, mourning, pour forth, refute, a flood Perhaps we still can be saved And the deniers and liars hold court, take place of the pious, the criers, who call to their Lord all cry 'we tried'

Can you remember way back, when you first began? How she bore you proudly, brought you into the light of a land a world away from this damp place. In the streaming sun, through the steaming rain, she bore you, wrapped tight, her precious burden. Just so, you bore me, surrounded by surgical white, rubber and steel, this country's batik, it's cold wood. Pounding pavement, city smart, you bore me - an infant queen, chubby hands granting regal grace. And so, as then, now I, always in your wake, still precious, perhaps, but burden lifted. In my turn I wait, back bared, waiting to bear my own precious bundle. Body enclosed, so many layers, but missing the wrapper and so, exposed, here, with nothing to hold. Bearing his name, your face, her words. I hold fast to these, to all that has been borne in my name, that we must bear because of this face, that has been encountered and recounted through these words. Unbearable, the weight of this

(walking into Brixton, because all the buses have been diverted) H - Where are we going? W - Brixton H - What is in Brixton? W - The market, and the whole food store H - Is Michael Jackson in Brixton? W - Er-no H - Where is he then? W - Well, Michael Jackson died last year H - Oh. Who killed him? W - No-one - he just wasn't very well H - Did he have a cough? W - Maybe, I'm not sure H - Did he go to the doctor? W - I think his doctor came to his house H - I think maybe he ate too many noodles. W - Oh, ok H - Can I pull the trolley now?

H - you have a delivery (hands me one of her building bricks) W - OH MY GOD!!! What is it?? H - Cor shoes. W - Cor shoes? H - Yes - cor shoes. W - What are cor shoes? H - You know - you wear them, and they make you go 'hu ha hu ha cor!' like a man. Who knew.