A Part-Time Sorceror: Dabbler in the Arts

Reflections upon Reflections

2011-10-08T17:58:00.001-07:00

This morning, I sat and listened to a great explanation of Surah ar-Rahman by Nouman Ali Khan. My mind feels like a sieve; the fine details slip away, leaving only a few grains. This blog post is a bowl, and I'm holding my mind over it, hoping to catch everything that's falling as fast as I can. Hopefully there's something left in it for you.

[Full Text of the Surah can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ar-Rahman#Translation]

The following is paraphrased from Nouman Ali Khan himself. [My opinions in quotes]

So ar-Rahman is the name of the 55th chapter of the Qur'an, and it was revealed in the late Makkan period. That is, Muhammad was facing increased opposition to his message, and increased persecution against himself and his followers. The Makkans had hardened, grown stubborn against the Prophet's ideas, and how does one deliver a message to a stubborn person? With force, and with repetition.

A fight breaks out on the basketball court, and these two guys are about to knock each others brains out. What do the others say? "Calm down, bro" once and just leave it at that? No. It's, "Dude, dude, dude calm down bro, calm down, come one dude calm down!" And the two guys probably won't even register what their friends are saying until about the 15th "calm down!". Emotions are running high, and they are as stubborn as donkeys.

So what is repeated in this Surah? "Then which of the favours of your Lord will ye deny?" This is the central characteristic of disbelief: ingratitude. It's not a philosophical problem for most people, just a manifestation of hard-hearted ingratitude.

The Qur'an is indeed a timeless revelation, but it was revealed in phases. Interpreting it with a good understanding of the causes of revelation and the time period of Muhammad is essential in Islam, both in jurisprudence and to a lesser degree in any personal interpretation.

Thus it helps to know that at this time, the general Makkan argument to the Qur'an and the concept of a Day of Judgment was this: "I'll believe it when I see it." The once called him a madman, then a liar, then a magician, and then they tried to bribe him, and finally they settle for this. Bring it, basically.

It's like if there was a fire in a room of the house, and in another room a party was going on. The host finds the fire and tells the guests to leave through the back door. They trust the host, and words are enough to convince them. They leave and wait in the backyard. But the cat, snoozing in a corner, cannot understand its owner, and only when it feels the fire singe its whiskers does it jump up with a yowl and bolt across the room, out the cat door, across the lawn, and over the fence. [Added description]

For humans, words should be enough! That's the idea of the Qur'an. Bring it? Why should I, says God. You're humans, I made you to think about these things, not react to them when it's too late, like it nearly was for that poor cat. But if you have trouble believing in Heaven and Hell and Judgment just by thinking, let me help you "see" it in your mind's eye. And we shall "see" Heaven and Hell quite vividly as we continue.

So, the first word. Ar-Rahman. The Compassionate. Literally, the one who is being extremely merciful right now. If you think about it, in this very instant we are experiencing so many blessings. You and I, whoever you are. Our health, our sight, our family, our friends, our experiences, our mental abilities, our society, our income, it just goes on and on. But just stating the word "The Compassionate" is not a complete sentence. What did The Compassionate do, that might display his compassion?

"He taught the Qur'an." None of those material blessings even compare to the fact that we have this source of guidance to live with in the world. But is the Qur'an for any creation of God? No, it is for mankind. So, "He created mankind." It's interesting that one of the possible origins for the word "mankind" in Arabic is the verb, "He forgot." And those who forget, how are they reminded? Repetition, of course! "Then which of the favours of your Lord will ye deny?" If we were any other creation, we would not have the chance to experience the word of God, first because we would not need the reminder, second because we would not have the rational faculties and the complexity of human language with which to understand it! Thus, "He has taught him speech (and intelligence)." It all flows.

And then, crash! The sun and the moon? What? Where did they come from? Where's the connection? Well, human beings are nothing like the sun or moon in any way, except that they are made of stuff. They're all creations. So here we have human beings compared to the rest of creation, a common theme of the Qur'an. These celestial bodies follow God's orders, why don't you? [You are the best of creation, and those below you are so grand and so obedient to God, so shine even brighter than the sun in your obedience!]

Furthermore, the word for "follow courses (exactly) computed" is also a word that implies future termination. Think of a computer program; it does what it should, but eventually it will reach the "return(0);" statement, and it's over. The universe program will terminate, in other words, as enduring as the sun and moon may seem to the outdoor Arabs.

The stars fall down, either when they collapse on the Day of Judgment, or in this time as meteors streak across the sky. Either way is a valid interpretation; in essence, the rest of creation does what they are written to do. The trees fall down, either on the Day of Judgment or they "bow down" with fruit.

Trees, when God gives them fruit, are bowed in humility and prayer. Man, when God gives him blessings, holds his head high and thinks, "I deserve this. I earned this. I don't need God's help to succeed in life."

And now we come to the Mizan. Balance. It's kind of Zen. God put the sky and the universe in balance, equilibrium, so YOU be balanced! The universe follows the laws of physics, now don't YOU cheat a customer out of a fair deal! Where's the connection? Again, creations of God. If the universe was designed by a God, you've got to admit that his signature artistic trait would be balance. Everything is in equilibrium, and the universe has a sort of mathematical elegance.

[Why? a person might ask. Why did God make such a reliable, balanced universe, one that seems to not need Him to run it? Simple. That's his style. And as his creations, you should adhere to his style. He made us to follow the rules of balance, justice, and logic, just like the sky above us.]

More to come.

Riyadh-us-Saleheen

2011-07-27T15:33:00.000-07:00

Filler while I work on a longer project. But, probably deeper than anything I'm writing myself.

Authentic narrations from the life of Muhammad, peace be upon him, compiled by the great Imam an-Nawawi. I mention the previous compilers (Muslim, Bukhari, etc) for accuracy; neither is superior to the other.

These are a few I found interesting. But there are hundreds of sayings like these. It would just take too long to type.

Hisham bin Hakim ibn Hazam says: once I passed by a group of non-Muslim peasants in Damascus who had been made to stand in the sun, and over their heads olive oil had been poured. I inquired as to why they were being subjected to such treatment and was told, They are being tortured for the recovery of tax. (In another narration the tax in question is the jizya', or jihad exemption tax upon non-Muslims.) I bear witness that the Holy Prophet said: Allah will chastise those who torment people in the world. Then I went to the Governor, and apprised him of this tradition and consequently he ordered the peasants to be released. (narrated through Imam Muslim)

Ibn Abbas reports that the Holy Prophet said: The person who retracts a gift is like the dog which devours its vomited stuff. (narrated through Imam Bukhari and Imam Muslim)

Abu Hurairah relates that the Prophet said: A man commits adultery with his eyes when he looks at a strange woman, the adultery of the ears is listening to sexual dialogue, adultery of the tongue is takling about sex, the adultery of the hand is to touch that which is unlawful, and the adultery of the feet is going towards a strange woman, the heart ardently desires adultery, and the sexual organs confirm or contradict the act. (Muslim)
*"strange" here means unrelated, hence potential lover.

Ibn Abbas said that the Holy Prophet cursed males imitating females and females imitating males.
*The Prophet cursed many groups of people: the thief, the wig-maker, the artist, the one who curses individuals, the innovator in religious matters, the usurer, the saint-worshippers, BUT made a point never to curse any person in particular who he observed doing any of the above. In fact he prohibited it on one occasion, involving a habitual drunk. Also, he didn't curse them with anything in particular, thus not giving a specific weight to any of these peoples' problems. So, wig-makers might be making money off of peoples' vanity (unless they do chemo patients' wigs), but they can not be at the same level as a thief or slanderer.

Abu Hurairah reports that the Prophet said: guard against suspicion, for suspicion is the greatest falsehood. Do not be inquisitive about other peoples' faults, nor spy against others, nor hanker after a think which others have, nor envy nor entertain ill-will nor indifference with each other, and O God's servants! Be like brethren to each other as you have been commanded. A Muslim is the brother of another Muslim; he is not cruel towards him, nor should he humiliate him nor look down upon him. Here lies piety; here lies piety: he said, pointing towards his chest. (Muslim)

Abu Musa al-Ash'ari relates: the Prophet heard a man exaggerating in prase of another person, to his face, whereupon he said: "You have killed him, you have broken his back." (Bukhari and Muslim)

Abdullah bin Mas'ud relates that the Prophet said that a perfect Muslim is neither a taunter, a curser, nor an abuser nor one having a long tongue. (Tirmizi)
(whether "long tongue" means someone is a gossip or long-winded, I'm not sure. No explanation was given, nonetheless, neither quality is desirable in my own opinion)

Abu Hurairah relates that the Prophet said: if two persons exchange abuses, the one who started it is to be blamed, unless the other party might have transgressed.
*Similarly, a man asked the Prophet what to do if a man tried to break into his home. He said, stop him. And what if he tries to kill me? Then fight him. And what if he kills me? Then you will be a martyr. And if I kill him? He will be in Hell. (In 21st century suburban U.S.A. this may not be necessary, but I think it is extremely practical advice for humanity as a whole.)

Abdullah bin Umar relates that the Prophet said: a woman was punished (by God) because she shut up a cat till it died. On account of this she was doomed to hell. She had not given the cat anything to eat or drink when she confined it, nor did she free it to enable it to pick up its food from among the insects and similar other creatures of the earth. (Bukhari and Muslim)

Hazrat Abu Hurairah relates that the Prophet said, treat women kindly. Woman has been created from a rib, and the most crooked part of the rib is in the upper region. If you try to make it straight, you will break it, and if you leave it as it is, it will remain curved. So treat women kindly. (Bukhari and Muslim)

Abu Hurairah relates that the Prophet said: the most perfect Muslim in faith is one who has an excellent behavior, and the best among you are those who behave best towards their wives.

Hazrat Abu Hurairah says that he heard the Prophet say: Allah, the Master of Honor says: Who can be a worse tyrant than a person who although himself being a creation, attempts to imitate and become a creator like Me. Let him make an ant or a grain of barley. (Bukhari and Muslim)
*While this and other sayings have been used to forbid art as a form of self-worship or idolatry, I think it has to do with whether one's art or intellectual creation enters one's heart, and one becomes arrogant about it. After all, piety is here. Piety is here.

The History of Azeca

2011-06-23T21:26:00.001-07:00

The trouble with writing parallel universe or speculative fiction is that everything is influenced by everything. With Azeca's semi-equatorial climate, how have northern cultures changed? Russia's no longer snowy --> Napoleon and Hitler would not have fallen in their march to the East...New England's pretty warm --> the North AND the South would have had slaves, perhaps eliminating the Civil War.

Suspend your disbelief. It's a story. The Coin shape is but for effect, to illustrate the otherworldly feeling of being displaced from one's culture or home.

Thus, the history of the world will remain as it is, on the Obverse at least. World War 1, World War 2 (minus Japan), the Cold War.

But then comes the Discovery. No Age of Exploration where one side colonizes the other; each side is far too strong. Instead, a sort of second Cold War, where the First, Second, and Third Worlds correspond to the Obverse, Canto, and Reverse respectively. That's the time where I'd start writing my story. After our own history, and into something new.

It's tough to imagine what Africa and Asia would look like without centuries of Western dominance. But I'll do my best. My guess is far more unique cultural expression (poetry, cinema, art), more conservative yet less autocratic, lingua franca would be Hindi, I suppose, or Chinese. More unique architecture, more wars, more history.

Something like that.

Worldbuilding -- Azeca

2011-06-08T22:25:00.000-07:00

from Arabic "as-Sikkah" or "coin"

The planet is coin-shaped. Like a coin, it has an Obverse (heads) and a Reverse (tails). It also has an edge, known as the Canto.

The geography of this planet is Earth's. Basically this setting is simply an answer to the question, "What would life be like if Earth were flat?"

One thing, climate would be different. The heads and tails face the sun head-on, like we do at the equator, but they're further away, which makes it slightly cooler. So, semi-equatorial weather. On the Canto, it being just a cross-section of Earth, there's snow on the north and sunshine in the center. Go figure.

What's it like moving from face to face? Weird. Basically, the atmosphere extends straight up from the faces, as the atmosphere only exists wherever gravity holds it together. This means there's a sort of gap in the atmosphere at the edge of two perpendicular faces. No gravity, no oxygen. Early inhabitants found this out the hard way, floating away to their deaths in space, and the Edge has become part of horrifying myth ever since.

At sea it is even worse. The gravity field only works along the sea floor, so as you can imagine, there's a chunk of the sea at the Edge that's inside that "atmosphere gap" I mentioned before. With no atmospheric pressure, that chunk of the sea completely evaporates and doesn't exist. So while on land you could cross into the Canto with a deep breath and a well-tied rope, you need rockets to cross the edge from the sea.

No surprise, long after people astronomically figured out that their world was shaped like a coin, cultural exchange only occurred in today's sort of age. Rockets are kind of new. Also, in this world, space and air travel are closely related, as technically if you're going on a cross-face flight, you are traveling through a chunk of outer space as well. The zero-grav zone. Space-sickness ensues. Then you hit the new atmosphere, and then you've made it. You're on the other side.

Now, for the Canto. It's a thin circular strip, the "edge" of the coin. It's basically a cross-section of a sphere. It's barely ever night on the Canto, because there's very little of the planet shielding it from sunlight. Instead of night, they have really, really long dawns and dusks, and they're a yellow/green/blue color due to having much less atmosphere to cut through. (Our dawn/dusk sky is red because long-wavelength light is the only thing left after filtering through so much atmospheric dust.)

The opposite happens on an Obverssian/Reverssian sunset. It's a deep red-brown because so much *more* atmospheric dust is in the way between the sun and the observer.

Now, for the cultures.

OBVERSE
N. America
Europe
Central and northern S. America
-mass consumer culture
-nuclear family
-democracy
-technology buffs, science hugely important
-secular

CANTO
North Africa
Amazon
Middle East
Central Asia
-spiritual, mystic religions
-isolationist but on occasion wildly influential (rise of Islam, Genghis Khan, etc)
-cultural exchange between the two, lots of wars/intermarriages in this region

REVERSE
South Asia
East Asia
Africa
Australia (but since it's in the east, it's Eostralia)
Antarctica (but it's in the center, so it's Centralia)
southern South America
-stick to tradition, norms
-old cultures, been done the same way for centuries
-extended family
-etiquette important
-ritualistic religion
-kings/dictatorships mostly
-"backward" technologically
-raw materials, manual labor

A note on Centralia: mountainous jungle, inhabited only by natives coming from African and Patagonia until this era. My opportunity to invent here, new creatures, new trees, a mini-Pandora if you will.

Aaand that's enough for now.

notes

2011-06-07T22:33:00.000-07:00

The previous post will be rewritten in terms of Sri Lanka (as opposed to Algeria) because I've just been to Hambantota, my mom's old village and there's tons of stuff I can say about this country that I could never say about North Africa (having never been there).

Won't get around to the rewrite today, but notes from my trip / random notes to self:

MOST OF THIS WILL NOT MAKE ANY SENSE, DON'T WORRY

what goes through an ant's head as it walks across your hand

don't be silly, girls don't go to the mosque

guys singing vs girls singing (effect on other gender)...consider the adhan or the Buddhist chants. What makes it different from, say, Katy Perry or something? something about performing, and expectations upon the performer.

piano crashing like a waterfall

life like a race, beginning middle end

Here they dont grapple with the big questions, they just accept things; they can be light-hearted yet so traditional/conservative at the same time

she walks upon the balcony, following the shadows of the clothes on the clothesline so she doesn't cook her feet on the sun-fried tiles

at least the mosquitoes were company

no imagination could fantasize in this dingy (but practical) bath tub

you haven't seen real dirt until you've come to the Reverse...ants everywhere, cow pats, frogs in the bathroom, but everything's..strangely...beautiful.

Face north, look down and slightly to your right, you're looking at me! Wave

roommate vs spouse choosing method

"the colossal scale of the world"

smelled of campfire and good cologne

salatu khayrun min an-nawm, vs. nawmu khayran min allah (wordplay)

"i don't even know" as if knowing is the first step, rather than guessing or imagining

"dirty and dangerous and different"

they shut down a charity organization here because of a stance on the number of units of prayer for Tarawih. Sin, aney?

if nation is language, then if you're fluent in the language are you of that nation? Or vice versa, do you know a language if you can't communicate in that nation?

even the straightest of guys could probably fare decently well on rating other guys least to most hot. Why? Simple: empathy, if not sympathy. Evolutionarily, a guy with an understanding of what girls want would do better than a dude's dude type of dude. But too much of it and, well...

"just visiting"

real vs fake etiquette, don't be honest and say you like that but don't really want it, it makes no sense to them; just say, illay, vaana

here, language is topical: Tamil for family things, Sinhala for outside affairs, English for any big word or concept that doesn't exist in the other two

we came hoping for fresh-caught seafood, hosts serve chicken b/c it's "guest food". Grass is always greener...

life skills: fasting, feasting, standing in lines, eating spicy food, sleeping in a car, keeping down car sickness, pulling all-nighters, carrying luggage, quick sums, driving, killing spiders, haggling, getting over jet lag, singing, dancing, walking long distances, sprinting short distances, card/video/word games, foreign languages

Sri Lankan driving - completely ridiculous. Continuous passing. All roads are two-lane, two-way. Some pass three cars at a time, squeezing between the cars and oncoming traffic. Ambulance stuck in traffic jam. Strays everywhere, no road kill. 60km/hr is good. takes 5 to 7 hours to go the equivalent of probly Noblesville to Bloomington.

So many white people on billboards in this country, probably enough for every actual white person in Sri Lanka

Pola is just as packed as day before tsunami. What else can people do?

The Freedom to Fall

2011-02-05T10:44:00.001-08:00

This is in response to Michael Goodwin’s essay in the book New Threats to Freedom, compiled by Adam Bellow. Goodwin discussed his essay on Templeton Press’s YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJLCbv5K0WU

Over the millenia, the successes of human society have limited the individual freedom to fail. It's like the evolution of flight; for thousands of years, the predecessors to birds would have fallen to their deaths as they chased insects along rocky cliffs. But creatures with wider forelimbs would have a greater drag force, and died less often. Through competition, wider forelimbs became wings, bones became hollow, cold blood became warm. Now, birds have barely any freedom to fall.

Does that mean birds do not succeed when they fly? Surely not. The same goes for human society: if universal health care or free public schools limit the individual's freedom to fail, does that diminish the individual's success?

It is difficult to tell. Unlike evolution, which perfects by eliminating failed designs, human society attempts to perfect by adding its own designs. And these designs can be flawed, artificial, or downright harmful. Bad medicine, polluting technologies, bank failures, weak schools...the list goes on.

If getting a high school diploma would ensure someone's success in life the way that having joints does, then it would be a noble act of charity to pass along a failed student. But, as Goodwin points out, a high school diploma would be worthless if it didn't stand for a high school education, no more than a dollar bill would mean anything if you didn't have to work for it.

In reality, the freedom to fail can never disappear; the individual can only lose it if the entire society takes it on. Then, if a "failure-free" society should fail, the repercussions would be far more destructive than if a few individuals failed. When the banks failed in the Great Recession, our deficit blossomed, because the government had taken upon itself the failures of the banks. A healthier goal for our government than a "failure-free" society would be a "failure-proof" society.

Surely, old workers do not deserve to die in abject poverty after their service -- that is why we have Social Security. And surely, the dirt poor never had the freedom to succeed in the first place -- that is why we have food stamps.

And surely, in our personal lives, we we buffer each other against failure all the time: loaning a pencil during an exam, returning a misplaced wallet to a stranger, and so on.

But people operate on guidelines, while governments can only operate on rules. And in the domain of ethics, guidelines are much safer than rules.

The Freedom to Fall

2011-01-17T11:38:00.001-08:00

The story of Jinnah.

2010-07-12T08:46:00.001-07:00

The prophet (or saint, depending on your sect) Jinnah lived during the time after the "cultural revolution" in the Obverse. By the time he was born, religion had been abolished, morality quelled, and wondrous inventions were abound. From the outside, it would seem a carefree yet civil society that had managed to remain "sane and happy," as Arthur Clarke once hoped for. But from the inside, people weren't all that happy or sane. With all the pleasures and luxuries they had, they felt missing of something. Most kept doing what they ordinarily did, and just dealt with that vague pointlessness they sometimes felt, especially since much of the time they were engrossed in the creativity that came from manipulating the threads. Some created charities, because of the more wholesome goodness they felt from giving. Some went out into the world in search of adventure and difficulty. And some leapt over the Edge of the world in despair.

Jinnah's was the last choice. He was initially the head of a sort of rebirth cult that took over the spiritual vacuum. They would perform senseless rites, fasting, meditiation, all to find some purpose in life. Try to recreate the Great Placebo, as they referred to God. But it soon fell back into the sort of merry-making and carelessness of the rest of society, within Jinnah's own lifetime. And he was angry. The government didn't arrest him, but he was exposed as a sham, as a pointless retreat back into the old, "medieval" ways. And so he bitterly decided he had to leave the world the only way he knew how. So he trekked up the mountains that overlooked the Edge, found a suitable cliff, and jumped.

This is when things started to get...weird. As he fell, flailing, he saw what could only be described as a gash in the sky. A meter wide and several meters across (and with no thickness whatsoever), the gash was approaching him at breakneck speed. And he fell into it. The gash was a torn seam in the aforementioned "impossibilitiy field," and as a dwelflin, he could no longer exist without that field. Being impossible, of course. So once he fell through the gap, he dematerialized, but his very normal, sentient soul remained, floating around in the cold night sky he had landed in. As it turned out, he had landed in 6th century Arabia. He found he was able to manipulate animals on this new planet, and at least suggest things to the sentient giants of the land (humans). He also found that there were more like him, more floating spirits, but none of them could recall a place called Sekka or creatures called dwelflins.

Anyway, he floated around for about a century or so, vowing he would never return to that portal until he found his purpose in life. He whispered good and bad thoughts on a whim, latching on to certain individuals from birth until death. One such individual would become the prophet of a new religion in the area. He witnessed Gabriel bring the first words of revelation to Muhammad when he was forty, but he had seen more fancy magic than that. No, no miracle convinced Jinnah. But the words and the substance of the message intrigued him, especially having lived for a century listening to bedouin poetry. None of it could compare. He whispered and argued with Muhammad, even recruiting a few other spirits to help him out, and continually was amazed by his actions and his message, and finally when the verse came about "a company of spirits listened to your message..." directly referencing him, he basically decided he had found his purpose. He spent the next decade or so committing the words to memory, and then he headed back to the seam in the Fabric of Reality (for, of course, that is what it would be considered as, on a perfectly normal Earth). He returned to Sekka.

But he was not fool enough to try and spread this new message to his old home. Or perhaps not brave enough...And now you may see, why I call him "Jinnah." He is Jonah, but also a Jinn (spirit in Arabic). But anyway, he decides to go off in the opposite direction, see what sort of people he can find, and if they are in need of his message. Sure enough, in the following centuries, Jinniism (as it comes to be known) becomes the predominant religion of the Reverse.

Now, what I really, REALLY need to know is if you read a prologue of, say, 15 or so pages detailing this story before launching into the main story, which is six or seven centuries later, about the Obverse and the Reverse suddenly realizing the other exists and all the conflict created by this discovery, would it confuse you / put you off / irritate you? Or could this work?

You might want to read the earlier posts about this whole project. Ahhhhh....I know I haven't got to the story of the Reverse at all, even though I said I would, but a quick summary of that world would be "A postmodern fusion of Middle East and South Asia." In other words, advanced technologically, strong industry, teeming population, family values, conservative, religious, corrupt politicians, strong societal pressures. In a nutshell. Anway, with this in mind, as well as previous posts, what d'you think?

(Just to let you know, this is why I had this idea for a backstory. One, I had seen the verses pertaining to "jinn" in the Qur'an and wondered, how could this actually work? Two, in my story planning, I had noticed that the religion of the Reverse was shaping up to be a lot like Islam, for the obvious reason that I like to write about things that mean something in this world, not just pointless speculation. So I will undoubtedly look at religious-social issues like prayer, society, God, punishment, interpretation, radicalism, etc from the lens of Islam. The only question was, how can I account for this lens if my story takes place in an entirely new planet? The story of Jinnah was basically an answer to that question.)

**Now, if you've read the previous post and this one, I think you can put two and two together, but I'll just spell it out further. I mentioned in the previous post that Sekka will one day become Earth, the result of the weakening of the "impossibility field" due to the excessive use of it by the Obverssian technology. So what happened when Jinnah stepped out of the "impossibility field" was that he stepped into the future of Sekka, billions and billions of years ahead. Why? Just so at the end of the book, I could extend the metaphor for the sentient race to inhabit the planet in the future: us humans. Something like, "They'll have to figure all of that out for themselves" or something. And also so that the book is a stand-alone entity, which is fitting for a NaNoWriMo project. Good idea, bad idea? What do you think? It's rather hard to write an apocalyptic book, due to everybody dying and such, and in any case that's hardly the focus. It's just something that happens at the end, to wrap it all up. Hand of God, or something. A kind of, "And then, all the dwelflins died, and became the voices inside of our heads. The end."**

More about the fabric of reality.

2010-07-02T12:55:00.000-07:00

Here's how it started.

In the beginning, there was a bathroom. And I was inside that bathroom, and on the floor of this bathroom were tiles. About a square inch per tile. And I noticed what they call the Moire effect. Look it up. Basically, it's an optical illusion where you see faint lines of light coursing across the floor, following the diagonals of the tiles. They seem to stack up, as well, as though you were looking at a field of lines of light.

Only, they really are just an optical illusion. So what the hell, I decide to write a book in which they aren't.

So. In this book, there is a flat planet, called Sekka. In reality, a flat planet cannot exist unless it is incredibly small. Any object of a sufficiently great mass MUST be spherical, because its own gravity will pull its outermost parts into a sphere. Every square inch pulling on every other square inch, until you have a generally round sphere. Now, I could make good use of the loophole and say, well maybe this planet Sekka is incredibly small, say, ten miles or so in radius, and maybe that would have been the end of the story. Or rather, the beginning. No matter. But instead, what I changed in the world is this:

There is a field of threads. This field runs along the surface of Sekka, continuously moving golden threads, and these are the "threads of potential." They allow for the impossible to occur. So that in an ordinary universe, a large, inhabitable, flat planet would be impossible, but Sekka exists without malfunction.

The major function of the field is to uphold the "cylindrical integrity" of Sekka, but it also allows for other impossibilities, like the dwelflins themselves. They're green but they don't have chlorophyll, they're small but they should have evolved to become larger, they're sentient but their brains are tiny. Should the field disappear, dwelflins would disappear as well.

Anyway, the Obverssians discovered that they could manipulate these threads to perform other impossible tasks, and this became the basis of their way of life. But by spreading out the power of the field over all these new inventions, the force preventing Sekka from scrunching up into a sphere was weakened, until it finally was overcome by gravity. Sekka re-forms, the dwelflins die and dissolve into nothingness.
Apocalypse!

And the sphere that was Sekka becomes Earth.

"Wait, what?" you say.

Just a moment, that's for a new post.

Setting 2.0

2010-06-14T19:41:00.000-07:00

Taken from the red, spiral-bound notebook I've been jotting down ideas in.

The planet of Sekka spins around its sun like a coin on a tabletop. Upon it lives a variety of species nearly identical to our own. (When presented with the same engineering problems, Arthur Clarke once said, nature comes up with very similar solutions.)

But there's one exception: dwelflins. Short, green, pointy-eared humanoids, they are the dominant sentient species of the land. There are humans, as well, but they are few, barbaric, and -- from a dwelflin's point of view -- huge, so they are known simply as "giants."

Anyway, the planet of Sekka has two sides: the Obverse and the Reverse. Numerous civilizations developed on each side, and on one side, cultures vary as much as Greeks and Persians and Assyrians, all of the same era of our history. But since the Obverse and the Reverse developed independently, they differ like the 1900s and the 2000s.

A generalized view of the Obverse:
-No organized religion. None whatsoever. There used to be, but with advancing technology and sciences, the development of a massive entertainment industry, a cultural revolution, and some highly persuasive philosophers, it nearly completely disappeared from society. Not needed to understand the world (science for that), make you feel good (entertainment for that), etc. Except in profanity, of course, and history class. I sort of got the idea from Harry Potter, where they celebrate Christmas and do good things and stand up against evil and believe in a magic that systematically behaves like karma on occasion, yet you never hear the word "God" or any mention of a religion. Basically, not quite a conscious negation in the case of many people, it's just there's so much more to do!

-Like what, you say? Well, their technology stems from the very fabric of reality, and so the possibilities are rather endless. The very what, you say? I'd better back up a bit. The laws of physics are largely upheld in Sekka, except when you start messing with the Fabric of Reality. Surrounding the planet is a field of rapidly moving golden threads, only visible to the dwelflin eye when standing on a plane of tiles made from a certain stone. Once dismissed as an optical illusion, these threads could be manipulated and programmed in ways much simpler than their electric-powered computers. They developed a technology system based upon these "threads of potential," which, as the name suggests, can do just about anything. And this is what caused the aforementioned "cultural revolution" that changed the Obverse forever.

[There's a catch, though. It's like playing Jenga. Take too many threads out of the Fabric of the Universe or Reality or whatever, and you might get some rather "un-real" results. Perhaps rogue unicorns or something? Not at all. The thing is, these threads actually DON'T make up the Fabric of Reality! This is just how Sekkans perceive it, assuming their planet and its field are "real" -- an understandable assumption. But in *reality,* the field is what allows for the ultimate "un-reality" of Sekka: its existence as a flat planet. There's no way in our universe that a coin-shaped planet can develop! It's gravitationally untenable! But the field allows for reality to be twisted a tiny wee bit, and every time a thread is pulled out of it, the field gets closer to falling apart, and the planet gets closer to folding in on itself to become a sphere like Earth. This would result, of course, in the destruction of all life on Sekka. But they don't know that yet.]

-Back to the "cultural revolution." With all the possibilities of the threads, the search began to optimize the amount of happiness a person could have in his lifetime. Diseases were cured so people could live a longer time and have more fun, games were invented, all sorts of technologies developed (with a hint of extravagance: for example, devices will whirr and make ethereal noises for the plain awesomeness of it, in this world), drugs were legalized, taboos of all kinds lifted, morals cast away as a problem of upbringing that, regrettably, cannot be changed in some people. But morality did remain as a general "gut feeling;" people would still say of some things that, "man, that just doesn't seem right" or "doesn't that make you feel good inside?" And so some decency and propriety remained, though nobody was quite sure where it came from, and how to get rid of it so they could have more fun. Basically, imagine if the crazy teenager in everybody won out over the cautious adult in everybody.

-As a result of this overhaul, as well as the individual searches of every person in this consumerist sort of culture, the Obverse holds many similarities to what is known as a "cold-climate culture," or a task-based culture, a rather simple definition but somewhat apt. Basically, you love somebody, so she's your wife. In a "hot-climate culture" like that of the Reverse, this would read: she's your wife, so you love her. (Now, of course, these aren't black-and-white distinctions, it's just that the Obverse puts more emphasis on the action, the Reverse on the state.)

-Now, why did the Obverse never question the fact that their world ended so abruptly for hundreds of years as they advanced technologically, got rid of religious blind faith (in theory), and in general put themselves in a situation where other civilizations would try everything to find out what lies beyond their realms? Well, the first thing has to do with fear. On their side, a mountain range lines the Edge of Sekka, and so to deliberately climb the mountain and look out into the hurtling space was only attempted by those most disillusioned in their joyous civilization, some of whom leapt without abandon to their deaths.

-A bit of explanation once more. The three faces of Sekka (Obverse, Reverse, and Subverse) operate with gravity directly perpendicular to themselves, so if you were to step off the Obverse and into the Subverse (the rim) you would experience some disorientation, but then right yourself on the new side. But if you fell from the mountains, the Obverssian gravity would exert a pull on you as long as you are above sea level. Then, the Subverssian gravity starts. So, with this already massive acceleration in one direction, the Subverssian gravity would not save you from, say, being buffeted along the new ground for a few hundred meters like a rag doll. And if that didn't kill you, the Subverse is actually the area where the aforementioned "potential field" is the strongest, as it is the greatest testament to the "un-reality" of Sekka and needs a strong field to stop the edges from attempting to fold together. Thus, bizarre and powerful creatures roam the land, and dwelflins are small, vulnerable creatures.

However it may be, only a few have ever made it back, and when they did, their dismal findings accompanied by the public's preoccupation with pleasures, apathy towards challenge, and fear of the Edge, made it such that they dawdled (or "developed," from their point of view, since inwardly they honed the threading process basically to a magic) like this for a hundred or so years before a proper research expedition was sent to the Subverse, and after a few tries, beyond, to the land known as the Reverse. A land so incredibly different from their own. Or is it really? We shall see in my next post. My fingers are sore.

NaNoWriMo

2010-06-07T16:06:00.000-07:00

I've done it. I've lost my mind. I've signed up for the National Novel Writing Month.

With two goals in mind:

-Win, of course. There is a certain amount of satisfaction that surely will come with meeting the 50,000 word goal by the end of November, an amount that might translate into an optimism that will allow me to continue my writing without any of the dreaded "block."

-Look back on the manuscript and be able to say, "Hey, that wasn't half bad." Because yesterday, on a USB from middle school, I found my previous 62-page manuscript, a fantasy story which had taken me several years to write. And it was junk. Basically a Harry Potter / Eragon crossover, and the few attempts at originality all ended up muddling the story. Completely not worth anyone's time to read. Excusable? Undoubtedly. I was a preteen, after all. But it's not going to happen again, if I can help it.

To that end, I've been jotting down notes in a journal, and it's time to compile them and collaborate them, perhaps in the form of that Lab Write-Up I had posted a year or so ago about. You won't remember, I'm sure. But that's my fault, not yours.

*Abstract* (basic concept)

Two societies, vastly different in values, beliefs, art, technology, customs, and social norms, discover each other at the hundred-mile rim of the coin-shaped planet of Sekka. A boy grows up in one society to parents who have lived nearly all of their lives in the other. In this world of discovery, experimentation, hypocrisy, and prejudice, the boy struggles to decide for himself what to keep and what to discard, and to stay true to what he believes in, despite the prevailing forces of either society.

The whole "be the change you wish to see in the world" idea, I guess. As opposed to attempt to subvert it with books and propaganda. Oh, huh. Is that irony I smell?

The Longest Race

2010-05-26T11:32:00.000-07:00

New song! I think it's my...fourth or fifth original. Say, I could make an album!

Anyway, here's a link to a recording, plus the lyrics:

http://www.newgrounds.com/audio/listen/334526

Even the greatest storyteller tells the same story in different ways. That's part of the art.

2010-04-08T13:55:00.000-07:00

I have a Bible. New King James version, words of Christ in red. I've had it since September 2001, when our family friend Mrs. B (abbreviated for privacy) visited us. She and my mom stood out on the porch, and she talked about how she knew Islam doesn't support the terrorism that struck America on 9/11, and how she hopes we wouldn't be discriminated against because of those terrorists. When my mom came back into the house, she said Mrs. B had given her a Bible.

Funny, because now I find that sometimes in order to understand the Qur'an fully, you've got to look at the Bible. I'll show you what I mean with this story, mentioned in both the Qur'an and the Bible.

In the Bible, it could be referred to as, "David, Bathsheba and Uriah." 2 Samuel 11. It's spans about two pages of text, so I won't reproduce it all here. But basically, David sees the beautiful Bathsheba bathing, desires her, sends his messengers to bring her to him, and has sex with her. She becomes pregnant. Her husband Uriah comes back home from war, and David wants him to see Bathsheba and mistakenly claim her pregnancy as from before the war, so as to hide David's sin. Uriah doesn't want to go, knowing he will have to return to war the next day and not wanting to distract himself. So David orchestrates Uriah's death during the battle as an accident. Thus, nobody finds out. But later, the prophet Nathan meets David and tells him of a parable of a man with many sheep who takes another man's only sheep to slaughter for a guest. David curses that man, and Nathan says that David is that man. David realizes the sinfulness of his actions and repents, but God is angry with him, and Nathan promises that although God has forgiven him, his son by Bathsheba will die. Which the baby does, days after it is born.

In the Qur'an, well, the passage is so short I'll just show you. 38:21-26
A rough translation -- as all translations are rough.

Have you heard the story of the two disputants who climbed the wall into David's place of worship? He was alarmed as they entered, but they said, "Have no fear. We have a dispute: one of us has wronged the other. Judge equitably between us and do not be too stern.

"This is my brother; he has ninety-nine ewes while I have but a single ewe. He has said, 'Turn her over to me,' and he has spoken harshly to me."

David said: "He has wronged you by asking for your ewe (to be added) to his own ewes. Many partners try to take advantage of one another, except for those who believe and perform honorable deeds. Such are few indeed."

David suspected that We were merely testing him, so he sought forgiveness from his Lord and dropped down on his knees (in worship) and repented. So We forgave him that.

This story might be called "David and the quarreling shepherds" in the Qur'an. Gone is Nathan; David made the connection himself. Gone is the mention of David's illegitimate newborn son, struck by the wrath of God. Gone are Bathsheba and Uriah; in fact, gone is any mention of the adultery, and the murder that David committed to hide it.

(That said, one could infer from the text that David's sin paralleled the sin of the wealthy shepherd, and therefore amounted to some sort of oppression or theft.)

So which is right? Were the shepherds just part of Nathan's parable to David, or did they actually come up to David and speak with him? Did David merely covet Bathsheba (for the Qur'an seems to imply the sin was small, for God readily forgives him "that") or did he commit two of the major sins?

Christians may say the Qur'an is a fabrication, so of course it didn't get it right. A stance that you're entitled to, if you want it. Muslims say the Bible has lost (and gained) many things in translation and compilation, and so the Biblical account of this story could be exaggerated for effect.

But while I believe the latter to be true, I also hold this: the Qur'an is no textbook, but the Bible, on occasion, reads like one. Certainly not in the Psalms, but, say, Numbers 1:5, as an example. Geneologies, and how much time they spent here, and how many they killed there, a huge mound of historical information.

And in the places where it doesn't read like a history book, the Bible reads like an adventure. No, I'm serious! Read 2 Samuel 11, you'll see what I mean. All these different things happening, a beautiful woman, orchestrated murder, guilt, pleading, and finally the wrath of God upon David's newborn son.

Whereas the Qur'anic account is merely the tale of a man who looks at an external problem and comes up with a judgment, applies that judgment to himself, and finally repents for an unspecified act of oppression. This is true of many of the stories of Biblical prophets in the Qur'an. Many times, they start with "And remember when...", addressing Christians and Jews to recall stories of their own prophets, and then there is a brief recounting of the story, followed by a moral. Which, in this story, is found in verse 26:

...so judge among men correctly and do not follow any whims which will lead you away from God's path.

More boring, you say? True. It's not quite as exciting to read, I'll admit that. But I, for one, don't want to be romanced into anything, no matter how true it is. I'd like to think about it, separate it from the details that pin it to the wall of a history museum, and then see how it applies it to my own life.

You're welcome to disagree, of course.

The Grey Chessboard Knight -- Part I

2010-02-19T15:02:00.000-08:00

It's a story I wrote for English class. I'm not going to do anything with it ever again. I think. BUT, please read it anyway, and critique. I desperately need to know whether my fiction-story-writing has improved since my last few stabs at the art, which were, say, three years ago? Something like that. Anyway, here it is.

**************
THE GREY CHESSBOARD KNIGHT
A PARABLE ABOUT THE WAR OF 1812 AND POST-REVOLUTIONARY AMERICA
Symbols:
Magrebain – Western civilization
Sam – America
Bretano – England
Napolitano – France
Merrickano -- England
King William II – William Pitt the Younger (England)
Sir George – King George (England)
Lord Francis – Napoleon (France)
Bandit ambush – XYZ affair
Fort – British interference with and monitoring of America, post-revolution
Sam’s letter to Francis – Convention of 1800
Lewis – Louisiana
War against the Kuas – French and Indian War
Sam renounces his knighthood – Jefferson’s embargo
Great Bear – economic downturn following Jefferson’s embargo
Macon stone – Macon’s Bill No. 2
The Kuas– Native Americans helping England
Borstone – “Boston” i.e. New England, threatened by embargo
The outpost – Washington D.C., burned
Merrick – New Orleans, successfully defended against British
**************

The whispers flitted in and out of Sam’s ears, only momentarily rising above the soft, buzzing roar of a hundred or so men engaged in conversation and eating. He strained to hear them, pushing back the locks of black hair from an ear and tilting it in the direction of the Table of Kings and Lords, but there was not much more he could do, for he stood before an empty throne, waiting to be knighted.

These whispers were of utmost importance to Sam. They seemed to be the final obstacle on his quest for knighthood. He had served his liege, Sir George of Bretano, for years longer than other squires had served theirs. He had endured countless knighthood ceremonies before, each time half-heartedly congratulating his friends and peers and seeing them ride off into glorious sunsets. He had endured being the oldest squire in the history of Magrebain, the one most prepared for freedom and yet the one consistently denied it.

And a few moments ago, a short man had called out his name, and he walked before King William II’s throne, heart and temples pounding in happiness and relief. The countless ceremonies that left him so jaded also told him that in a few minutes, he would feel cold steel upon his shoulder, and huzzah! He would become Sir Samuel Janetsson.

But those few minutes must have either stretched out like dough or multiplied like rabbits, thought Sam. And so he listened, with nothing better to do, and this is what he heard:

“Really, Francis, I don’t understand why this interests you so much”
“What do you have to hide about him, your Highness? You’ve stopped”
“I’m the King, I don’t need a reason to”
“along with it, already, the poor lad’s just waiting there!”
“do well not to irritate House Napolitano, my King”
“not to irritate your King”

The whispering stopped; the King pushed back his chair at the table and moved in stately fashion towards the makeshift throne, hurried into the barracks’ mess hall an hour before. The arguing lords sat silently and attentively, as did all the squires and knights at the larger tables. All eyes were on Sam, but his were on a certain noble with a slight smile on his beard-swathed face. Sam knew him to be Lord Francis of the easternmost Napolitano fiefdom, which overlooked the sea. The man winked. Then, Sam realized that the Holy Sovereign of all Magrebain now stood before him, and he knelt before the potentate’s polished black shoes and splendid leggings.

“Samuel, years ago, you came to Bretano City as an orphan from your hometown of Merrick. As such, We will grant you a choice, as We do for all who hail from other fiefdoms. You may become Our knight, or the knight of the Lord of Merrickano.”

Sam had given thought to this standard question previously, though he never believed he would have a chance to answer it. “Your Highness, if it pleases you, I’d like to serve you, as a knight of Bretano.”

“It shall be so,” intoned King William. “Will you struggle, with all your capacity, to do all that the King has ordered, suggested, or would otherwise probably want done, and to avoid all that which would cause any harm to the King, his government, or his law-abiding citizens?”

“I will,” said Sam.

“Then I dub you…” The cold steel of Sam’s blade rested on his shoulder. “…Sir Samuel Janetsson!”

Laughter broke out with the applause and scattered cheers, for in Magrebain, a surname only identified one’s mother if the father’s identity was unknown.

The King smiled genially. “Sorry – it is your name.”

Sam’s happiness overcame his humiliation, however, and he smiled back and stood up, sheathing the sword. He was glad for a rare personal moment with the King and relieved that his days as a lowly servant to a higher-up had finally come to an end.

As the ceremony was ending and the knights and squires flowed out of the hall to their quarters, a royal guard came up to Sam and Sir George in the midst of an argument. “Lord Francis has granted you an audience for a few minutes. Hurry.”

Without another word to his former liege, Sam did just that. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Sir George. When Sam had first started, Sir George had taken a liking to him, on occasion even bringing him to the front lines of battle against northern invaders. But of late, he had grown strict in his treatment of Sam and rather mundane in his responsibilities for him, as though he were a menial laborer and not an apprentice. Sam had just accused him of withholding knighthood from him, but with honest surprise in his eyes, Sir George told him he had done nothing of the sort. Embarrassed for his false judgment, Sam was relieved to get away.

Sam and the guard arrived at Lord Francis’s resplendent carriage and looked up into the window, where the gruff countenance of the Lord of Napolitano appeared.

“Uh, hail to thee, Lord, Francis,” attempted Sam with a salute.

“Good evening, Sir Samuel,” he replied. “I’m just apologizing for the long wait you had to endure earlier…as I was largely the cause for the argument. As usual.”

“I thank you for it, milord!” Sam said with a grin, surprised by the lord’s self-effacing wit. “From what I heard, you put in a good word or so about me, words that probably changed the King’s mind about, well, changing his mind.”

“Ahah, you are quite observant. It just seemed…odd, to me, that the King would have such doubts about a lad so advanced in age – and in experience, too! I believe it was he, not your liege, who consistently refused to allow you to become a knight.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, glad that Sir George had not followed him. “Yes, milord, it seems to be so.”

“Now, I know you’re King William’s knight now, and you may have observed how much of a political rival I am to him, or so he perceives,” Lord Francis said and chuckled. “But, I hope you will, ah, ‘put in a good word or so’ for me, for my pains.”

“Undoubtedly, milord,” Sam said, as Francis’s head receded from the window.
The carriage started to move, and a small mirror leapt out of the open window. Sam caught it by the handle and stared after the departing vehicle, bemused.

“Keep in touch, Sam!” the mirror called out. Sam started in surprise and turned the mirror over in time to see a bearded, sharp-eyed countenance fade from the glass, replaced by his own reflection.

The Grey Chessboard Knight -- Part II

2010-02-19T15:01:00.000-08:00

The following weeks passed slowly for Sam; his initiation into knighthood was far from over. He had to fill out paperwork, prove his proficiency in all manner of weaponry, and even deliver messages across town like a squire. But with the advice and patronage of Lord Francis, his transition from squire to knight passed relatively smoothly.

Especially when it came to lodging arrangements – the knights in the barracks, unlike the squires below, had their own rooms and beds! And so Sam had difficulty waking up to the measured knock of the King’s messenger. His presence was demanded.

An hour later he was at the Hallworth Castle’s antechamber, neatly dressed. King William had sent his guards away, and he sat upon a couch as Sam rose from one knee, at his word. He gave Sam a fatherly smile.

“Sam, you have shown yourself to be proficient in all aspect of chivalric warfare,” King William said, “and normally a general or perhaps a lord would present you with your honors and your effects. But I have chosen a horse for you from my stables, and a shield and suit of armor from my smithy. The patient will be rewarded.”

Sam was taken aback. “Why, your Highness’ generosity is boundless!”

The King waved at a youth waiting by the doorway. “Lead him to it, Fort.”

Soon, Sam was at the stables in full armor and stroking a placid grey horse. Under Fortitude’s gaze, he rode the horse around the pasture and imagined himself charging into a host of barbarians. After a few practice swings and jousts, he dismounted.

“What now, Fort?” called Sam. “I’ve got my effects. Should I get my honors from the King in the antechamber, or what? Fort?”

Fort reappeared from the doorway. “Come this way, m’liege! The King urgently needs to speak with you!”

Back at the antechamber, Sam knelt before the King, and as soon as his knee touched the floor, the King said hurriedly, “Rise. Sam, I’ve a task for you. You see, recently there have been many bandit raids on my caravans headed east to the ports of Bonsails, Napolitano’s capital – supported, I suspect, by House Napolitano. So I’ve started sending a few knights with the escorting guards, but one caravan apparently left today with none. Escort the caravan there and back, and the honors are yours. I’ve also appointed Fort as your squire, to assist you in your heroic deeds.”

Fort nodded and said, “Let’s go, my liege.”

So Sam and Fort joined with two other knights and rode underneath the midday sun. They traced the route of the caravan, which led through tree-dotted grassland. Along the road, they saw a sign welcoming them into Napolitano. Finally, as the sun began to set, they caught up with the traders and their guards just as they were entering a forest.

Night floated down gently. Everyone tensed, scanning the road and the trees for imagined foes. The group plodded on for an hour or so, and finally, they found an open clearing to set up camp.

But just as Sam had hammered down his last tent peg, a sword sliced through the rope and headed for his throat. Jumping back, he felt in the darkness for a peg and swung, cutting through thin air. He cried out, “We’re under attack!”

The infantrymen readied their pikes and bows, and the knights led the charge. The bandits let out a rain of arrows and met the charge with their own warriors. Metal crashed upon metal and sometimes flesh and bone. Brave yells couldn’t be distinguished from cries of agony. But the din lasted less than ten minutes, and the King’s men were subdued.

The survivors were gathered around their own campfire, surrounded by the bandits. Half the guard force had been slain, and the knights had all been wounded. Sam was tending to his leg, grazed by a scythe blade which had killed his horse.

Three men with extravagant clothing and bizarre weaponry approached the gathering on horseback. They had galloped into the fray towards the end, defeating the three knights and killing many soldiers. “Are you of House Napolitano?” Sam asked.

“House Napolitano?” exclaimed the one with two swords strapped to his back. “Definitely not. I am X.”

“And I,” said the one with a large slingshot, “am Y.”

“I’m Z,” said the one wielding a double-bladed scythe in his right hand.

X grinned. “And we’re your captors, so we get to ask the questions. We’ve actually only got one, and then we’ll leave with our loot. Whose mirror is this?”

Sam stared and then raised his hand cautiously.

“You traitor,” said X. “Get him!” Bandits circled him and punched him, kicked him, and ripped at his clothes, laughing and jeering all the while, until X called them off. “And a word from Lord Francis: begone!” With that, the bandits departed with all of the horses, weapons, valuables (including the mirror), and goods – and most of Sam’s self-esteem.

King William was flabbergasted. “You’re absolutely sure he mentioned Lord Francis?” he pressed as a bedraggled Sam and the scattered remainder of the trade expedition stood in the antechamber a week later. They all nodded. “What’s more, they took that mirror, which you said was Francis’s gesture of goodwill to you?”

“Yes,” Sam said. He had not told the king of the magical aspect of the mirror.

King William smiled. “Ahh, he will never live this down. It will be in the press, it’ll be the word on the street!”

“Your Highness, will that affect him in Napolitano, where most people justify the bandit raids by your customs and excise taxes, which they consider oppressive? And they don’t like you in general, you know.” This was an advisor.

The king frowned. “No, but he has interest in keeping other fiefdoms unconcerned by his power. They play by my rules, so they want him to as well. But I don’t wish for you to be in danger, Sam. Write a formal document disconnecting any ‘alliance’ between you and him, and then he will consider you under my wing, and no pawn of his. Then he won’t search for you during bandit raids.”

As Sam turned to leave, King William called out, “You see, Sam, you’re an unknown angel right now – he doesn’t know where you stand. Be a known devil.”

The Grey Chessboard Knight -- Part III

2010-02-19T15:00:00.002-08:00

Sam no longer really felt like a knight. Technically, he had fully devoted himself to King William II with his letter to Francis. But without armor, sword, or steed, there was not much he could do. In the months that followed, he worked odd jobs around town and ran errands for the King, mostly just to keep himself occupied. He told himself every morning, though, that if he could afford to buy new equipment, he would.

Then one afternoon, on the way to a noble’s manor to deliver a message, Sam saw a shiny mirror materialize on the ground right before his eyes. He turned away and tried to keep walking, but he had to know. So he picked it up.

Sure enough, he heard the crisp voice of Lord Francis. “Hello Sam, now hear me out, I’ve just got this horse, it’s pretty nice, see?” The mirror swiveled to show the powerful flank of a large warhorse, beyond which Sam could see the city gates. “He came from your own Merrickano, actually. And he’s useless for my men, too wild and untamed, so he’s yours if you can ride him. Completely free, and I’ll give you a knight’s sword, lance, armor, everything those bandits took from you.”

“Everything you ordered them to take from me!” exclaimed Sam.

“Nonsense! Just because the bandits mentioned my name, and your King and your press are going all crazy about it. They perceive my stance to be that having troops wander around their countryside under the pretext of accompanying traders is oppressive and worth fighting, so they mention my name.”

“I, uh, well, that’s ridiculous! Then why’d they single me out after I told them the mirror was mine!”

“Look, I give this mirror to all my confidants, and it’s a kind of folklore in Napolitano: ‘the Lord’s mirrors.’ So they saw you with it and they thought you had defected to William. Just come meet me out here, okay? I personally came all this way, so just don’t look the damn thing in the mouth.”

Sam grinned unconsciously at the Lord’s wit. “In time, milord.”

The gift horse was formidable, with rippling shoulders and a thick mane.

“I call him Lewis,” said the old man who held the beast’s reins. “After the old Lord of Napolitano, God rest his soul. Big, strong chap, held himself like a king. And so does this one,” he added with a chuckle.

Lewis had indeed a regal air about him, and he bore Sam calmly at first. He paced around a bit with the young knight on his back, but then he reared suddenly, and stopped. Then he bucked and neighed madly, frantically trying to rid himself of his rider, and it took every ounce of Sam’s energy to maintain control. But Sam, like most young men from the wildernesses of Merrickano, had an air of control when dealing with horses, and finally the horse submitted to his reins with a huff and a snort.

“Bravo, my good sir, I am impressed!” Lord Francis called.

Sam smiled insincerely and waved back; he was not impressed by this attempt to win him over. “I am still loyal to my king, milord!” he called back.

The lord dropped his smile for a moment, and then picked it up again. “Of course, Samuel Janetsson.” He paused. “Did you know that twenty-odd years ago the Prince William II led troops against the Kua tribesmen who used to inhabit Merrickano?”

Sam frowned. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Lord Francis looked around. Citizens milled about the street. “Ah, just keep it in mind. It’s interesting, isn’t it? He lived in your land, with your people, for the
years of the war.”

Sam dismounted. “Yes, it’s interesting, I suppose. And thanks for your kind compensation. It is quite unlike a noble,” he added with a grin.

“I try to step out of character every now and then,” Francis said, and for a moment, Sam felt like there was no enmity between them.

Sam stopped at the castle to get his honors. Now that he had his armor and steed, he could receive the papers necessary to officially become a knight. He sighed. Becoming “Sir Sam” had taken much longer than he had expected.

As it turned out, it would take even longer. “Sam! What are you doing, in Napolitano armor?” cried out the king, and the guards moved forward threateningly.

“Your Highness, it’s just a design, there’s no emblem anywhere –”

“I had thought you had lost all respect for Francis, and here you are taking his bribes,” King William II said angrily. “Until you get rid of that armor, I can’t give you your papers. Sell it to a mercenary, melt it down and sell it to a blacksmith, but I can’t afford to have a ‘Lord’s mirror’ in my midst!”

Suddenly, Sam realized he had pocketed the mirror. “You found out what that –”

“Yes!” King William shouted. “It’s what he gives his spies. Give it here.”

Sam took a step backwards, pretending not to have heard. “By your leave –”

“Guards! Seize and search him!” They obliged, grabbing him roughly and removing his armor. They searched his pockets and found the mirror. “Destroy it.”

The mirror hurled towards the marble floor and shattered all over Sam’s (thankfully shod) feet. “Your Highness,” Sam pleaded.

“Get out of my sight!”

The cold late evening wind brought tears to the edges of Sam’s eyes as he rode out of Bretano City on Lewis, stocked up for his journey back to Merrickano. He cared not for knighthood anymore; the politics was sickening. His mother had long since passed away, but he had family and friends back home that he had forsaken for the ignobility of the squire. How foolish he had been!

Hours later, it was too dark to proceed, and Sam painstakingly crafted a small fire about fifty meters away from the road. He covered himself in a blanket and relieved Lewis of his saddle. They slept, both immensely thankful that the skies were clear.

The next morning, Sam woke up just as a strange rider dismounted from his horse and walked towards him. “Fort?” he said as he rose groggily. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m your squire, remember?” Fort said with a grin. “Even though you’re not a knight anymore. So I’m supposed to help you in whatever you’re doing.”

Sam thought about this. “Fort, you know the point of a squire is to become a knight? And you’ll never become a knight if the king won’t accept your liege as one.”

“Ah, I don’t really care, I just want to go out and see the world.”

“All right then, you’re not my squire, all right?” Sam said. “You’re my mercenary. I’ll pay you, say, seven pounds a week?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Let’s ride.”

The Grey Chessboard Knight -- Part IV

2010-02-19T15:00:00.001-08:00

They rode for days, through Bretano, Nerano, and Serano. They passed fields of crops, grassy pastures, and desolate wildernesses, stopping at various towns to rest at their inns. Then, around noon, they reached the northeastern boundaries of Merrickano.

“Well, here we are,” said Sam, slowing down to a trot. “Home.”

Fort nodded and glanced around. “There’s a sign here,” he called. “Borstone in five miles. Merrick in twenty.”

Later, they saw the tops of the buildings of Borstone over the trees in the distance, and a path leading to them. Sam asked Fort, “You think we should –”

“WHAAARGH!” A roar sent chirping sparrows fleeing from the trees, and the screams of people could be heard in the distance.

“Let’s go,” said Fort, priming his crossbow. His horse sped up to a canter, and then a gallop. The woods neatly bordered the path for a time, and then the foliage thinned.

Their horses reared. They saw a massive brown bear in the near distance, flinging men and logs with abandon. The men were armed with axes and saws, but their blows bounced off without effect. Fort fired a bolt, but that only gave the bear a sore shoulder. It turned.

The sight of the huge beast bearing down upon them cowed both horses and riders. They turned tail and galloped for the city gates, the bear closing on their horses’ haunches.

But as the city walls loomed larger, the bear gave up its chase, turning back to the hapless woodcutters. Their screams filled the air. Sam shuddered and looked down at his horse’s neck and his own hands, clasped in prayer.

“Sam, there’s a special kind of metal that can pierce any hide,” said Fort softly, “Macon Stone, they call it. I think I know how to get a hold of it. It’s found off the northern coast of Napolitano, so I’m sure Lord Francis has some. King William would have bought some as well. You still have that mirror?”

Sam groaned. “No, the idiot king of ours destroyed it right in front of – hang on.” He dismounted and took his boots off carefully. As he turned them upside down and shook them, fragments of shattered glass fell neatly into a pile. He arranged them into a vague circle. “Let’s try this. It’ll reach both King William and Lord Francis; the king mightn’t have thrown the other fragments away. He probably wants to use them himself.”

Sam said the necessary magic words to direct the communication and shouted at the pile, “Help, King or Lord! I need a weapon of Macon Stone urgently.”

Soon, a broken image of a smiling Lord Francis appeared. “What’s going on?”

“A great bear is terrorizing Borstone, in Merrickano, and I need to defeat it.”

The smile faded. The tone was serious. “I can get it to you via carrier pigeon in a few days. But I can’t get you a sword or lance. Just some crossbow bolts or arrows.”

“Crossbow bolts, please.”

“I can do it, but only if you agree to support me against King William. We are now at war, and I need every warrior I can get.”

Sam grimaced in surprise and inhaled deeply. He exhaled and glanced at Fort, who shrugged. Sam nodded – he would say what he had to say. “Yes, I agree to support you against King William when I return.” Then, he saw another face through the mirror.

“Speak of the – turn this thing off, Sam, he’s tapped into the mirror!”

Sam ended the spell. “Fort, I think the king overheard us. You know how I directed the spell at both of them? I thought it would just pick up the first one!”

“Damn these kings and lords,” said Fort. “We’re trying to save lives here!”

Since there was not much else they could do, the pair rested from their travels and found out all they could about the Great Bear. It had apparently crippled any outside industry – traders, woodsmen, farmers, and herders alike had all been targets of the bear’s attacks. The Lord of Borstone had promised them great reward for slaying the bear.

Two sunrises later, Sam and Fort watched as a bird landed on the local air-messenger’s arm and the man untied two small pouches from the bird’s legs. They paid the man his fee, and they opened the bags. Crossbow bolt tips in one, amorphous stones in the other. The two went to the local smithy to fix the bolt tips to Fort’s existing quiver, and to melt the stones down into a spearhead.

“Fort, as long as you just keep peppering him with bolts, I’ll keep him occupied with this,” Sam remarked as he twirled the makeshift javelin, once his hiking staff.

With a hired Kua tracker, Sam and Fort set out for the bear’s den, a few miles southwest of the city. The sun was setting, and the bear would be heading back to sleep.

“This way,” whispered the brown-skinned Kua, nocking an arrow. They followed close behind as the rocky dwelling grew closer in sight, marred by brush and foliage. Fort loaded his crossbow and distanced himself from his companions. Sam retreated further into the trees. Each smeared himself with the Kua’s scent-disguising berry mash.

They smelled the bear before they saw it: rotting flesh and matted fur. It emerged from the wood on the opposite side of the clearing and lumbered towards its den. But then it rose, sniffing the air. Slowly, it padded on all fours in their general direction.

A bolt lodged in the bear’s flank, the force nearly toppling it. Coursing from another direction, an arrow bounced off its forehead, disorienting it. With a grunt, the bear scanned the brush frantically. Then, it roared and charged towards Fort.

An arrow struck the bear on its neck, but Fort’s bolt completely missed the rushing target. With a wild yell and thundering hooves, Sam and Lewis burst out in full gallop, and the bear turned and rose in fury. Another bolt hit it squarely in the back, but still it charged onwards. Sam turned Lewis towards the charging bear. Within feet of his quarry, he hurled his javelin with all his might.

Lewis reared and threw Sam out of the saddle. But before their eyes, the Great Bear slumped forward with the javelin stuck in between its eyes. Nobody cheered.

The three of them set about removing the bear’s valuable pelt. It was a messy process, and demanding, too. The points of the javelin and crossbow bolts, while magic-imbued, made ineffective knives. With time, however, they procured a few square yards.

Suddenly, wild cries and screams filled the air. The Kua tracker looked up. “My people,” he explained. “I will halt them.” He rose. “The Great Bear is dead! These warriors have slain him!” The forest fell silent. And from it emerged a band of Kuas, led by men in Bretano blue. Quickly, Sam blew his horn, the note resounding boldly.

“Samuel Janetsson, you are under arrest for treason,” proclaimed one of the Bretans. “Shackle the others as well. They have aided this traitor.” The Kua tracker pleaded in his native tongue, but it was to no avail. The tribesmen chained the three of them, and the company of Kuas began the march to the riverside capital of Merrick.

From there, presumably, they would be sailed off to a prison brig in the ocean, or perhaps tried in Merrick to foster public obedience during wartime. Sam explored every possible outcome, and with every second he grew wearier. All of his heroic attempts ended this way, with somebody else entering the picture and demanding allegiance.

The night went on without event, and the tribesmen halted for the night. The prisoners shivered under the watchful gazes of several guards. But around midnight, as Sam started to drift off into sleep, a wave of red-clothed soldiers swept over the camp, hacking with abandon. The Kuas yelled and leapt into the fray with their javelins and arrows. But in moments, it was all over. The soldiers relieved the prisoners of their chains and saluted. “We heard your horn. The Merrickano militia is grateful for your heroic defeat of the bear.”

Fort saluted back. “And we’re so grateful for your heroic defeat of…” He turned.

Their Kua tracker was on his knees, rocking back and forth in tears and prayer. “My people. My people. My God, look at my people!”

The Grey Chessboard Knight -- Part V

2010-02-19T14:55:00.001-08:00

The soldiers escorted Fort and Sam to Merrick. The tracker returned to his tribe with the terrible news. Merrick was now up and in arms, for although only a few Bretans had been killed, the Kua had captured Sam on King William’s orders. Thus, even during this time of war with Napolitano, the vast armies of the King would surely spare a regiment or twenty to retaliate against this Merrickan insubordination.

Dressed in their newfound bear-pelt armor, Sam and Fort stood alongside the Merrickans in the outpost, half a mile from the city walls. They had rested for a few days, and then the news of King William’s approaching forces reached the city. They had put their weary horses to rest and joined the Merrick guard.

The two of them scanned the beautiful morning landscape for any defiling Bretans. Nothing. Other guards milled about, some carrying (ordinary) mirrors to shine a warning through the orange sky. Their shift had started a few hours before sunrise, and so everyone was tired.

“Hey! Over there!” called Fort. All the guards followed his pointed finger to a tiny, shimmering light. A shadowy form hunched over the light. “Magic,” he breathed.

Suddenly, they heard a crackling, and they turned around. Purple flames grew from the center of the wooden floor. Shouts of “Fire!” and “Run!” became cries of fear as everyone dove for the stairs, pushing and shoving. Buckets of drinking water and old blankets couldn’t douse or smother the magical flames, and so panic ensued.

Sam and Fort were trapped against the outpost railing. The ground was far away, and it looked soft and wet with the dew of morning. “Find that wizard!” Sam called to the guards. “If he dies, the fire dies with it!” They mounted their steeds and galloped ahead.

Coughing seized the two of them as the purple smoke clouded their minds. Fort looked to Sam. “Do we jump, m’liege?” he said between coughs. Sam nodded reluctantly; the bearskin would not protect against the flames or the fall. They both looked down, hands on the railing.

Fort lifted a hand slightly, as though about to say something. Then the timbers of the outpost cracked, and both knight and squire fell down, into the brush below.

Badly burned and with broken bones, they lay there in the rubble as the sound of battle raged over them. The time passed agonizingly slowly, and the pain was both dull and sharp at the same time. Neither knew the other lived, for the timbers had covered them both from view. As the noontime sun glared down upon the rubble and shafts of light emerged in their darknesses, Sam and Fort were discovered by their guards.

“Hey, lookit that, they’re alive!” “Hurray!” “Huzzah!” “Oh, damn…”

The sentries carried their ragged forms on stretchers on their way back to the battered city. The battle seemed to have ended. Fort turned his head to a side. Bodies and weapons were scattered across the field. A sharp pain filled his lungs as he breathed.

“We chased ‘em back, you know,” said one. “Willie didn’t send us too many to begin with, thankfully, he was too preoccupied with the Naps.”

“You know he took Bonsails last night? Exiled that Francis chap to a tiny island.”

“With Francis gone, will he come back here, to try again?” This was Sam.

Fort was too weak to speak, but he thought this unlikely. King William had exhausted his forces, and Merrickano was his westernmost fiefdom. His troops would have to cross the whole of Magrebain to get here. For the moment, at least, the King would have to leave them be. If anything, he figured, William might end up giving the Merrickans full autonomy. He barely dealt with them anyway, they were so far away.

As the stretcher rhythmically bobbed and swayed with the soldiers’ walk, Fort’s weary mind and charred body started slipping into eternal sleep. But before he died, he thought of the secret the King had entrusted him with:

During the war with the Kua over the land of Merrickano, Prince William II had taken a mistress from among the Serano colonists whom he was fighting for. Her name was Janet, and she was soon pregnant with the Prince’s son. She died in poverty. William’s guilty conscience, not his royal goodwill, prodded him into bringing Sam to Bretano City as a squire, but he was reluctant to bring attention to his bastard son in the form of knighthood. After all, he had a Queen now, and legitimate sons. So when Francis forced his hand at the ceremony, he decided to use Fort to keep an eye on Sam.

Now Sam will never find out, thought Fort with a small, internal smile. Death, ever the dramatist, waited patiently. Frankly, he’s done a good job so far without it; he’s always put serving the common good above any social relationship. But royal blood runs in his veins, no denying that. So he’s destined to be great, but not as King. As a guardian, a warrior, a rescuer of the weak and oppressed.

Update

2010-01-23T18:51:00.000-08:00

I've uploaded a recording of the song I posted up here a while back, the one about the skeptic and the believer. It's under the working title of "What Matters," and I apologize in advance about the vocals. I need to work on those. Critique and criticism would be appreciated, if you have the time.
Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73nbvXtZYNg

Two Books

2009-12-29T08:27:00.000-08:00

"In an authentic Hadith (saying of Muhammad), Muslims are enjoined, along with the rest of humanity, to 'read' the two great Books of Revelation and Creation i.e. the Qur'an and the natural world. Reading one without the other will result in an imbalance detrimental to the existence and prosperity of humankind on Earth." -- taken from Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghazali's thematic commentary on the Qur'an.

Though the injunction is found within Islamic scriptures, I believe people of all religions should keep this in mind when dealing with scientific discovery. There are always two possibilities -- scientists are assessing the data incorrectly, or we are assessing the scripture incorrectly. The third possibility -- that the scripture is incorrect -- can't be expected to be held by a believer in that scripture, obviously.

So with that in mind, there are a few major issues in Judeo-Christian-Islamic thought that get people all worked up, and maybe a little bit of conjecture is necessary. I claim no authority on the issue; I'm just thinking things through.

SIX DAYS

We see creation occurring all around us. Seeds sprout, eggs hatch, litters are born, and babies conceived. But six days has long since passed, and still things are being created. But are they really?

To "create" here may not mean to "cultivate" or "grow" or "cause to be born" -- it may mean moving something from non-existence to existence. And in our universe, as the physical axiom states, matter can't be created or destroyed. Not now, not ten years from now -- unless if ever God decides to break His rules. Since we must say that in the beginning was only God (otherwise we are admitting to something else creating whatever else was there!) this means that in six days, God created all the matter in the universe, in its most basic form, to be manipulated thereafter by Him to form the universe of today.

Unless we hold that matter has always existed, as atheists would, we would imagine that *some* length of time took place between "no matter" and "all the matter" and perhaps that time was indeed six days. We probably will never figure that out through science. It's no longer an issue of reason or data or logic, but faith -- either there's a God or there isn't. Not much to talk about there.

But keep in mind also, in Arabic and probably other Semitic languages, the word day (Yawm, Yom, etc) really means "period of time." I've seen many translations of the Qur'an that say "created the world in six periods." The same implication is probably true for Hebrew, Aramaic, etc.

JESUS

Whatever their beliefs on his/His divinity, Muslims and Christians believe that he was born "though no man had touched (Mary)." Scientific impossibility? Well, can an egg cell divide on its own without the genetic material of a sperm cell? Not unless it has all 46 chromosomes, in which case it wouldn't be an egg cell.

But here, Jesus's birth (and most of his life, too, come to think of it) was supposed to be miraculous, and while that doesn't mean there isn't a scientific explanation for any of it (curing the leper, raising the dead, etc), it doesn't really matter. They were intended to be miracles for his people, so they may believe. God makes the rules in this universe, so He's entitled to break them whenever He feels like it. Lest we forget...

Interestingly, the Qur'an compares Jesus' birth to that of the creation of Adam in Eden. So now let's talk about that.

DUST

"From dust thou art, to dust returnest / was not spoken of the soul" rhymes Longfellow. Similarly the Qur'an mentions that God created Adam out of dust, then breathed some of His unquenchable spirit into Adam. Literally or figuratively, we may argue. The dust means "primeval substance" or "monkeys" or "just dust" according to so many different people, some knowledgeable and some unlearned. But maybe we can completely sidestep the metaphorical meaning. Where was Adam created "from dust"?

Heaven, presumably! Eden. And when Adam and Eve were sent down to Earth, may we suppose they had the same bodies? Perhaps not. It is mentioned in Hadith that we will have very different bodies in Heaven -- God let us make it there -- much grander and more powerful than ours in this life. So while Adam may have been created "from dust" just like Jesus was in Mary's womb,** when he and Eve came to Earth, God had to put their souls in some sort of body, right? Science has observed that with the knowledge we have so far, the body may well have been the form of an ape-like organism evolving with intelligence up to the very point that it could be considered human, and then God gave it the human spirit of Adam and Eve.

My religious friends who dislike evolution mainly say this: "I mean, I can't believe we came from monkeys." I used to feel this too; it's just too depressing to believe.

But maybe I held in too much esteem our transient form in this transient life, when what really matters is the state of the human spirit.

"Surely We created man of the best stature / Then We reduced him to the lowest of the low / Save those who believe and do good works, and theirs is a reward unfailing / So who henceforth will give the lie to you about the judgment? / Is not Allah the most conclusive of all judges?" Qur'an, 95:3-8.

Note: the above is mostly conjecture, and I claim no authority or truth about it. It's just an attempt to show how scripture and science aren't at odds with each other, as to the believer, both are from God.

Hope the attempt wasn't too distasteful for any of you.

**this is probably the reason why Islam states that Jesus never took a wife, because if he truly was made of dust, as Adam was, he would have no genetic makeup to speak of, and how could he have children? In Christianity, this is necessary to believe because if Jesus had children, they would be part-demi-gods, and that is just too mind-boggling for any reasonable religion.

Steamboat in the Sky r-r-r-r-remake!

2009-12-22T14:28:00.001-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ro6ZNiOZJ7Q

Murtuza and me makin' music! How's that for alliteration? Anyway, check it out. It's a recording of that one song I made on fl studio a long while back, that I posted on this blog. Lemme know if you like. peace

Steamboat in the Sky

i can see the clouds
for the first time in years
cause i've been wandering aimlessly
in this forest of fears

the clouds are a dappled grey
bolts of white lightning streak the skies
but i don't mind the rain drops
roll down the lids of my closed eyes

see i sailed up over the mountain
but then i lost control
and i'm stumbling, fumbling
down towards the cold

wet forest floor of leaves and dirt
i fall face down in that mess
nobody's around to help me up
so i just sit there in distress

till the morning sun brings spiderwebs
of light shine through the leaves
the branches are guards they bar me
from a life that I now dream

see I left my seaside hometown
for days upon days did i fly
but in the end i'd fall just
like a steamboat in the sky

whoa but in the end i'd fall just
like a steamboat in the sky

More metaphysics.

2009-11-20T14:34:00.000-08:00

Lyrics to a song (with a tune and chords, but obviously not reproducible with just words. It doesn't really matter, they don't add much or detract much from the words themselves.) Also, they still need to be played around with a bit, I don't like how some parts sound. Enjoy!

12/15 edited to change last refrain, and tabbed the first two stanzas. The chords (and tune) basically repeat from there.

Well I sat with an old friend, I asked why he prayed
--------F-------------C--------------Bflat-----------A------
In the morn-in the even-in the heat of midday
--------Dminor------Bflat--------F----------Am-----
I said, "How do you know that your words hold such clout
---------F--------------C-------------------Bflat-------------A------
Do you really believe, do you not have your doubts?"
----------F---------Dm-----------Bflat--C--------G----

I said, "Why waste your time, cryin' for home
----------Dm---------------Am---G----------Am------
When you know that you don't know how long you will roam"
------------Dm---------------Am----------------C---------------G------
X2

He said, "If havin' doubts is contrary to faith,
------------F----------C----------Bflat--------F------
Why then only the prophets will reach heaven's gates
-------------F---------C--------------Bflat---------------F------
But the truth is we're all shades of doubt and belief;
-----------Bflat-----------F-------------C------------F-----
We'll be judged on how we lived the life we were leased
-----------Bflat-------------F-------------C--------------F-----

"When you come to the chasm, you'll doubt all you've known,
---------------Dm---------Am---------------G-----------------Am------
but what matters is whether you leap or you don't"
------------Dm--------Am-----------C------------G------
X2

Then I thought that I'd caught him, I proudly proclaimed,
"Then I need not believe when I've deeds to my name!
If I do unto others what I would have done
To me, won't that suffice for my Paradise Won?

"It seems that by doing all good in God's name,
Your potential is shot, your sincerity lamed"
X2

"See, were Judgment empirical, that might be the case
But the Wise knows an action beyond its mere face
When intention and character come into play
Our true selves will have acted for some sort of pay

"The drunk archer fires at all targets in life
But a bull's eye requires deliberate strife"
X2

Start at the beginning --

2009-10-02T14:35:00.000-07:00

Where else?

This post will be an extemporaneous progression of thoughts concerning the topic of future writing endeavors. As in I'm typing off the top of my head. Fair warning.

Anyway, what I've noticed is that I've done a bit of stuff here and there, poems in my spare time, essays when I have to, but it's not really amounting to much, you know? (And you really do know, dear reader, because nearly everything I have written of value has appeared on this blog.) I don't have dreams of being a professional author, because in order for that to be the case, I would have actually have had to experience a hallucination during my slumber that related to writing -- and that has never occurred yet.

But my mind's definitely wandered in that direction, because while I'd have no problem working as an engineer or doctor or a biochemist in the future, I'd probably feel like I am betraying my creative side if I didn't make some endeavor toward published writing. The people who follow blogs are those who are blessed with patience, time, and connection, and so you may realize the tightening audience a venue like this can attract. I believe it is still the case that the printed word holds more capability and authenticity than the typed word, and it won't go away any time soon. And so I would like to write a book, or at least a short work of fiction.

This being my goal, and justified above, it's now time to elaborate on some requirements of this work of fiction. What genre? What will it talk about? Where and when will it take place? and plenty of other questions will be answered in this delightfully lengthy post.

It will:

-be a fantasy, because of the freedoms granted by the work. A writer whose name escapes me once said that fantasy could strip naked the complex issues of our world and examine them through a different lens.

-be grounded in reality , in that readers can relate to their struggles and decisions, the various changes in setting serving only to allow for lying (rather than research the real world) and escape criticism.

-be about issues that I can talk about, relating directly to my personal experiences. The trick is to make this unnoticeable to the readers, and instead make it seem like I'm relating directly to them. That's the whole reason that writing works: people across the globe have similar experiences in life. If this weren't the case, if we all lived wildly different lives like Harry Potter and Artemis Fowl, it would be impossible to write about any one thing that everybody understands and relates to.

-pay little attention to names and languages, at least initially, because the last thing I want is something like Eragon, with a mini-dictionary for three different languages at the back, the result being some half-assed attempts at language (pardon my own language) that served no purpose in the story. Rather, when characters speak different languages than what the main character understands, the language will be conveyed by the tone and description of the conversation and/or an actual translator. Names, too, will follow a basic pattern per culture or custom, but won't be critical until a solid story is churned out.

-involve magic, but it will be a metaphor for scientific development and technology, again because I have no desire to research possible futuristic technology and how it would work as opposed to making up a way that such things would work by magic. Thus it will serve the same purpose of new developments which challenge the preexisting beliefs of people and how their beliefs change in light of them. (I've got some interesting ideas about this magic system, which will probably pop up in a later post.)

-involve romance, because a story where male characters and female characters aren't segregated by society or otherwise prevented from contact with each other will necessarily involve romance. It's the nature of the beast, I'm afraid. But every attempt will be made for an honest, realistic depiction of love and attraction, based on real life, not some fairy-tale land. As with other issues, the characters won't always act according to my beliefs because they don't share them. Some of them may, and they will have trouble acting according to them, but that's a lot like real life. I won't write about the Islamic Ideal: boy stays away from girlfriends until he gets his Masters in Engineering, his parents find a good match for him, they talk, they like each other, they get married and then find themselves in love with each other. If it ever happens like this in my book, it will be a struggle to stay away from all the others, a struggle that might even make the character discard his religion for a time. Because I just can't afford to preach to an audience. It has to come through observation and objective storytelling, it really does.

Some ideas or themes:

- a young rebellious mind within a conservative, religious society

- a conservative, religious mind within a liberal, irreligious country

- the aforementioned minds being part of the same person and each threatening to take the other over.

- the complicated issue of taking refuge in a country at war with your own people

- the universal shifts in every human being; everyone desired freedom from their parents and "society" in general in their youth, and yet they soon become the parents and "society" in a few years. The conservative shift which comes with age and raising children. Similarly, people grow elderly, they start to become accepting of new ideas. Like when my grandmother saw something on the computer about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, she looked at it for a while, then muttered, "Well anyway they (Jews) believe in God too..." And she lived through 1948 and 1967 in a Sri Lankan Muslim community, where there was never much love for the Jews.

- double standards, and how they come about. How a woman "loses" her virginity while a man "gains" his manhood in the same instant. How Iran can sign a nuclear non-proliferation treaty and be under constant suspicion, while India, Israel, and Pakistan never signed it and just made nuclear weapons without condemnation or sanctions by the rest of the world. (Via allegory, of course.)

- the pleasure-seeking and perverted side of people, which isn't often touched upon in books. Even (or perhaps especially) the most principled/conservative/religious people think bad or dirty thoughts. Probably I'll have some sort of stand-in for the things in the world of hedonistic desire, to make the readers less uncomfortable, like drugs being replaced by some sort of magical pixie dust, or masturbation (yes i will go there with certain characters) being replaced by a...sex-hormone chewing gum? I dunno, I kinda stole that off of Brave New World. But it'll do as a substitute until the creative juices start to flow. Also, wine will still be wine, and brothels will still be brothels.

*************
I think this is quite enough for a post, but it won't be the last one. Next time I'm free I'll start a new post with more extemporaneous brainstorming. Until then, peace.

Coplas de la Cara del Libro

2009-09-21T17:56:00.000-07:00

Thanks to everyone who participated!

The shepherd searched for the Face of Book.
He searched far and wide but didn't know where to look.
He searched the surface of the earth.
He kept searching and searching, without knowing its worth.
So he swore and shouted and stomped his foot,
Not knowing crushed was the Face 'neath the heel of his boot.
He saw and pained over what he has done.
Then he saw the Face's vengeful guardians and started to run.
He ran far and wide and then halted at the edge of a cliff,
but before he jumped he grabbed his 'smelling salts' and took a whiff.
About halfway down he was snatched from the air
by a fire-breathing dragon with a flap and a flare.
They flew and they flew until they reached his lair.
And from these heights, the shepherd could clearly see
the world and all what's in it, from that crevice in the lee.
Suddenly he realized he found that which he had seeked in this single look
for he stuck his hand in and received a rude book!
Yet he soon perceived that the book had no face,
so he followed the crevice to a cavern he named "My Space!"

Coplas de la Cara del Libro

Spectacles

2009-09-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

[In case you didn't know, Rumi was a medieval Sufi poet in Turkey, and Razi was a medieval skeptic scientist in Persia. Razi is also the namesake of my father, whose name I take as my last name. Hope that clears things up!]

My mind, it wandered during prayer to
places far from, places near to
God, these thoughtless thoughts I think
might hurt - or salvage - every momentary link

to You, five times (or four, or three)
Perhaps some punctuality
or purpose might spring from these cracks
in ego, like the lines on pavement, relax

on seat, or street, if say your creed
and close your eyes, then you won't need
them, who argue insanity, holding reliance
and say: "we've faith, so who needs science?"

Or "science triumphs, so who needs faith?"
when the eyes of glass we cast today
focus nanometers or light-years away.
But an answer, I think, lies in how she prays

The short prayer in the morning, kneels
Prostrates and rises, and she feels
Contentment, inhale, through nose, past eyes
To brain, to soul, which never dies

But what she fixes her eyes upon
The floor, the dawn, the dew-spiked lawn
Beyond the window, the wall’s pale plaster
Distracts her, or attracts her

From or to the One she worships -
Is she deluded? Is it worth it?
At these thoughts, they stray her eyes
But sometimes, they help her see the light

Is there a devil or an angel in the details?

So when she rises from the rug
her eyes stay down there, while sleep tugs
at them to close, but she don't let
it take her, make her the verses forget

Why she woke, tripping on carpeted stairs
so her heavy lids stay parted, take care
that the skirt on her eyes, black silk lashes
don't ride up her slender, care-taken legs, flashes

on goes the lamp the next dawn, she decides
that rather than open or shut tight her eyes
she'll not take her spectacles, purple-black frames
and sand, off her bed-stand, but the sunrise it came

under cover of clouds, they soothed her with rain,
so she scrambled to face the black box of this plane
But the beauty was this time, it all went to fuzz
the pixels were larger but lovely, because

it was like a Monet, she could look all she liked,
but the details would not snap her gaze left and right.
Her mind stays awake, as her eyes don't give in,
but the sharpest of lenses is focused within.

In fact, 'twas like Rumi and Razi had joined
their medieval philosophies, in marriage, a poign-
yant affair where faithful and skeptic join hands
in a pact to not intrude the other one's lands

except at a cordoned-off, no-man's place: prayer
open to all thoughts and times, if you dare.

Spectacles

Degrees of Action

2009-08-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

1. spontaneous
2. conscientious
3. routine
4. ritual
5. rote

Understand that these words are just symbols for a general idea, not a particular definition. To different people, these words will have different definitions, but allow me to use them as stand-ins for a general meaning which I will come to explain.

1. You're walking down the sidewalk on the way to school and you see a crushed Coke can, askew along the curb. You pick it up and, as you continue to walk, a blue trash can materializes in front of you. The swing of your step leads the hand that's holding the can towards the Trash Can of Requirement, and so you pop it in. You don't think much of it.

2. You walk down that sidewalk the next morning and you see a crushed Coke can, askew along the curb. You think of letting it sit there, but it doesn't take that much effort, and that trash can is still there. In any case, you'd feel bad if you didn't, so you decide to toss it in. You walk to the gathering crowd of students, slightly pleased with yourself.

3. Last night's storm knocked the blue trash can over, and it rolled off into the nearby lawn. But there's that can, still askew, leaning against the curb. So you pick it up, because now you couldn't possibly leave it sitting there. You set aright the bulky container and drop the can, which makes a satisfying thud.

4. You're trudging down that sidewalk in a bit of a daze the next day. The alarm clock decided to call in sick, and so you had woken up merely minutes ago. But something shakes you out of it. The can isn't there! Not the Coke can, of course. It's still there, leaning upon the sidewalk with a crinkled grin upon its countenance. But no trash can to leave it in. You pocket it, to the disgust of one of the sophomore girls at your stop. "Who knows what kind of stuff it has on it?" But minutes later, the bus comes rolling in, and as the doors swing open, you toss the can into the bin overlooking the steps. Your heart rate speeds up just a hair, and a rush of contentment follows.

5. This goes on for a solid few weeks, and you never question why that can keeps materializing, even though the bin has not since returned. You don't really think about what you're doing, but you know where the can will be and you know where the trash bin on the bus will be, so it doesn't matter much. After all, it's not a big deal. But with a start, you notice that the can is missing. That familiar glint in the distance is gone! It doesn't trouble you for long though -- you've got friends to make conversation with and a capricious bus to catch. So you keep going, while the coke can innocently lies, shaded by the prickly leaves of a fast-growing weed.

The name of that weed is indifference.

To quote (and slightly alter) a saying of Muhammad: every good deed is charity, and it is a good deed that you meet your brother with a cheerful countenance and that you pour water (soda) from your bucket (can) into his vessel (dixie cup?).

And so we go.

Upon the Hills

2009-08-08T17:21:00.000-07:00

This post has a long history. Should you care to listen to it, hear it is. Should you not, skip this paragraph and continue to the song. So once upon a time, i stumbled upon a fiddle tune, Jean's Reel, composed by the late Bobby MacLeod. So I went to http://www.thesession.org, a Celtic folk music hotbed and found the sheet music, and I learned it. This was about a year ago, mind. So I liked the tune a lot, and i wondered what it would sound with words. It just sounded like it was trying to say something, but, being a violin piece, couldn't. It would have to be slowed down a lot, I realized, but it could be done. So I tried it, and this song is the product.

Also, I took a leaf out of a quote by the author of The Lord of the Rings. I'm sure he won't mind: I'm not trying to sell this, and in any case, he's dead. But here is what he said. "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." -- J.R.R. Tolkien

Here's an arrangement of the song, if you want to follow along with my lyrics:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAmwxEDfRpQ&feature=related

With all that in mind, here we go. Again, bear in mind that these lyrics are in progress, and by all means they are subject to change. Be the change you wish to see in this -- literally. Let me know if something doesn't sound right. I'll either correct it or, sometime in the future, put up a recording of the piece to explain how it's supposed to sound.

Upon the Hills *working title*

'Pon the hills the gullies and the rivers that flow through them
if i swore, then i would swear on all these things and more
that if food and cheer and song were dearer to us than gold
we'd all live together in a merrier world.

Take a walk down a path that which you've not trampled before
in the cold night air, where underfoot the leafy floor
gives way to a meadow under stars swimming in open sky
there's so much in the universe and then you'll wonder why

Do the stars exist for us to wonder at
or are they just a blunder that
pure chance before had wrought
might have come from the hand of God
or not, it doesn't matter 'cause right now
they're so pretty,
watch them shine their lights divine
and put your faith in why or how

[musical interlude]

Do the stars exist for us to wonder at
or are they just a blunder that
pure chance before had wrought
might have come from the hand of God
or not, it doesn't matter 'cause right now
they're so pretty,
watch them shine their lights divine
and put your faith in why or how

I think we believers and unfaithful when we look up at the stars
we think differently about them but both realize just how far
from anything we are alone in space unliving --
our planet is precious, so the life that on it's living

So I guess we must just put the rest we might be diff'ring on
aside for now in hopes that all of us can keep on living on
the Truth will come apparent once we leave others to be
have fun and love but let them find reality

[ritardando]have fun and laugh and love them but it isn't your duty
to...save
[fiddle starts up again simultaneously with "save", main theme, ends with plucked chord]

Upon the Hills

Lines, Sentences, and Complete Thoughts

2009-08-07T06:33:00.000-07:00

Such are the distinctions in any sort of poetry, and poets must understand and utilize them, especially if they aren't following a particular form, like a sonnett or couplet.

For example, Regina Spektor's "On the Radio":

LINES
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again
On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo's really long
But it's a pretty song
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep
This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

SENTENCES
"While we were on our knees, praying that disease would leave the ones we love and never come again, on the radio, we heard November Rain. That solo's awful long, but it's a pretty song. We listened to it twice because the DJ was asleep...This is how it works: You're young until you're not. You love until you don't. You try until you can't. You laugh until you cry. You cry until you laugh. And everyone must breathe until their dying breath."

COMPLETE THOUGHTS
[While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again]

[On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo's really long
But it's a pretty song
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep]

[This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath]

The first thought is about grief and the loss of a loved one. The second is an explicit reference to a Guns'n'Roses song. The third is the substance, the opinion, the worldview.

Similarly, Chapter 93 of the Qur'an [translated]:

LINES
By the morning light
And by the night when it is still
Your Lord has not forsaken you, nor is He displeased
And verily the Hereafter will be better for you than the present
And soon will your Lord give you that which you will be well-pleased
Did He not find you an orphan and give you shelter?
And He found you wandering, and He gave you guidance?
And He found you in need, and made you independent?
Therefore treat not the orphan with harshness
Nor repulse the petitioner (unheard)
But the Bounty of your Lord rehearse and proclaim!

SENTENCES
"By the morning light, and by the night when it is still: your Lord has not forsaken you, nor is He displeased. And verily the Hereafter will be better for you than the present. And soon will your Lord give you that which you will be well-pleased. Did He not find you an orphan and give you shelter? And He found you wandering, and He gave you guidance? And He found you in need, and made you independent? Therefore treat not the orphan with harshness. Nor repulse the petitioner (unheard). But the Bounty of your Lord rehearse and proclaim!"

COMPLETE THOUGHTS
[By the morning light
And by the night when it is still]

[Your Lord has not forsaken you, nor is He displeased
And verily the Hereafter will be better for you than the present
And soon will your Lord give you that which you will be well-pleased]

[Did He not find you an orphan and give you shelter?
And He found you wandering, and He gave you guidance?
And He found you in need, and made you independent?]

[Therefore treat not the orphan with harshness
Nor repulse the petitioner (unheard)
But the Bounty of your Lord rehearse and proclaim!]

The first thought is an oath and also vivid imagery. The second is reassurance. The third is a collection of examples. And the last is a call to action.

Try this categorization with other poetry or lyrics you come across. It's really quite amazing.

Orphaned IV

2009-07-16T16:18:00.001-07:00

And so we come to the last story, because apparently I miscounted.
*****
Oh, uh, and it turns out it's not even a tsunami orphan, it's an expert source. What a responsible journalist I am.

I'll leave this in just quotes, because I'll probably evenly place her quotes in relevant parts of the article. I could do a full bio like i did for the others, but I don't think that would be effective. As before, feedback is welcome.

Mrs. Farisa teaches geography, history, and civics at Al-Zahira, for grades seven, nine, 11, and 13. With twelve classes to conduct a week, she sees a lot of the school. Farisa says she has many of the tsunami orphans in her classes.

"In general, there was a backwardness in their education (after the tsunami)," she said. "They have difficulty in finding basic necessities. They legally do have guardians, but they aren't looked after morally. A few became bad in behavior, and we were sometimes afraid to treat them as sternly. Those kids are not noticeably different(now), and mostly it's life as usual."

"Lots of the money we give out, we know, is needed by the step-parents," Farisa said. "Naturally, the interest is in their own children; without money they feel they are going out of their way to pay for the child." According to Farisa, there isn't really even any genuine scolding, because proper scolding is an act of love and protection, and the guardian or relative may not feel responsible for raising the orphan the way he would raise his own children.

If this sort of neglect doesn't happen, Farisa said, it's usually when mothers widowed by the tsunami raise their children by themselves. Though . The jobs that uneducated people can get in Hambantota are labor jobs -- in the salterns, in the sea, or on the roads as autorickshaw drivers. It's not much money, and the hours are long and sometimes dangerous, especially at sea.

Furthermore, many women in Sri Lanka, especially in rural or poor areas, just don't seek jobs. Some of it is social stigma. For example, female fishermen are virtually unknown, as are female rickshaw drivers. In Sri Lanka, women with jobs are usually well-to-do, educated, or skilled in a certain trade -- these people have no such advantages. In that crowded classroom of tsunami-orphaned children sitting at their desks, Farisa said, "None of the children in this room have employed mothers, not even the ones who don't have their fathers."

Basically, the situations where orphans are taken care of and loved and properly disciplined are the situations where they are poor and jobless.

But even these situations have worse endings. Farisa said that there have been cases where a tsunami-widowed, uneducated father will marry off his daughter at 16 or 17 years old. He may have little concern for her education, or maybe he does not want responsibility of her. Perhaps he may even feel he is looking out for her interests by giving her to somebody who can provide for her better than an illiterate, old man.

Such was the case with a girl name Firoza, who got married when she should have been taking her A-levels. Generally, the girls drop their education with the demands of married life, especially once they have children.

Farisa acknowledged that the early marriages were not a by-product of the tsunami but a long-existing social issue of Sri Lanka -- and much of the Third World. "The marriages may still go on (after the tsunami orphan issue is resolved)," she said. "They happened before."

But I've also been told that, somewhere else on the island, a girl has started the school year in a new town, only this time she's the teacher -- with the accreditation. She was orphaned by the tsunami four long years ago, but now she's employed in the educated workforce.

And, hopefully, she's only the first of many more to come.
*****

Orphaned Part III

2009-07-14T16:26:00.000-07:00

Two of the Hambantota residents who had gone to Pola that Sunday morning were Arham's parents. He was around nine years old at the time. "I was at home, and I saw the people running about from afar," Arham said. Then, the water came. Luckily, Arham and his elder brother and sister were far enough away from the coast that the water didn't topple the house upon their heads. Their parents, however, were claimed by the sea.

Later, it seems, so was the house. It must have sustained serious damages despite holding strong against the water, because soon afterward Arham's brother applied for a house from the government. These houses were part of an effort by the Sri Lankan government to restore the wrecked coastal buildings, from fisherman's shacks to hotels. Arham's brother is now married and has a child, and so the five of them live together for the time being.

The extended family is fairly sustained by Arham's brother's job. On a loan from the Hambantota city government, he bought a vehicle and delivers toys from manufacturers to their shops. Of course, this means Arham's brother must drive all over the district, and he's not at home much.

But Arham seemed quite at ease with the events of December 2004. "I think we are better off than we could have been," he said. The ninth-grader even said he and his sister were planning to apply for their own house from the government, though he may have been joking.

In school, Arham plays tambourine in the school band and is on the cricket team. Arham hopes to succeed in the field of civil engineering, like several other tsunami orphans. After all, stable buildings would have helped more people survive the powerful waves. In Arham's case, they may have even saved his life.
*****

Rifnas's father divorced and left his wife around eight years ago, long before the tsunami. After the breakup, the ten-year-old Rifnas lived with his mother in their house near the coast. Four years later, the tsunami struck, and the house was reduced to soaked rubble. Rifnas lost his mother in the watery confusion, and later it was confirmed that she had drowned. His grandparents and his aunt also died in the disaster. He now lives with his mother's other sister and her husband in a ramshackled clay house, along with his three cousins.

Living in this crowded household of five is uncomfortable on various levels. Rifnas's uncle owns a bicycle repair shop, which is the primary source of income for the extended family. He spends most of his time there, but he still finds it difficult to make ends meet, especially now that he has responsibility of Rifnas. The uncle's oldest son is also working, as a personal assistant for a government official, but he is only paid 6000 rupees a month. That amounts to about $70 a month. While it is unlikely the family will kick Rifnas out of their clay house, they might have been forced to, were it not for an extra 1000 rupees partially paying for his school expenses.

Rifnas is in his last year of school, studying in geography, political science, and Islam. He hopes to go to Colombo University to become a lawyer. There are only three campuses in Sri Lanka to study law, so Rifnas said if he cannot attend Colombo University, he will try for either the Open University or the Lankan branch of London University. If everything goes his way, he wants to specialize as a human rights lawyer.

But to succeed as a lawyer, Rifnas must first get his A-levels results back. Having taken the A-levels in the aforementioned classes, his entrance to university may depend on his performance. Unlike other students, he didn't say he hopes to earn three As.

He said he plans on it.

Orphaned Part II

2009-07-12T17:01:00.000-07:00

Rifna Hanees lost her mother to the tsunami that rocked coastal South Asia in December of 2004. With the guidance of her father, the family rebounded from the loss and lived fairly happily for years. But last year, Rifna and her four brothers were completely orphaned when their father was murdered, during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. People suspected it was a rival of his fishery business.

"Father was a businessman," Rifna said. "Now there are debts [to be paid], we are trying to sell off the house, the boat." The loss of their father has filled their lives with stress and worry.

Her two older brothers are fishermen, going out to sea every day. They are the only sources of income for the family, and the job is risky. The ocean can become violent and rough at any time, as the tsunami demonstrated. There is, of course, no regular pay either -- only prices for the fish.

Rifna is now in the 10th grade, preparing to take her O-levels in December. She finds her strength is in maths and physics, and she hopes to pursue a career in civil engineering. Rifna said she believes that if she goes to college and becomes a civil engineer, she will be able to change the situation for her brothers and for herself.
*****

When the water gushed into Farzana's house, her father led Farzana and her younger sister up the quaking stairs to the balcony. They climbed atop the water tank by the roof to escape the rising water. Thankfully, the water didn't reach them. But on that fateful Sunday morning, Farzana's mother had gone to Pola, the weekly market fair, right alongside the beach. She, along with hundreds of others, never made it back home.

Farzana has four older brothers, but none of them have much to do with herself, her father, or her sister. Two of them are married and live far away, and another is working in Qatar. Many Sri Lankans try to find work in the Middle East, but this route is closed for Farzana's poor family. They all could not afford to move with the brother -- not yet, at any rate. The last brother is studying in the northwestern region of Puttalam, on the opposite side of the island, trying to become a religious scholar. A graduate of Al-Zahira, he is also a recipient of the tsunami fund.

Farzana has joined the arts stream at Al-Zahira. She hopes to attend Perediniya University in Kandy and earn a degree in Tamil. In the end, Farzana wants to become a teacher, so she can either sit for an interview with the Ministry of Education in the hopes of an early start or join the College of Education for three years of residential training.

Orphaned Part I

2009-07-12T13:36:00.000-07:00

For most of this summer break, I was in Sri Lanka. Mostly, we just spent time with family and had a good time. But on a road trip down south to my mom's hometown, Hambantota, we spent some time at a seaside school called Al-Zahira. The school was hit head-on by the 2004 tsunami and suffered serious damages. The school was later rebuilt, but many children in the Hambantota area lost their parents forever. Orphaned children with no means of income had no way of paying for food, let alone schooling, especially when Al-Zahira had no expendable income to assist them with.

That's where my mother and her sister came in, collecting funds (from Indiana and Sydney respectively) to support the orphaned children. These students either live with their relatives, a foster family, or a widowed parent. The funds amounted to about 1500 rupees a month per student -- about $20. Sufficient; a twenty can go far in a third world country like Sri Lanka.

As of late, people who used to regularly donate have stopped, having other, more urgent charities across the world to attend to. So on that road trip, we stopped by Al-Zahira for the day and I interviewed several of the students for a 1-pager newsletter my parents want me to write. My broken Tamil proved insufficient for a proper interview, so the Headmaster offered to translate for me. And so here I am, with the stories of seven orphans jotted down in a dark green notebook, and trying to decide which stories will have the strongest effect on the reader.

That is where you, dear reader, come in. Of the seven sources, I may only be able to fit in three or four. If you've the time, read these stories and give me some feedback. Keep in mind, however, that the writing of the following passages may be sub-par, and try to pay attention to the actual information. I can always reword later, and I probably will.

*****
Fathima Shafna was in seventh grade when the water came. It surged inland for several hundred meters before smashing into the Shafnas' house before any of them could react. The wave carried everybody out of the house and tossed them like rag dolls. "With God's help we were able to hold on to something," Fathima said, "except for dad."

Five years later, the only source of income for the family is the small job that one of her two brothers works. They have enough to get by, but there is little left over to pay for Fathima's education. She spends the 1500 rupees on food foremost, and whatever is left over goes towards her school tuition and supplies.

At Al-Zahira, she has placed herself in the arts stream. (In Sri Lanka you must decide to go into science, commerce, or arts by 9th grade, and you choose your classes accordingly.) Her main subjects are Tamil literature, Islamic studies, and political science.
*****

So as not to clog my blog with a gigantic post, I'll do the other six stories in sets of two. If you are going to choose three or four stories that you think are most newsworthy, please wait until I get to the other six before you do so. Thanks.

This is what happens...

2009-07-11T14:21:00.000-07:00

when everybody participates.
THE EPIC POEM
by Dog-Eared Forums
May 2008
(Each line is a post by a member of the forum. Poem is in couplets.)

-Good day, bonjour, to all online
-Our hero has hair wavy as the graph of x's sine
-His eyes are deep as puddle-pools,
-But, in truth, he's just the common fool.
-He runs around, thinking himself mighty
-In his polka-dotted nightie.
-He didn't know what to do without his pants
-So he rammed on his helm, and seized his lance
-'Not that lance!' He screamed to the readers.
-Then God killed a kitten, and everyone cried tears in liters.
-The hero swelled in outrage against the Divine Destroyer
-And screamed that Satan, loving kitties, would be sending a lawyer.
-So God made the Verdict, and to heaven Kitty ascended,
-But the Lawyer from Hell her foul duty attended
-And flung her infernal briefcase high into the sky
-From the power of True Hellenic Black Metal did the kitten die.
-And so our hero vanquished God to show off to the hott lawyer
-Unbeknown to all it was a prank by Tom Sawyer.
-Who was crouched behind a white fence and hooting with laughter
-Along with Huck Finn, waiting to steal some 'baccy after
-From our nicotine-addicted hero, who was at a candle-lit dinner for two
-Until his head was splattered by Chuck Norris's shoe
-The Hott Lawyer arose, spewing fumes and flames of litigation,
-The likes of which could cause even Mr. Norris indignation.
-But nevertheless, he unleashed his roundhouse kick
-And got sued for all his money, so he ran away and became a true Texan Hick.
-Legend has it that the vengeful beast is still biding his time
-However Batman keeps in him check for his crime
-Until Mr. T beat Batman to death with a lime.
-Before being hurled into space by Optimus Prime.
-The fool was to be pitied, for Mr. T simply floated back down to land
-Into the ocean where no one would lend him a hand
-So he took a deep breath, and he swallowed the sea
-Then he spat it back out and said, "What did I see?"
-Mr. T then committed a triple homicide...
-While M. Night Shymalan committed ritual suicide.
-As Mr T flung the three pitiful fools to the ground,
-A ninja hurled his ninja star, and all four died without a sound
-Mr T's homicide victims had now died twice,
-and the ninja was sitting contentedly, eating a bowl of rice
-And than Chuck Norris and the Ninja dueled
-The ninja sighed, "I was told that you weren't an overdone meme, but I was fooled."
-And than into the fray leaped the band Tool
-M.J. Keenan ran forth, and he seized a large stool
-in the background, a guitar riff screamed at the onlooking throng
-Then the throng laughed, realizing that MJ Keenan had grabbed a large piece of crap. Ong.
-While Will Smith jumped upon the stage and started to rap
-And Carlton stood up, and said, "I didn't pay for this crap!"
-Uncle Phil laughed; he had the Turtles trapped
-He tortured them for their secrets, but their iron will would not snap.
-That is, of course, until Master Splinter was threatened:
-Then the Turtles lashed out and dismembered Phil, who came to a (gory) wet end.
-Then they went back to the sewers and found a big orange cat
-It charged them, with claws sharp, and then it went splat.
-Leonardo's blades dripped with the blood of the fallen beast
-Mikey laughed, for the beast was actually trying to striptease.
-No matter now, for 'twas deceased.
-And Rafael pitied Garfield; of his lasagna Leonardo had stolen the last piece.
-Then suddenly the evil Creditor entered, the Sewers to repossess.
-Splinter was inclined to be a good hostess.
-To that end he had to dress up in drag ...
-And carry all his things around in a pink leather bag
-Stop! Donnie cried, you're making me gag!
-then the Power Rangers leapt from a rocky crag
-And suddenly the whole world began to lagg
-For it was cursed to stick to one rhyme by a wicked old hag.
-The hag said, "Oh joy! They'll all have a drag!"
-Then they were in the middle of an explosion visible from space.
-For the curse was reversed, and the world resumed its normal pace
-Because Tony Stark had perfected the anti-curse bomb
-The Turtles and their transvestite master had now plummetted(sp?) off to the remnants of the Kryptonian sun. [Editor's note: Uh, what?]
-The hag shook her fist at the heaven-borne Turtles,
-with a blast of octarine light, the turtles turned to cute, cuddly Squirtles.
-Mr.Potter ran onto the scene, with a dozen Moaning Myrtles
-pursuing him with zeal, so into a broom cupboard he hurtled
-But alas, Rita Skeeter awaited him there!
-She smiled at him evilly and whispered, "Welcome to my lair."
-But then Gozilla punted her into the air
-And kindled a fire in Mr.Potter's hair
-While a little green imp spread glue on his chair.
-And McGonnagall cried, "Oh, it's the curse again, which I simply cannot bear!"
-Tony Stark rushed to the scene once again, armed with the cure and his suit.
-But when he arrived, he found himself face to face with Terry Boot
-who was possessed by the hag, and he chanted "Die, and Despair!"
-But to bash him aside, Tony Stark would not dare.
-So instead, Tony Stark eyed his surroundings with care...
-and switched to pentameter then and there. [Editor's note: teehee]
-However, he had to change the current rhyme fast...
-If it was Yoda's army he wished to get past.
-Darth Vader assisted for he was a fellow metal man
-and he enlisted the legions of Star Wars fans
-But Trekkie's aligned and stood at their posts
-Until forced watch that new movie, The Host.
-"No, I wanted to see the Dark Knight!" Trekkie yelled back.
-But he was turned into a duck and his yells became quacks.
-At the utterance of his Dark name, Christian Bale appeared...
-His badass-ness was greatly feared. . .
-At least, it was before the fangirls burst into tears.
-Of their reminder of Heath Ledgers' Joker career.
-Now, they bawl on the unfortunate Mr. Bale's shoulder.
-That is, until he decides to crush them with a boulder.
-The boulder shatters into a millions parts
-And while all of the readers stared dazed and confused...
-Pikachu fell from the sky, highly amused!
-But then it went *splat over Jeremy Iron's windowshield...
-Now that he was free from Dungeons & Dragons field...
-Now his new quest was to find an Eragon-fanboy-proof shield.
-When Roland Deschain darted in from the left field...
-The two crashed together, for neither would yield.
-And a hobgoblin laughed while the fisher king reeled.
-verse upon verse, stacked high to the sky
-This epic doesn't want to say good-bye
-So instead it greets everyone it meets...
-Right before magically enchanting them into it's special 'lunchmeat.'
-"Nice to meat you, and have a nice day!"
-And thus the poem ended, for the rest of the poets' days.

THE EPIC POEM

And now...

2009-07-08T15:46:00.000-07:00

...Probably the better of the songs I've done in a while.
Comes with lyrics too, if only I had a voice for them.
At any rate, I've no voice recording software like Audacity,
only FL Studio. So this will have to do.

http://www.newgrounds.com/audio/listen/252405

Check it out, rate, and review, please!
Thanks.

Aha!

2009-07-06T10:38:00.000-07:00

A name. For those creature thingies -- the green ones, yeah.

They're short like dwarves. Dextrous like elves, and pointed ears as well. And they're green like goblins.

Dwelflins!
Yes.
Dwelflin.

And, of course, they have the personality of a human, because otherwise, how will you relate?

Success, oh, hahaha, he he.

All right I'm done. woo.

Back.

2009-07-06T08:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time, blogosphere. Hi.

Having left blogger for a month or so, I've taken a step back and looked at the sort of content i post, and I've noticed much of it has dealt with religious matters -- even the songs I tab. I imagine this would be kind of boring for many people, and I promise I'll get to some proper fiction, or at least some other controversial issue.

But as I've nothing else yet, an observation on religion (yet again) will have to do.

It is safe to say that extra-marital sex has always been frowned on by society, though less so now. In previous ages, the level of gender segregation was such that discouraged extra-marital sex. This was especially true of the areas where Islam prospered: the Near East and the Indian subcontinent in particular. The idea was to not even *approach* fornication, for fear of divine punishment. It also kept courtship civil. You had to go and approach someone as a family to a family if you wanted to marry her. Naturally, then, the concept of dating (in the modern sense) is frowned on by many people from that part of the world, Muslim or no. Even if sex never enters the picture, some still consider it a sin.

I have a word for them. Lamam.

Meaning "small faults," it is found in a verse that could be translated: "Those who avoid great sins and shameful deeds, only (falling into) small faults, verily, your Lord is ample in forgiveness." 53:31-32.

Commentator Ibn 'Abbas said the best example of this word, Lamam, can be found in this saying of Muhammad (peacebeuponhim).

Narrated by Abu Hurayrah on authority of the Prophet. "God has decreed for Adam's son (humans) his share of fornication which he will inevitably commit. The fornication of the eye is the gaze; the fornication of the tongue is the speech; the inner self wishes and desires, and the private parts testify to this or deny it." Abu Hurayrah as well as Ibn Mas'ud, learned scholars of the Prophet's own lifetime, said that Lamam includes kissing and other acts approaching sex.

In essence, these scholars of a time revered by Muslims as the best and most correct application of Islam would be so bold as to say that kissing (and by this surely holding hands and hugging and "dating") would only become sin if it leads to sex outside of marriage. Because Muhammad (pbuh) was pragmatic: he had no problem avoiding both large sins and Lamam. His first wife, Khadija, proposed to him, not the other way around, and she had only known him through business dealings. Clearly, marriage was a first resort back then.

And even if he was not so pious, back then -- and only recently has this really changed -- you didn't have to "be with" someone for a few months or years before considering marriage. Granted, you could court them, which is like dating, but you wouldn't be in private until you tied the knot. Dating as it stands today would have been reprehensible at the time. And yet, Muhammad (pbuh) knew the nature of men, and he knew not to forbid what was not forbidden, even if society seemed to implicitly forbid it for him.

Granted, the premise of this whole argument is based on the scholarly opinion of two very human sources. The Prophet himself only was talking of inward expression of fornication, not of kissing and the like. And it is true that other sayings of the Prophet explicitly warned of the slippery slope towards fornication. "Wherever a boy and a girl are alone together, there is a devil with them (whispering)," to name one of the well-known quotes.*

Regardless, these were learned Companions of the Prophet who were far closer to him than we could ever be, and their opinion can't be discounted.

It's as a friend of mine once said. "Muslims get married all the time, it's not really a big deal how (they meet)." Some meet through parents, some through friends or relatives, some just have been friends for a long time, and I'm sure some did more than just shake hands before they tied the knot.

But if Muslim parents are worrying about their children even approaching sex (as opposed to "oh well at least he's not gotten somebody pregnant") then I think we are doing pretty well.

Stay strong.

*Rather reminescent of the beginning Nickelback's "Into the Night," actually. :) http://www.metrolyrics.com/into-the-night-lyrics-santana.html

TABBED

2009-03-07T11:24:00.000-08:00

Again, I may not get to the "Purpose" this weekend either, for several reasons.
But I mapped out the chords for an old children's song by Dawud Wharnsby that my parents used to play in the car during long road trips. Guitarists: this is a very basic tab, feel free to strum in whatever rhythm you feel is appropriate. I think a simple "one and-a two and-a three" etc works well for most of it, but some parts just need a single, lingering chord. Also, this tab belongs to me, so...yeah. Attributions to this blog or to myself, Thalib Razi.

disclaimer: if the religious slant somehow offends you, take it for what it's worth. If I can sing Let it Be ("when i find myself in times of trouble/mother mary speaks to me") you can read this post. :P

A video of the original: http://msmemsy.wordpress.com/2008/09/04/the-people-of-the-boxes-by-dawud-wharnsby-ali/

The People of the Boxes
By Dawud Wharnsby

There were once some people
C------------------------------------
Who all saw their lives like empty boxes
----------G--------------------------------------
They looked around the world
-------F----------------------------
Collecting up the things they liked.
-------------C---------------------G-------

They filled their lives and boxes
-------C---------------------------
With the goodies that they gathered
-----------G-------------------------
And they all felt in control
-----------F------------------
Content and they all felt alright.
F--------------C--------G-----C-----

They climbed inside their boxes
-------C---------------------------
They settled with their trinkets.
-------G---------------------------
They neither looked nor learned much more
-------F-----------------------------------
And closed their lids up tight.
------C----------------------G-----

Once they fastened up their boxes
-------------C-------------------------
They smiled there inside
-------G----------------------
And they all thought in their darkness
-----------F-------------------------------
That the world was clear and bright.
-----------C------------G-----------C-------

But the world is not a box
----------F----------------C-------
There’s no lid no doors
-------------F-------C-------
No cardboard flaps or locks
-----G--------------------------
And everything in nature
------C---------------G--------
From the clouds to the rocks
-----------Am-------------G------
Is a piece of the puzzle of the purpose of man
-----C-------------G---------------F------------Am-----
It’s a piece of the peace of Islam.
-------C-------------G----------C------

Along came a wandering wise man
--C------------------------------
Whispering such words of truth
------G--------------------------
He stumbled on these boxes
----F--------------------------
So separate side by side
----C----------------G---------
He knocked upon the first one saying
----C-----------------------------------
Please come out and feel the day
G-------------------------------------
An answer came from deep within
----F-------------------------------
You’re not of us please go away
--------Am----------------G---------

He approached the second box
C-------------------------------
And tapped twice on the lid saying
------G--------------------------------
Peace to you inside
F-----------------------
Shall I show you a new way
C--------------------------G--------
Someone peeked out from a crack and said
------C---------------------------------------
You may just have a point
------G--------------------------
But it’s so comfy in my box
-------------F---------------------
In my box here I will stay
--------C----------------G---------

But the world is not a box
----------F----------------C----
There’s no lid no doors
-------------F-------C----
No cardboard flaps or locks
-----G-----------------------
And everything in nature
------C---------------G-----
From the clouds to the rocks
-----------Am-------------G----
Is a piece of the puzzle of the purpose of man
-----C-------------G---------------F------------Am---
It’s a piece of the peace of Islam.
-------C-------------G----------C----

He stood before the final box
----C--------------------------
A hiding face peaked out to him
---G----------------------------
And much to his surprise
-----F-------------------
He said I recognize those eyes
------------C---------------G----
I see you and you see me
------C-----------------
Why not come out and be free
-----------G-------------------
Faith and flowers wilt and die
------------F-------------------
If they are hidden from the sky.
-------------C-------------------G---

Cause the world is not a box
-------------F----------------C----
There’s no lid no doors
-------------F-------C----
No cardboard flaps or locks
-----G-----------------------
And everything in nature
------C---------------G-----
From the clouds to the rocks
-----------Am-------------G----
Is a piece of the puzzle of the purpose of man
-----C-------------G---------------F------------Am---
It’s a piece of the peace of Islam.
-------C-------------G----------C----

Now the centuries lie between
----------C---------------------
All the prophets and you and I
----------G----------------------
Civilizations are born and die
------F---------------------------
Each and everyday
C---------------G-----
We see good and bad and happy, sad
-------C---------------------------
And mad mistakes we wish we hadn’t made
----G------------------------------Am---
In our attempt to try and live up to their ways
---------F---------------------------------G----

But if we hide ourselves away
----------C------------------------
Afraid to grow and learn
--G------------------------------
We might wake up in the flames
-----------Am------------------------
Of the ignorance that burns
--------G-------------------------
And we’ll never be much more
------------F----------------------
Than only casualties of war
------------Am------------------
In a struggle we can’t win
-------C------------------------
If we have no faith to begin
-------------G-------------------

We’ve got to tip the lid
---------D---------------------
And let some sunlight in
---------------F--------C-----

Cause the world is not a box
-------------F----------------C----
There’s no lid no doors
-------------F-------C--------
No cardboard flaps or locks
-----G-----------------------
And everything in nature
------C---------------G-----
From the clouds to the rocks
-----------Am-------------G----
Is a piece of the puzzle of the purpose of man
-----C-------------G---------------F------------Am---
It’s a piece of the peace of Islam.
-------C-------------G----------C----

Revised.

2009-02-21T07:47:00.000-08:00

Ah, I'm sorry, people. I've been really busy these days and so I haven't got to the "Lab Write-Up" at all really.

But I've revised my sonnett from last year, to send to a "forum friend" from New Zilla for a university newspaper. It should be edited on the page of the original poem. Look in the "2008" posts. It's titled "A poem about love...kind of."

Lab Write-Up

2009-02-05T16:31:00.000-08:00

So I got this idea recently, whilst thinking of the numerous chemistry lab write-ups i need to do soon. I've been wondering for a while how exactly an outline of my story would work. Should it be bullet-form, or just sentences, or how should it be structured? So I decided a lab write-up format would work well. You know:

Purpose -- Why the hell are you writing this?

Procedure -- What are all the steps necessary to get the projected reactions (i.e. the story)to occur? Setting, cultures, environment, basic worldbuilding and minor plotbuilding.

Data -- Given such a purpose and procedure, what data could reasonably occur from this? What sort of actions would such characters take, what sort of random events or turns of fortune would be realistic, flowing, and relatively fair? The plot in a nutshell.

Analysis -- Given the data, and procedure, and the purpose behind it all, what will it look like on paper? The actual writing.

Conclusion -- "Percent Error" (was the purpose attained?), potential areas of improvement, reviews of friends and family, general feel of entire piece. What must be accomplished before finalization.

Hopefully, I will post a solid purpose sometime next week. Probably not by this weekend, though. I've got other things in mind.

Truly, the old friends are the golden friends. I'm comin' back, boys.

A quick note-to-self

2009-01-29T19:45:00.000-08:00

Partly a story idea, and partly a personal realization, based on two quotes on culture and religion.

"You inhale religion, you exhale culture. If you just have religion, then, er, you'll get bloated...you'll get indigestion." Saad Omar, a friend of mine, whilst onstage during the Poetic Vision Tour in Chicago, designed to promote rising Muslim songwriters.

"When we were growing up, it was like culture was the scoop of ice cream, and religion was like the sprinkles. Now it's like religion is the scoop, and culture is just the sprinkles." I believe this was from a magazine article, about an Arab Muslim growing up in Detroit, where there is such a large population of Muslims that some mosques are just for Albanians, or Turks, or Iranians, or whatever. Oh, shaykh would have something to say about that...sorry, I'm rambling.

But I think these two viewpoints, although opposing in a sense, really provide great insights for any diverse religious community like Islam. Because while we should value our various cultures and our culture as a whole, it shouldn't matter too much, not here in America, the great melting pot. Here, if we divide among lines of culture, our contribution to the mix will be so weak that we will be ruthlessly assimilated in a few generations without contributing to the flavor at all! No, we need a united American Muslim culture, transcending our immigrant parents' "cultural baggage."
Not that this baggage is all bad. It's just that cultures are ever-changing; my culture is no longer the same as my parents', nor was theirs the same as their parents. But our beliefs tie us to every Muslim on the planet -- whatever shade of brown. Hey, that's pretty much what we are, not black, white, or yellow, just slight variances in melanin, right?

Which reminds me of a great idea for a working title for Izmur's journey through the Obverse: Shades of Green.

I like it, anyhow. We shall see how the story of the immigrant looks like when doused in a bucket of Magic, wrung out by the hands of Metaphor, and set to dry on a stone of Reflection.

Which reminds me of a quote... "Bad storytelling is Falsehood scantly hidden by a badly-patched arrangement of truths, while good storytelling is the Truth, regally dressed in lies!"

It's all metaphor, basicallly.

Discrepancy in Mulan

2009-01-26T16:31:00.000-08:00

A quick post on something i recall from childhood.

In Mulan I, the Huns, led by Atilla, invade China.

In Mulan II, the Mongols, led by Genghis Khan, are about to invade. This being the point of the matchmaker and the three princesses, in order to stop the invasion or something, i think.

Genghis and Atilla were about, say, a thousand years apart.

Plot Hole, anybody?

Um, hey.

2009-01-17T07:02:00.000-08:00

So, readers, I've been meaning to post this in a while. It's a short story i wrote in seventh grade for a school project, and, well, it's pretty...bad. Inconsistencies, purple prose, lack of character development, you name it.

I know two of the frequent-ers of this site both have large stories in the works, and I'm sure some of you others have some experience with writing. So seriously...tear this to shreds in your comments, I don't really mind. So long as you let me know what you didn't like.

Seriously, this will be really helpful. Thanks.

DRACONIAN

The wolves of the wind raced over the lands of the Fertile Crescent. A storm ahead was brewing. Puddles of rain splashed down from tree branches and the palms swayed in the breeze. A leaf fell, spiraling in lofty manner. Below the leafy canopy, a legend was to be birthed.

Mashiru the adder slithered over the soaked ground; it had an interesting catch today. While it had hunted beside the banks of the Euphrates, it had encountered a strange plant. It looked like a lotus with a reddish stem and long leaves. He put it in his mouth to decorate his lair at home in the Cedar Forest. He was on his way right now, moving very cautiously. Predators may be around: eagles, hawks, mongooses, and possible men, considering them pests. He hissed in distaste. He simply hated men. His entire family was gone due to the farmers who never let them be. It wasn’t as if we ate the crops, he thought. Actually, we ate the creatures that did. Just because we adders have the power to kill humans doesn’t mean we do. Actually, we do, but not as often as they do us. And anyways, they cut down half of this forest. A man named Gilgamesh, a supposed hero, used our houses to make a gate. The legend never says anything about the animals living in the forest. Fuming to himself he went on his way; he was a very vengeful snake. Suddenly, something covered his vision; he panicked. It was just a leaf. His den was just ahead, a series of tunnels and networking passages. He slithered down it and turned into a cavern. The floor was littered with rat bones and feathers.

Mashiru placed the flower down. For some reason he had a desire to pick it up. So he did. He wondered, for no apparent reason, is it edible? That was ridiculous. It’s a plant for gods’ sake. I’m a carnivore. Heck with that, might as well try. After all, it was no ordinary plant. He bit it, trusting his conscience instead of experience. It wasn’t too bad. He swallowed the entire thing. He started feeling sick and suddenly went out cold. I hate my conscience.

Several hours later he awoke. What had the plant done? He was outside his home and the trees grew smaller. So did everything else, as a matter of fact. Wait. He slithered up to a puddle of water. He was a massive snake, thick as a log, with ebony black scales. He had horns that were pure white and his eyes had a red iris. “ I like this plant,” he said, chuckling. He sneezed, and a ball of fire flew out of his mouth, sizzling in the puddle. “Oh yes, I really like this plant! What does a small snake eat? It eats rats, birds, and insects. Ugh. What does a dragon eat? ANYTHING HE WANTS!” cackled the wyrm. “I am Mashiru…the Tormenter!”

* * *

Thrakk.

Thrakk. Gilaila thrust her hoe into the soil again. This is no work for the daughter of Gilgamesh, she grumbled. But with both of her parents dead, she would have to fend for her own, with only her bow, arrows, and knife to defend herself. She thought to herself: is the legend my father used to say true? Her father, Gilgamesh was with his friend Ekindu when the goddess Ishtar tried to make him marry her. He refused and Ishtar was furious. She sent a giant bull to kill them both! But together they slew the beast. Then, Ishtar resorted to an easier technique: she caused a disease to strike Ekindu. He died soon afterwards. Her father started worrying about death and searched for eternal life. A man named Upnaptishm told him it was in a plant in the bottom of the sea. He got it: it was a lotus-like flower with long leaves and a reddish stem. But before he could eat it, a snake took it when he put it aside to bathe. Destroyed by the loss, her father had moved to another city-state, where he was less revered and popular. This was the way she had to earn money after her father and mother died. Her mother, before she died, had told her not to reveal her identity so no one would take her back to the old city-state. She was a farmer and hunter for her landlord. After she plowed the field, she would go hunting.

An hour later, Gilaila was finished with the plowing. After stopping at the ziggurat to pray to the gods. She then walked out of the village, searching for the herds of antelope wandering the Fertile Crescent. Fitting an arrow, she held it ready to shoot. She then wandered into the shade of the Cedar Forest nearby. Surely there were some animals here, even if most of it was used to build a gate for Ur. Creatures there were, though not what she had hoped for.

Mashiru moved quickly over the rocky outcrops of his new cave. With his bigger build came a bigger appetite. He was hungry: for humans. The big serpent lay flat among the moss-covered rocks, lying in wait for unsuspecting villagers. Mashiru saw a shadow in the bushes, around the size of a human. He hissed in anticipation.

Gilaila moved silently through the brush along the lake, bow hand trembling. Something about this place was different, and she just couldn’t put her hand on it. Where were the herds of antelope stopping at the water hole for a drink? It seemed altogether too quiet. She noticed a movement in the rocks. It was too big to be a lion, too small to be…what? It wasn’t too small to be anything, except an elephant. Whatever it was, she didn’t feel like sticking around to find out. She had an uncanny impression that she had found out the gazelles’ very sensible reason for not being here.

She waited too late. Mashiru lunged out of his hiding place, fangs ready to impale the unfortunate girl. She did, however, see it coming, and dashed to one side: the wrong side. She fell in the lake.

Part II

2009-01-17T06:59:00.001-08:00

Gilaila, gasping for breath, climbed out of the lake. She felt a force yank her body back and forth and slam her on the ground. A massive black dragon was staring her in the eye. “Too small,” it mused. “Where are your kindred, you cringing dog? Speak! Mashiru demands you!” Gilaila seemed to not only have lost her breath, but because of the massive wyrm in front of her, she also lost her voice. “Not speaking, eh? Well, I’ll find out soon enough. He stuck his snout closer to her and flicked his tongue out. “Ugh. The reek of mankind is worse than any goat-pasture. At least now I can track the village to humans, to chaos, and to revenge!” However extremist Mashiru was, one must understand that many of his kin were slain by farmers afraid of them.

Gilaila needed to get to the city-state fast. If she didn’t arrive in time, the city would be forever doomed. She needed to warn the villagers before it was too late. But it wasn’t so easy. Even with the handicap of unfamiliarity with the city, Mashiru was much faster than she. She needed a mount. But she didn’t have one, so she just ran toward the city, in the opposite direction of the big snake. But running in the hot desert sun is nothing similar to running on a treadmill, especially if one has only light sandals to wear. The rays of the sun beat on her back, worse than any rawhide whip. She tripped over a branch embedded in the coal-hot sands and fell over, crying. “Gods, help me now!” she cried, falling face first into the sand.

For moments she lay there, seeming hours, grieving of the destruction of her city. Then she felt a cloud pass over her. Clouds? It was almost unheard of in the desert. A rumbling voice said deeply, “Thy prayer hath been answered.” Gilaila looked up. A beam of light descended from the skies. The luminosity took the shape of a horse-like animal with wings. It was pure white, wings radiant. A single horn protruded from its forhead. The gods had sent her…a unicorn?

“Greetings,” he said to her. “I have been summoned. For what?”

Gilaila was amazed. “I – I summoned you?”

“It seems so.”

“If that is so, well, put shortly, a big snake is coming to massacre my home and I need to reach it before he does and warn everyone.”

“Is that all?” asked the unicorn humorously. “But of course. Climb on my back. My name is Equus Rex.” She did as she was told. The unicorn flattened his wings on his side, tucked his head down and charged. His hooves did not sink in the sand. Gilaila felt pure muscle in his neck and shoulders as he thundered across the wasteland. Surely the snake could not move this fast. Surely…

By now they had reached the city’s walls. They saw the form of the wyrm moving ominously towards them. “Rex, you’re going to have to stay here. If anyone saw you, they might think you were a mythical monster, only complicating our task.”

“But you don’t think so do you?”

She patted his nose. “Of course not.”

Gilaila raced through the city until she got to her master in his house. “Sir, we are doomed! A big monster of a snake is coming towards us! It is massive and can destroy the city!”

“Child, stop making up nonsense. Get to work.”

“Sir, it is serious! I am not lying!”

“Get to – ” The hut caught on fire. A timber base of the house fell in front of the doorway. Taking her cloak, she stamped the log out and opened the door with it.

“Come on, master! Hurry!” But her master was dead. Now was not the time to grieve, she decided. She ran out of the hut. There was the snake again.

“Thought you could do something to save your delicate little city? Guess again!” he breathed fire at the girl. Narrowly escaping she fired an arrow at his head. It bounced off harmlessly. Curses. She later would admit to running away. No warrior, no matter how brave, could stand in front of the dragon without his\her legs turning to jelly.

A mere few minutes later, the city was in flames, and all was dead. Mashiru had left. Suddenly, as she was exiting the gates, saddened, she heard a creak. She turned around. Out of the rubble, a wooden plank was moving. Something was under it. She rushed to help the person, whoever it was. Lifting the charred wood, she saw that it was a young boy of her age, face stricken with bruises. He had shaggy black hair and a strong build. He must have, since even lifting a small log when it just hit you in the face is very tough. She rushed the boy to Rex. “Can you help him?” she pleaded. It just occurred to her how many people Mashiru had killed. At least saving one life was important. In a sense, by going too deep into the forest she had killed them. She had to save at least this one.

“My horn has healing powers, but to what extent, I do not know. I will try.” He placed his horn on the boy’s forelock and whispered in a low voice, “By Ishtar with her beauty, by Amurru with his guiding crook, by by Enlil with his powerful winds, by Enki with the rapid floods, Ninhursag with her protection in the womb, and by Uti, with all his radiance: may ye all help the bedraggled child before me.” Golden light spiraled from the mythical creature’s horn. The unsightly burns and blemishes on the young man’s face were gone. His heartbeat stopped beating as radically fast as it was earlier. There was a pause. After a while, the boy’s eyes fluttered open. Equus prodded him and made to lift him up by the collar of his tunic. But the boy got up by himself. Breathing heavily, he looked around as he sized up his situation. “Where…am I?”

“You’re safe,” whispered Gilaila. “The snake’s not here. But the city is in ruins.” The boy’s memories flooded in.

“The snake…” he breathed. “Yes. The city…Thank you for saving me.”

Gilaila blushed. “It wasn’t me. It was Equus Rex.”

Equus muttered, “But she got you out.” The boy searched his pockets. He looked at them with a troubled expression.

“Hold on. I need to get my belongings out of my house, if they’re in one piece. My name is Saef.” He strode off. A few minutes later Saef came, heavily armed. In his hand was a steel scimitar, unmarked by the fire. He had a helmet on his head and a wooden shield was slung on his back. Billowing in the wind was a large red cloak. “Now what?” he asked.

Rex pondered the thought. “We find the snake and monitor its progress. If it enters near any city, we kill it.”

“You make that sound easy,” laughed Gilaila, fixing her dark brown hair in a bun. “It’s going to be a lot harder than that. My arrows couldn’t pierce its hide.”

“Of course. Dragonskin is exceptionally tough. We will need to go to someone who has the arrows or blade powerful enough to pierce the creature’s hide first. Someone resourceful, someone wise…”

“Upnaptishm,” remarked Saef.

“Do you know where he lives?” inquired Rex. “I have heard stories of the wise man, but nothing more.”

“Yes,” interrupted Gilaila. “He lives off the coast of the Caspian Sea. My father gave me a map when he went to see him.” She pulled it out of her pocket. “But to get it, we have to cross…the Zagros.” Saef and Gilaila looked at each other. The Zagros was a rugged mountain range filled with mysterious stories of giant birds called rocs, massive bears and lions called lycanthropes and even dæmons. Surely this wasn’t the only way? But it was. Upnaptishm had an unworldly connection with the gods and knew whatever they knew. If he didn’t know anything, he would ask them.

“What of the boy?” asked Rex. “He could be of a help. And possibly a good friend.”

Gilaila contemplated the idea. “Yes, but can you carry us both? And even so, we hardly know him. We must distrust anyone and everyone.”

Saef looked surprised. “What? That’s not fair! I can fight and probably know more of battle than you two! Well, besides the unicorn. Besides, you two saved me, and I have to contribute to your cause.”

“You aren’t searching for revenge – ”

“I am. I know Mashiru better than you do. When he was an adder, he killed my mother when I was young.”

“Oh…forget me asking. I don’t exactly see why I didn’t want you, but I’m cool. What did you mean, when he was an adder?”

“Mashiru was his name, right? Mashiru was the name of the talking snake that stole your father’s plant. Funny I should know more about Gilgamesh than you.”

“All the more reason for my revenge,” mused Gilaila. “But how did he get so…big? And how did you know he was my father?”

“Well, you carry his bow, and who would be better to summon a unicorn than one of the two-third god’s descendants? But I don’t know how he got so big.”

“I know! Maybe it was the flower that he stole, eh?” exclaimed Rex. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? But why would Upnaptish – ”

“It’s settled,” Saef said hoisting himself onto Rex and beckoning Gilaila to do the same. She got on behind him. Equus Rex galloped over the sands then let his wings do the work. Neither of the riders had ever flown before, of course, and Saef had to hold on to Rex’s neck while Gilaila had to hold on to Saef. The wind formed by the stallion’s mighty wings was nearly unimaginable. The gale rushed through the otherwise stolid atmosphere, ruffling the hair of the two companions. Saef grinned and looked down at the herds of impala running away from the parameter of the winged beast. Just for showing off, Equus Rex dove downwards almost perpendicular to the dunes and hills of the arid landscape, surprising everyone on board. Gilaila’s eyes widened in delight and she hugged on to Saef as though for dear life. Of course, due to Rex’s speed and guile there was no fear for that.

Soon, they reached the base of the Zagros. The euphoria, one might call it, from flying around at what felt like mach for nearly an hour was gone. The atmosphere was foreboding, quiet. What would it be like to meet Upnaptishm? Would he pity their plight? It was all questions but none of the travelers voiced their thoughts. What was the need to when they all thought the same unanswerable questions in their mind?

The higher they flew up the side of the mountain, the colder it got, so cold that at one point Rex’s horn had tiny icicles on it. Rex paused in midair, then yawed to the left, looking for an opening in the mountain walls. “It’s no use. If we go any higher we’ll freeze. We must find a valley, and if there is none, we must walk. My feathers will not help us if they are frozen solid.” So they searched and searched for a gap or crevice in the walls. It was hard; the granite-cold rocks provided no crevice that anything but a slithering monster like Mashiru could get through. So they landed. They would have to cross the Zagros on foot. “Um, Gilaila?” said Saef, a hint of a smile on his face. “We’ve landed. You can let go of me now…”

Gilaila turned red and made a face, letting go of him and wiping her arms on Rex’s flank as though disgusted. Diverting the topic, she turned away from Saef and asked Rex, “Now what?”

“We cross the Zagros on foot. Right now, we all just need a staff of some sort to help us, or at least you two, to keep your balance.”

“Easier done than said,” remarked Saef. He unsheathed his scimitar and with a backhand stroke hewed two sturdy limbs from a dead cedar tree behind him. He handed one to Gilaila and kept one for himself. Shifting the on his pack, he stuck his staff into the ground and climbed forward. Gilaila and Equus followed suit. The quest was on.

Night fell. Equus and co. walked until they could walk no more. Rex crumpled on his knobby knees and gasped for breath. “By Anu! It’s freezing! Let’s stop here for the night.” Taking out a tinderbox, Saef cut a log and set it alight. Taking other kindling materials from the ground, he fed the fire. He sat beside Rex, getting ready to sleep. He wrapped his cloak around him. But for some reason, he couldn’t get to sleep. He looked at the others. Rex was fast asleep, kicking upward at imaginary enemies in his dreams. But Gilaila, with neither a furred coat to protect her, nor any cloak like that he had, was shivering and staring at the stars. Sighing, he undid the brooch and handed the cloak to her. She frowned.

“I can handle it myself thank you very much.”

“Okay, suit yourself. But I’m not going to use it.” An awkward pause followed.

“Er…fine. I don’t see what the big deal is, but alright.” She took the cloak and they fell asleep. Funnily enough, Saef felt warmer without the cloak than with it. Was it because he had more freedom of movement? Or was it for another reason that he felt warm when he gave the cloak to Gilgamesh’s daughter? He pushed the thought away and entered the realm of dreams.

Saef woke with a start. A heavy material was on him. It was his cloak. But didn’t Gilaila…of course. It was just like her. Where had she gone anyway? He looked around but didn’t see her anywhere. So he prodded Rex awake and informed him of the happenings. “Where is Gilaila?”

Part III

2009-01-17T06:58:00.000-08:00

“I don’t know. She was right beside me –” Suddenly they heard a fearsome screech. A large roc, or giant hawk, was chasing after something in the pine woods. They ran to see what – or who – it was. Their worst fears were confirmed. Gilaila was trapped between the large bird of prey and a limestone rock behind her. Undetered, she took her bow, and aimed at the monster. Unsure of what to do, the roc held back and backed away. But then, by sheer bad luck, the bow snapped. The roc turned around. Seeing the bow broken, it cawed a chilling cry of victory, and charged forward. Rex jumped forward and neighed. The roc turned slowly and warily around. Seeing the unicorn, it screeched and jumped forward. The unicorn flew up and around its head, making it dizzy. So far, the roc forgot entirely about the human below it. Gilaila slowly exited, afraid of catching its attention. Though the roc was much more powerful than the unicorn, it was not nearly as agile. So then it gave up the chase. It then set its sights back onto the unfortunate girl, now examining her wrecked composite bow.

“Gilaila…” called Saef imploringly.

“Not now. I’m trying to restring my bow,” she replied crossly.

“Gilaila!”

“Not –” The roc dove in for the kill. Thinking quickly, Saef charged in rammed her with his shoulder. Though she missed the impact of the blow, someone else took it: Saef. While the bird’s beak soared above them, an outward pointing talon crashed into his stomach. The claw, unfortunately, was pointing outwards and its razor-sharp serrated edge made a gruesome gash on his torso. He fell to the ground, writhing.

Gilaila turned around, fuming about the fact that he had pushed her down and further destroyed the bow when she saw the roc wheeling in the sky. That was why he did it. The bird would have killed her. What happened to – only then did she notice where he was. “Saef.” There was no answer. “Saef?” A poignant pause followed. “Saef!” Was he gone? He couldn’t be. No, it just didn’t connect in her mind. Saef…dead. Rex landed beside him.

“What, um, happened?”

“I don’t know, he just knocked me out of the way of the roc and he…got hit! Why…”

“I can’t heal this much. The boy wasn’t mortally wounded before when I did.”

“Just try!” she shrieked. Never before had he seen her this agitated. Nor ever was he this agitated. So he did. Gold light fell from his horn, but unlike before, Saef didn’t get up immediately. Now, however, he was breathing: a good sign. Gilaila crouched down beside him.

“Saef?” she called out, somewhat hopelessly.

His voice was on the verge of hearing. “I’m ok – well, actually I’m not.”

If unicorns could smile, Rex would have. “He speaks. If I just had some Althelus I could fix him. It is a leaf that sooths pain. I may have healed his injuries but the pain is still there.”

“What does it look like?”

“Well, it’s blueish red, and it has long leaves. But it’s found on, well, roc nests.”

“Oh. Well, if that’s what it takes.”

Climb on.” They flew towards the roc knowing that it would soon go to its nest. Sure enough, there it was, a snowy crag on a cliff. They flew around and landed near the massive nest. But the Althelus was in the middle of it. Inching her way across, she got to the middle and had the plant when the baby birds noticed. They cheeped and squawked and chased after her. She got scratched all over her legs and got on Rex’s back. The mother roc growled and soared after them. Holding on to Rex, they went in circles and made the creature dizzy.

“Do you like the lad?” inquired Rex as they winged through the sky.

“This is not the time for this.” Finally, they ducked under an icicle and the roc hit it. Shrieking in anger, the roc, tired out, turned homeward. They landed and Gilaila applied the Althelus to Saef’s injured stomach. After a while, Saef stirred. Slowly he got up.

“Ow.”

“Little human!” cried out Rex, enfolding him with his wings.

Gilaila lightly punched his shoulder. “Never, ever scare me like that.”

“Would you like to be scared, or dead?” remarked Saef wryly.

“Point taken. So, um, well, thanks. A million.”

Saef pondered the statement. “But it’s just repayment for the time when you and Rex saved me in the city.”

“I guess, but really, you risked more. When you pushed me in time, you risked your life and, frankly, nearly lost it. But when I saved you, I risked nothing. You, well, you’re, you’re a good guy. Perhaps one who doesn’t know when to be brave and when to save himself, but a good guy nonetheless.”

Saef ruffled his hair and looked away. “Oh fine. You’re right. But now we have a quest to complete. You might need some of that plant yourself,” he remarked, pointing at her legs scratched by the baby rocs. The quest resumed as they traveled towards the Caspian Sea. Wonders would await them there.

It was a long journey. The rocks were always slick with ice and the winds were unforgiving. Many times would they stumble on the ground, saved from injury by one or the other: by Rex’s wing or hoof, or Saef’s or Gilaila’s hand. How long would this last? And why were the gods doing this to them? Maybe they knew something they didn’t. Or maybe they knew something one of them did…

Day after day after day was the same thing: trekking through endless sheets of snow, ice, wind, hail, and whatever else the gods could throw at them, short of spears. Finally they came to a respite, a valley. It was warmer and the high peaks blocked any wind that was strong. But they would have to stop only briefly in the oasis of a mountain range like the Zagros.

After refilling the waterskins and hunting for meat, they stopped for a brief sizing up of their situation. They just went down into a valley, and now they needed to get up. “I can fly us up to the top of the cliffs, but no further. My wings will have frozen again.” Indeed the valley had helped him melt the water droplets in his feathers. So they got on his back once more and Rex flew up. Galloping across the side of the valley to gain momentum, he flapped his massive wings frantically in an attempt to remain aloft. The earth descended beneath them and the edge of the mountain peak drew closer. It grew gradually colder. They looked around. What they saw took their breath away.

Part IV

2009-01-17T06:56:00.000-08:00

White-capped peaks circled all around them, grey and black crags of granite gracefully carved by nature, jutting out of the mountains. Below this, a pine forest mottled the rocks, and waterfalls spewed from within the creeks clear, cold water. It was a wonder to behold. But something was blotching the landscape, or rather, many things. Two swarms of dots were moving towards each other at an alarmingly fast rate; Equus skirted the surface of the mountains as they dove downwards to get a closer look. Landing on a nearby rock, they looked around. Two massive battalions of creatures were charging at each other. One group was of short men with vicious-looking axes, and the other was a group of green-skinned skinny monsters with long noses and wicked-edged knives. A furious din erupted: the sides had clashed. The dwarves, if that was what they were, were hewing heads and other body parts from their enemies, while the furious goblin-things were slashing and stabbing, oblivious to the watchers. That was until the goblins retreated. They fled away from the dwarves and to the travelers. One of them saw it and yelled a high-pitched scream. The others turned around. Even the dwarves stopped their charge. They all saw the unicorn and the two riders.

“Ye gods, what is that thing?” mused the dwarf leader, for leader he surely was with his crown and bright cloak. He drew his sword. “It has a good pelt.” The other dwarves caught on and grinned devilishly at each other. Two of them, clad in hunter camouflage, took out two shortbows. Quick as lightning, they drew their arrows and sighted along them at the unicorn. They were trapped. They could not move fast enough to get away, and if they attacked, the archers had a whole army to back them. So, thinking fast, Gilaila looked at her surroundings and screamed as loud as she could. The echoes died out over the resonating clifftops. But then the earth began to shake, and humans, unicorn, dwarves and goblins looked up. A part of the mountain was disconnecting itself from the rock. Whatever Gilaila had done, somehow the sound had created an avalanche. With a rumble, a massive crag hurtled downward upon the unfortunate soldiers, accompanied by a pile of cold, unwelcome, dense snow.

Rex flew out of the way just in time, hovering around the scene. A ghastly cry echoed across the mountains, and many more followed as the falling snow and rocks smote the creatures. They had just made it.

A few minutes later, after the rocks subsided, they ventured down to see what the outcome had been. Searching through the rubble they saw the dead dwarf leader, limp among his goblin enemies. His sword was a light rapier, set with jewels and gold-hilted. Atop the base of the fuller of the blade was a decoration of a black spiked leaf. Saef picked it up and examined the weapon. Taking a few slashes, he twirled it around experimentally and stabbed it downwards in the snow. Yanking it out of the ground, he said to Gilaila, “Which weapon is better? This one or my scimitar?”

“Well, this one is a lot more powerful. I’d suggest using it.”

He tossed the flawless blade to her. “Alright. You can have it. You’ll need more than that butterknife to protect you,” he added with grim humor.

Gilaila picked up the blade and ran her finger down the flat. “I wonder…” she pondered over the blade. Then, she spun around gracefully, dress billowing and stabbed it at the rock they had landed on. To their utmost surprise, the rock split in two and the weapon gleamed viciously.

“Yeah. This one is better. Are you sure you don’t want it?” she asked teasingly.

“Nah. I’ve more practice with this thing, and it’s all I’ve got to remember my dad’s forge as the blacksmith in our city-state.” There was a silence as they realized at what they left behind and where they had come from. But then, progress often involving leaving things that are dear to you behind so you can move on. They left everything but the clothes on their back and their weapons. One could easily say, then, that they had progressed rather well.

But once they flew away from the peaks and the avalanche wreck, they were back to the same old grueling pace. It was mainly hike, eat, and sleep. There was no breath left for talk. In a week or two (they had lost track of the date), they saw the first relief in sight: deciduous trees. Ahead was a massive yellow and red carpet of trees swathing the landscape. An eagle or two soared ahead as they saw the last peak; the trek over the Zagros was with the end in sight. As they neared the foot of the last peak in their way before they hiked to the Caspian Sea, they saw another welcoming sight: a hut. They walked up to the hut and knocked on the door. It was evening and the resident was sure to be home and to give them help or possibly supplies. The door opened, and a middle-aged man walked out and looked at them. “What brings you travelers here to my house?”

“Sir, we are in search of the direction to the wise man, Upnaptishm, and his island in the Sea not far from here.”

“Oh, is that all? I’ve never been there myself, but I’ve heard tell. The only port near there is exactly east of the island and – I say, what a marvelous beast you have! Where did you find the flying…horse?”

“He, well, came to our aid,” answered Gilaila. “And why are you sprouting hairs like that?!” True, the man seemed to get wider and had more hair on his arms and face than when he first opened the door.

“I am not! Wait, I am. Oh no…not this! Children, look outside! Do you see the moon?”

Saef looked outside and remarked, “What a beautiful full moo – ”

“No! You must run! I am… a…grrrrrr……..grrrrrrrrrr…..grrr…” The man’s appearance changed yet again. His nose and ears elongated and his clothes ripped. They gasped in horror. He was a werewolf.

The beast lunged at them, growling. Lashing out a paw, he ripped the hem of Saef’s cloak. They all ran to the door of the hut. It was locked. They were trapped in a hut with a werewolf. The once kindly man was now a ferocious beast, and so they drew their weapons. But though they were probably capable of killing the werewolf, because of the man inside they didn’t have the heart. They would have to get out and fly away. The werewolf lunged at them yet again and knocked over the lantern hanging over the doorway. By sheer bad luck, the string the lantern was hanging by frayed and before they knew it the man’s hammock was on fire. Then the wooden boards caught it. Soon the house was ablaze.

Even though the werewolf was too afraid to attack them, they couldn’t stop to take a break. The door was locked and they were about to be cremated alive! Saef yelled over the roaring blaze, “On the count of three, we all ram the doorway! One…two…three!” Saef hacked wildly at the door with his scimitar and Rex kicked ferociously at it. With a mighty lunge, Gilaila stabbed the sword inside the door. The sword itself looked flaming and the door splintered into many pieces. Rushing out, they looked at each other to make sure they had no injuries. Thankfully, they had none. But out of the corner of their eye, to their disappointment, the werewolf had got out too. Quickly swinging upon Rex’s back, the riders and horse took to the sky. Never had the fresh, cold air felt so good. Below them they heard the vengeful howl of a wolf that had missed his prey.

The trek over the Zagros Mountains was over. Now all they had to do was to find Upnaptishm and get a weapon to pierce Mashiru’s hide. Then they must find out how the dragon became a dragon and how to prevent a further mishap with another monster. All that was between them and Upnaptishm was a forest and the sea.

The journey through the forest was easy comparably to the Zagros. The only difficulty was the roots that they all stumbled upon since even Equus himself could never fly an entire forest nonstop. There was no shortage of food or water, and the autumn scene was, if possible, better than the glacial peaks of Zagros. In about a week or so, they came to the river flowing into the Caspian. They were close. Suddenly they saw a shadow on the ground much bigger than they were that was right where they were. Was it another roc? Grasping their weapons, the two humans looked up, only to see a messenger dove fly to wards them. It dropped something in Saef’s hands and flew off. It was a scroll. He opened it and furrowed his brows in thought. “What is it?” asked Gilaila.

Lost in thought, Saef didn’t answer and then said, “Oh, it’s just a friend from another city-state who wants to know about how I am. He still doesn’t know we left and that the city-state was burnt.”

“Then how did the dove know you were here?” asked Rex suspiciously.

“Let’s just say it’s not an ordinary dove,” replied Saef, grinning.

But that wasn’t the last flying thing they’d see. Later, during the evening, the clouds seemed to have covered the moon. Confused (it was cloudless all day) they looked up. It wasn’t the clouds; it seemed to be a black shroud covering the celestial body. They stopped. The shroud moved closer. Then what they saw was a phantom-like creature hovering in the air with an invisible body and face but a hooded robe flowing around it. The air grew colder and thicker, and out of thin air, a gleaming knife appeared in his hand. The knife, like the rest of the monster, flickered like something on the verge of disappearing but never getting that far. Abandoning all guile and stealth, the monster leapt down upon them with a hiss from its invisible mouth. Whipping out an arrow, Gilaila carefully sighted and shot at the phantasm. The arrow went straight through the monster. In turn, the monster took its left hand (or left arm hole in his robe) and jerked its arm towards them. A bolt of concentrated air hit them harder than a wave of icy water and sent them back a few paces. He could hurt them, but they couldn’t hurt him. Suddenly, Saef had an idea. He knew if they ran his magical bolts would hit them and if they stayed he’d cut them to pieces. Looking at the knife he saw a symbol: a black spiked leaf. “Gilaila, give me your sword for a second.”

Part V

2009-01-17T06:29:00.000-08:00

“Okay.”

He took the blade and flourished it. Dashing forward he slashed at the monster. Surprised by the move, the monster rolled aside, dodging the blade. Then he dealt a barrage of blows at him, all parried by the sword. Bounding towards the wraith, Saef stabbed forwards, and to their utmost surprise, the robe tore and the creature fell down in a heap. He passed the blade back to Gilaila and remarked, “You have a good blade.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Well, if it can cut through stone and wood I guessed it could cut through ghosts as well.”

“What an awfully, well, risky risk to take.”

“I suppose so. But we’d best get moving before night falls. We don’t want another one.”

“We sure don’t,” chuckled Rex as he trotted beside them.

Thankfully, they never encountered anything else until they got to the shores. Remembering what the werewolf told them, they flew to the port and took off west. On the way, Rex noticed Saef became extremely worried and kept looking back to the shores. Not sure of what to do, he just ignored this and moved on. He was a queer character.

Soon they passed the open seas and landed on Upnaptishm’s island, a tropical place with many parrots and birds circling the canopy. They saw a magnificent castle in the center. It must be Upnaptishm’s hideout. They set out for it in the morning. In the evening as they took a rest, Saef beckoned Gilaila to follow him to the outskirts of the castle.

“Gilaila,” he said as they were walking, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Gilaila looked surprised. Now what could that be? Maybe he would explain his past. Or maybe he would tell me about what to do when we get there. Or maybe… A very awkward picture was painted in her mind as she thought about it. Her heart started beating faster.

“Yes?” she inquired somewhat teasingly.

“I – well – when you go past this hill, there’s an ambush. Mashiru and Upnaptishm’s archers will be in the castle, and you won’t get the weapon.”

“What?”

“Upnaptishm’s evil. He wanted your father to get the flower at the bottom of the sea to create things like Mashiru to conquer all of Mesopotamia. He can’t go down to the sea himself, since stealing the flower of the gods will make you die within ten years. And did you ever wonder how your dad managed to get to the bottom of the sea without suffocating? All of Gilgamesh’s descendants can breathe underwater, which is why he wants you to go to the ocean floor and get as many flowers as you can before ten years is up. He sent Mashiru to take the flower and bring it. But instead he ate it, which helps the vile old man just the same.”

Gilaila took at least a minute to digest this information. “Then how do you know all this?”

“Gilaila, I work for him. I didn’t want to do it but he made me to! He offered it to me!”

“What?”

“He offered me eternal life.” Saef’s eyes, hardened like that of a warrior, were now beginning to leak tears.

It all made sense. How else did the wraith know where to find them? Maybe it was another of his creation. And…

Gilaila grabbed the scroll Saef had and read it. It said: Hello Saef. How are you? Have you completed the quest? I can’t believe that my son will have eternal life! Tell me how it’s going – Mom. “Mashiru didn’t kill your mom did he?” she growled, blood rising to her face.

His face hung in shame. “No.”

Gilaila’s temper gave way. Knocking him to the ground and placing her knife to his neck, she shrieked, “I knew it was wrong to bring you along! I knew it! You betrayed Rex and me to the slime! But that can be fixed. I’m going to kill you here and now, you traitor’s scum!” Her eyes had a cold, icy gleam in them. This was going to hurt.

This was an interesting villain. He didn’t cower, ask for mercy, or hide behind a tree. Saef just lay there and said solemnly, “Yes. You will. I understand what I did was wrong, but I’m not a traitor. I’m simply a double-crosser just about to be slain by the one who he betrayed his enemy for.” The last sentence was filled with bitter sarcasm.

“You did not betray Upnaptishm! You betrayed me, you fool!”

“Yes I did. And from what I just told you, about all that Upnaptishm really is, who did I betray that time? Eh?” His voice grew stronger as he found a piece of hard evidence to reversethe loss of their friendship (and his life).

Gilaila took a minute and pondered it. So he really was a double-crosser. He was bad to start with, but in truth, he really betrayed Upnaptishm before his hopes and dreams had come true. And as for the fact he betrayed them in the first place, she realized she probably would have done the same. After all, the prize was eternal life. Slowly she raised her blade. “Fine. You did betray him. You’re on our side. Besides, I would have done the same for eternal life. And to think I nearly murdered you…”

“It’s quite alright.”

“And why did you betray him? We didn’t promise anything.”

At this Saef grinned. “What’s eternal life when you don’t have the friends to share it with?”

This statement overcame Gilaila’s anger. She smiled and helped him up to his feet. “Awww, how sweet. Come on, it’s best we got back to camp. Rex might be wondering.”

“Yeah. And about the special sword that could penetrate Mashiru’s scales, between you and me, I have a fancy it’s the one you hold right now.” That was a possibility. If it could cut through rock, wood, and phantom, it probably could cut through scales.

They woke up early and told everything to Rex, who at first attempted to stomp Saef to death. But of course, he also let the truth wash over him and didn’t do anything more. They headed a different way to the castle, deciding to finish the old man and the snake once and for all. Creeping through the bushes, they tried to get to the back door. A man was patrolling the gate and turned around, hearing their footsteps. They stopped. He turned away and sheathed his sword. Unfortunately, a branch fell from the nearby tree and he called out, “Who’s there?” No one answered. He blew a horn around his neck. They heard a horn in reply. It was far in the distance, so they decided to go ahead and charge him. But suddenly, the earth split and out stepped Mashiru and Upnaptishm. The old man smiled cheerily at Saef and said, “Well done boy, well done! Now just come over here and you’ll get your reward.” Saef took one last look at them and moved to Upnaptishm. What was he doing? Now addressing the girl and unicorn, he said, “The boy betrayed you! I will never let you go unless you go to the bottom of the sea and fetch me 500 of the fire lotus! Now, if you run, my bodyguard here will toast you and it will be all – ” the man toppled over. While he was ranting about his triumph, Saef gutted him with his blade. How did that happen? Wasn’t he immortal? Yes, but the gods were all wise. The pact they made with him said that he was everlasting, not immortal. He could not die, but could be killed. The snake realized what happened and attacked them. They dodged the flame, hitting the forest behind them and setting it ablaze. Saef took a burning stave and hurled it at the monster. It bounced off harmlessly. It was time for Gilaila to do the honors. She took her sword and leapt up, swinging the sword sideways. But before it dug into the monster’s flesh, the monster’s tail grabbed it and twisted it like a paperclip. So Saef was wrong. Now they were trapped between fire and a fire-breathing monster. Rex looked at Saef and Gilaila.

“Maybe only another mythical creature can penetrate the monster’s hide.”

Saef realized what he was going to do. “No,” he breathed. “There must be some other way!”

“No, little human,” he replied, nuzzling his head. “This is where the honor of the gods and their mistake of giving the fool eternal life is at stake.” He charged forward, galloping towards the monster. Slamming his horn upon the snake’s body, he knocked the dragon to the ground. The snake writhed and his tail bit into the unicorn’s flank. They both fell to the ground, limp. Gilaila and Saef rushed forward, trying to revive the unicorn. The horse looked up at them and with a mournful look in his eyes, he neighed his last bray, and joined his adversary in the eternal sleep.

Gilaila cried through most of the night at their camp by the sea. Saef wiped her tears while his own flowed just as freely down his cheeks. “There must have been another way,” said Gilaila somberly.

“I don’t think so. If there was, he would have told us.”

Gilaila looked at him. “Do you know, I don’t think he would. Sacrificing himself would be just like him. So…noble, so proud, so – ”

“ – So Equus.”

Gilaila laughed and draped an arm around him. “Yeah. He wouldn’t settle for anything else, would he?” There was a pause as they both took in the devastating events of what had just happened. “Now what?”

“We go find what other monsters Upnaptishm got from your father and then we have to kill them. Afterwards we have to ask the gods to destroy the fire lotuses and do whatever they ask so we do. We shouldn’t go in there without suffering the curse.”

“And if they say no then what?”

“We ask them to take the spell off.”

“What if they say no that time?”

“Then we should do it anyway and live the last ten years of our life happily.”

That sounded harsh. But if Rex could do it, they could too. Gilaila grinned. “Oh come on, let’s not look so pessimistic. I’m sure the gods will realize what would happen if the fire lotuses stayed. Besides, let’s take this one step at a time and first find out how many monsters remain.”

“And if the number is over a thousand then what?” Saef remarked, mocking her tone.

“Who cares? We’ll get as many as we can before they get us.”

“As a team?”

“As a team,” she replied.

Saef took her hand in his. “Then it’ll be no problem.”

The wolves of the wind raced over the jungles of the island, howling a much merrier tune. The storm was over. And who knew it? A new one was now brewing…

....Aaand it's over. Whew. Sorry if you actually read through all of that. :P
Hey, I was a seventh-grader. We didn't actually have complex minds back then.

For more information, read the actual Epic of Gilgamesh. It's manyfold more interesting than this spinoff.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epic_of_Gilgamesh
http://www.ancienttexts.org/library/mesopotamian/gilgamesh/

Comic-Com: xkcd #513

2008-12-22T08:57:00.000-08:00

Comic-Commentary (Comic-Com)
A new idea for a series of posts. Not loosely based on Comic-Con, of course. Basically, on days when I have some free time but have nothing new to post, I'll find a webcomic I like and talk about it, and probably ramble off in an only distantly related tangent. What fun.
Okay, here goes...

Haha, Randall Munroe, you have done it again.

http://xkcd.com/513/

This type of comic appears only occasionally on xkcd -- most of Munroe's comics are bizzare, random, and filled with references to, well, just about anything. So much so that sometimes you have to go look stuff up to understand what he's talking about!

I think almost everyone can relate to this one, though. It's scary, actually -- because Munroe's characters have no faces, you can easily imagine yourself or others you know in these roles, and you're like, damn. Is this seriously what I'm doing?

Periodic self-reflection is good, though, and anything that jolts you back into reality like this comic did for me has certainly served its purpose. Think about this comic for a moment.
*moment*
So...friends. I'd first like to assure you all from what little experience I have with this issue; most guys don't have this whole thing planned out in their head. Usually, it's just that they're just attracted to you; and surely your friends are people who you are attracted to! And God didn't make us into males and females except for us to be attracted to one another. Besides, your friends are probably the people who are most compatible with you anyway. Only problem is though they may be great life partners, they probably won't make the best dates, especially in high school when all of this spans over a few months at best anyways. And it's hard to prevent something from happening. I guess the problem is not so much with the friendship as to the extent of the friendship. Let me explain.

"I'll make you depend on me." Scary, isn't it? But look. They read together in the parks. When she's heartbroken, he's there to soothe her. He washes her dishes. They get drunk together on the couch. He *hugs* her via chat, for God's sake! Regardless of his intention, when the two of them are so close and dependent, there's bound to be some sort of romantic tensions.

I know that many people believe in it, but the idea of the ideal Platonic relationship -- simply, a decently attractive guy and an unrelated, equally attractive girl sharing a friendship as close as brotherhood with no romantic tensions whatsoever -- rather strikes me as, well, idealistic. Love happens. If you're going to have a guy as a close friend, just keep his gender (and yours) in mind when you're with him, and don't be surprised if there are some hidden revelations that one of you needs to give.

But see what happens when you take out the "as close as brotherhood" part, and define a Platonic relationship as "a decently attractive guy and an unrelated, equally attractive girl sharing a friendship with no romantic tensions whatsoever." This is very feasible, and I'm sure we all have relationships like these. It's the extent that is where the problem lies; where people draw the line.

Now, I could say, as the follower of a religion that deems any romantic/sexual relationship outside of marriage as harmful, and one who adheres to this principle, that I'm in the clear, right? Well, see, in the right circumstances, even principles can break like twigs. Which is probably the reason why I don't go to those big school dances, usually. I guess under that environment, everyone around you grinding or smooching, music pounding, some people probably wasted, spirits soaring until you think you can't go wrong, well...I wouldn't trust myself not to do anything "typical."

But back to the comic. So the guy's doing all those nice things for her and all, but as a good friend of mine once said, "From a guy, a compliment is an investment." Now that's not always the case, but just be cautious of it all the same. And notice what the girl does wrong, and frankly, it surprises me -- she doesn't press the issue or ask him about it at all! And it's because she doesn't want to hurt his feelings?! That never stopped them before! When he hugs her, she never questions his altruism. He's a nice kid, she's thinking. But really, people need their feelings hurt every now and then, if only so that they can check themselves to make sure none of those insults are true.

On these issues, girls are usually way upfront and direct anyways. Like, completely at random, "Do you like me?" The conventional answer being "Um...yeah, I guess." Which is followed by "No, do you 'like' like me?" Now, from here, I suppose lying is all right, if it saves you from unnecessary drama, but for God's sake don't lie to yourself. Anyway, the possible choices being:
A. The lie. "Pshh...no." Which merits "Oh...okay never mind."
B. The half-truth. "Well...yeah, actually." Which could merit everything from disgust to adoration.
C. The truth. "I suppose I do, but see, high school relationships are just depressing. A few weeks of holding hands, kissing, which somehow creates lots of drama and stress, and then it's over, and it's like it never happened. Friends are for now. Serious relationships are for way later." Which merits "omg, you're such a jerk!"

Sometimes honesty sucks.

So I've seriously digressed from the comic, but I'm getting to a point, or rather several:
Watch yourself, how you act with others, especially with the people that you like. Don't abuse a friendship; be polite and have some boundaries. Think before you speak. Don't ever dismiss any disquieting thought. Think about it, dwell upon it.
In the words of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody:
"Constant Vigilance!"
May he rest in peace.

...hell, we all could use some peaceful rest this winter. Happy hols, everyone! Eid Mubarak, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and all that.

[edit] Guys, this is an ideal, I know, I know. I probably sounded real preachy there. But work towards it. I will if you will.

Words from some wise men.

2008-12-13T12:14:00.000-08:00

As important as it is to be intellectually innovative, it's important to preserve what we've already learned, so that we don't have to rediscover ourselves.

With that said, here are some quotes and notes from several lectures I've taken from several religious leaders last summer. This post is actually from August. I saved it as a draft once and I never actually posted it. So...here 'tis, with minimal adjustments from the orignal.

*These words are not verbatim, and [words in parentheses are mine and not related to their words at all.]

Ustadh Taha Abdul-Baseer

-All parables have some aim. When God tells us "A good phrase is like a tree" in the Qur'an, and then proceeds to expound on how the tree has firm roots in its soil, and reaches up to the heavens, and has many branches, it's not just to sound pretty. It's to tell us that a good phrase should have deep roots in conviction, branch out to reach many people, and have a strong impact. Parables are not just to be marveled at. [After all, if you believe that these are God's words, then they surely cannot be taken lightly!]

-Success in religion is a balance of hope and fear, says the Tradition. Like a bird in flight, both wings have to be in balance if you want to fly straight. If your wing of hope is too weighted, you will veer to the right, thinking, "Oh, whatever I do, God will forgive me" and you won't try to correct yourself. If the wing of fear is too weighted, you will veer to the left, thinking, "What's the use of even trying to control my sins? Even my very body is against me! I might as well just indulge now, since there may or may not be an Afterlife."

Shaykh Tewfik Choukri

-One of the first fitnahs [trials, tribulations, periods of contention] in the early Muslim community was started by the khawarij, when ‘Ali was Caliph. [The Khawarij were a group of radical dissenters with a very exclusivist philosophy.] They believed that you had to use the Qur’an directly, with no interpretations, and no attention to the circumstances which the verse was revealed or to one's own circumstances. They had the best prayer and fasting, and the best intentions, but they had the wrong understanding. You have to understand Islam, and then you can act. Not the opposite. [Look before you leap, in other words.] The Qur’an says: “Know that there is none with the right of worship except Allah, then ask for forgiveness.” This means, you have to understand the concept of Tawhid, or the one-ness of God, then you can act i.e. ask for forgiveness.

-But those misguided shaykhs who don’t know how to understand Islam in the context of America are not to be blamed. The community put him there, after all. Why don’t we have any American Muslim scholars ready to take their place, who have gone through the American experience and understand the circumstances better? [Oh right.]They have all become doctors and scientists and engineers.

-In order to understand Islam, you have to know the language of the Qur’an, the linguistics. For example, the Qur’an says, “In the masjid there are men giving praise [in prayer].” Some people interpret this phrase to imply that only men can go to the masjid. There's a mosque in Chicago that I stopped at once with my family for Friday prayers. After the prayer was over, a man went up to me and quietly told me that I shouldn't bring my wife here next time. [There was no next time, of course.] In some places, you then have American Muslim women being able to go to the mall, work, restaurants, everywhere but the masjid. But even in the days of Muhammad and his Companions, women went to the masjid all the time. In fact, Umm ad-Darda organized religious discussions in Damascus in the time of the Companions. Their understanding was that by “men” (Ar. "rajul") Allah meant “upright people” because Arabic is a patriarchal language and “men” sometimes implied a state of mind or a character. The language of Arabic has changed so much from then that even an Arab needs to go back and see how the verse was applied.

-In fact, Abdullah ibn Abbas said that he only fully understood a certain verse in the Quran while watching two Bedouins arguing. Their Arabic was the closest to the Prophet’s Quraysh dialect, which the verse was revealed in, and amongst their insults he caught a word or a grammar structure used in the verse, and using the context he found a deeper meaning to the text.

Imam Muhammad Majid

-Imagine if you're trapped in an airport for an indefinite period of time due to a winter storm. You decide to shorten your prayers, because you're traveling, even though you don't know if you'll be here for another day, or for the rest of your life [in which case you wouldn't be traveling.] The same is with life. You're just "in transit" here, and you don't know if you'll be here for a day, a month, or a year. And as such, you should shorten your worldly pursuits accordingly. [in the Muslim creed, it is permissible to shorten your prayers while travelling.]

-So spend of your time in material goods with reflection of how long you will benefit from it, and spend your time in faith with reflection of how long you will benefit from it.

-The friend is that who you find in difficult times, not the one who you find in easy times.

-Everything you love will leave you at one point or another, except for your deeds.

-Get serious! [We all laughed at this. Can you imagine it? An elderly, portly Sudanese bearded man telling you, "Get serious!" His African accent lent to the humor of the situation.]

-The richest woman in the suburbs still sleeps in one bed, just like the poorest woman in the inner city [asides from homeless people, obviously.] It's not comfortable to sleep with one foot in one bed and one foot in the other. She eats roughly the same amount of food as we all do, because it's just not comfortable to eat too much. [She may even be thinner than her poorer sisters in the inner city, being able to afford a gym and healthy food and time to use a gym.] Her life is just as variable as anyone else's. She is just as vulnerable to mortality as anyone else. Wealth does not really matter so much; we're all humans with human problems. [I think the point he's trying to make is that the pursuit of worldly pleasures is only satisfying until you have slightly more than enough; afterwards, its "marginal satisfaction" -- the amount of satisfaction from obtaining another unit of the good -- starts to decrease.]

-A man went to a party as an invited guest of honor dressed in his casual attire, according to the Hadith (Prophetic Narration). The men at the door took a look at him and told him to go home. [Perhaps they didn't recognize him, having only seen him before in his fancier clothes, or perhaps they really did consider him inferior to them because of what he wore.] Then he went home and put on a nice suit, with flowing sleeves and made of expensive material. When he went back, the guests let him in, saying, "Welcome!" At the banquet, he grabbed his sleeve in a bunch and pointedly dipped it in his food. The guests were perplexed. Upon asking, they recieved this answer. "I was the same person, with or without the suit. It is obviously the suit that was invited to this party. So let the suit eat!"

...that sounds like a humorous note to end on.
!A Dios!

Well, that was fun.

2008-12-06T16:06:00.000-08:00

Risk+SuperSmashBros+KillerBunnies+Cheese=WIN,
as a certain trafficker of this website knows. :)

MOST MYSTERIOUSLY,
Thalib

Slap-stick.

2008-12-05T14:28:00.000-08:00

Aren't hyphenated words amusing? Especially when they're not supposed to be hyphenated.

Just posting today to remind myself of a plot bunny, because otherwise I'll forget it. I've only posted one so far, but there have been several more that I have thought of -- or, I think, because I've forgotten them now in any case. They were probably unimportant.

Thought of this on the treadmill, actually. Guess it was because the task was so mundane, it wasn't hard to get my mind wandering. So, I thought, wouldn't it be interesting to start it all off with something abnormally normal -- say, the main character jogging. And I think this is bad form for worldbuilding, but I then thought of a character that befitted the action of jogging. It really should be the other way around, but when you're so early in the game, it doesn't really matter.

So...middle-aged, fit, green (obviously), um, once upon a time was a scout during the Partition? (Will explain later. Sorry.) Whatever. Set up his own restaurant by the Edge, but actually lives closer downtown, a few miles. Jogs to work to keep fit. For some odd reason or another, he has to take a detour, up on those walkway-tree-things, and so he finds himself with the Edge on one side, and a factory complex on the other. Just jogging alongside the doors of the factory when suddenly, somebody opens the door right beside him, and quite abruptly too. The door slams open on him full force and he stumbles several feet to his left; several feet too far, for he falls off the walkway, tumbles down a roof, and before he knows it, he has cascaded off the Edge with a belated, "AAahh..." Or better yet, no sound at all. And it has to happen real fast. Just like bam, thunk, and silence. And then the bemused opener of the door looks around, sees nothing weird, and shuts the door.

Well, the Reverse of Sekka has to be discovered somehow.

...I realize that this is a load of nonsense for any possible readers. It barely makes sense to me. But seriously, when finals are over, I'll give this prologue thing another shot.

An Old Poem.

2008-12-03T15:36:00.000-08:00

Haven't done too much in the writing field, aside from a few journalistic pieces here and there. So, to maintain the pretense of doing something productive with my free time, here's an old poem i wrought out of stone. No, really. ;)

It's basically "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allen Poe in poetry form. Get it, poetry hahah.
It's a wee bit long...so yeah.

The Tell-Tale Heart

I’m sure to be found guilty in the morrow when I’m tried
For my acts towards an old man who, by my hand, had died.
He had never wronged me yet ‘tis my fault that he’s dead.
Perhaps you think me crazy, a bit touched in the head?

Mad? Mad! You fancy me mad to murder one so frail.
But hearken to the way I calmly tell you of my tale.

Now this old man lived in my house; here he would retire.
He never had wronged me, and of his gold, I had no desire.
But what, then, had fuelled the fire?

He had an eye, a light blue eye,
A chilling haunting vulture eye.
At length I thought to destroy this menace:
The old man was to die.

Mad? Mad! You fancy me mad, for the old man had done me no harm.
But hearken to the way I killed him, using wit and charm.

Though I was always kind to the old man I was even more kind still
The week before I killed him. How could he suspect bad will?
And every night as the clock struck twelve,
I slowly, slowly – oh so slowly – opened up his chamber door.
When I found his evil eye not open, I slipped away, silent as before.

For ‘twas the evil eye that vexed me; the old man gave me none.
The deed would wait for another day, for I glimpsed the rising of the sun.

Mad? Mad! You fancy me mad to take a life with such a base.
But hearken to my cunning as, in the morn, I looked on his face.

I called out to him in a gracious tone, inquiring how he had spent the night.
Such niceties let down his guard; when the time came, there would be no fight.
For seven days and seven nights at midnight I would work.
But the eye was never open, so at his door I would lurk.

I thought on the eighth night my task would be done, and the eye and its evil would vanish away.
And so I proceeded with even more caution than I had displayed yesterday.

So I dwelled on the thought of my sagacity
For the old man’s brain had naught the capacity
To think that ‘twas I who was op'ning the door.
And the same man who greeted him the morning before
Would take his life and make him die,
To rid myself of the vulture eye.
I laugh mirthlessly at the very idea.
And perhaps he heard me for he sat up in fear.
And then he whispered, “Who’s there?”

Mad? Mad! You fancy me mad to take pleasure in his demise.
But hearken to the way I took it; this only proves that I am wise.

And then I heard a stifled groan, a moan of fear and dread.
The old man could not possibly know it was me who wished him dead.
But death had made its presence clear, causing the old man to fear
The terrible of terrors ‘til the rising of the sun.
(Though yesterday’s sunrise was his last one.)

And he tried so hard to shake off his fears:
“’Tis but the wind blowing in my ears!
Or ‘tis a cricket, so little and fleet
or a mouse who is looking for something to eat.”
This and many a fanciful thought
He conjured and death’s embrace fought.
But his stifled groan was enough to show
That it was all in vain and he knew he’d go
To the dark, gloomy realm that belonged to Pluto.
All this I knew, since many a night
I found myself thinking it was my time for flight
From this world of trinkets and baubles and show
To the world of forever, that which none of us know.
And many a night I would groan his same groan:
One of mortal terror to leave flesh and bone.
But still I laughed to myself at the old man, all alone.

Mad? Mad! You fancy me mad to torture old men so.
But hearken to my quick thinking as I disposed of him, below.

For at length I then grew weary,
For I knew I mustn’t tarry
Since the night began to wane
And I’d have to soon start over, all over again.
For only the sight of the old man's eye
would give me the rage to make him die.

And slowly I shone in a light from my lantern –
A thread-like glimmering ray from my lantern –
Upon the old man’s worrisome face
And I found my aim was misplaced;
I had shone it right on his eye.

His eye! His eye! His light blue eye!
His chilling haunting vulture eye was eyeing ‘round with mortal fear:
This old man whom I had endeared.
But as I gazed on his affliction
My hate and rage grew into conviction.
That, to rid myself of the vulture eye,
The poor old wretch would have to die.
But before I leapt, in a single bound
I stopped. I heard another sound.

It was a dull muffled throbbing, a plaintive low sobbing:
The soft thu-thump of the old man’s chest.
His heart beat fearfully in his breast.
But soon it would get its long-earned rest.

For the sound was a marching cadence,
A drummer boy, calling to war.
And I struggled holding the glowing lantern
as still as I had before.

Meantime the beat was growing steadier
And became a gradual crescendo.
How did the old man’s heart beat so?
His terror, methinks, must have been extreme.
I fairly enjoy that state of supreme,
But not at the moment for nervous I was
At the sound of the beating, the tremor, the buzz.

The sound inexorable…the eye that was horrible…
Louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and louder until (pause)
I thought the sound would be heard by a neighbour and I could, no longer, be still.
The old man’s hour had finally come, and I hastened it with fervour and thrill.

Let it suffice to say that he was killed.

Mad? Mad! You fancy me mad, for my own account shows me eaten by rage.
But my calmness right now clearly shows that my madness is dead as that man of old age.

And if you still consider me so
You will stand corrected the moment you know
Of the way I concealed of his dead body
Using wit but a genius could show.
I sliced off his head and at the sight of the gore,
I stashed it under the rotting floorboards,
Then dismembered the corpse with 1, 2, 3, 4!
Cutting the limbs off, put under the floor
Along with the body, where but mice could find.
And no eyes of a human, except, of course, thine.

And thy fellow policemen, though not with your skill.
It seems you've been blessed with a spot of good Will,
While I have been cursed. But I'm not mad or ill!

See, the blood of the old man was nowhere around;
In a tub I had caught it so naught would be found.
Haha! Would a mad man be so profound?

By the time I had finished the clock had struck four
And I heard a slight knocking upon my front door.
For the old man shrieked once before he died.
Someone had heard and the police notified.
I answered the door with boldness and cheer: what had I to fear?

The shriek was mine own in a nightmare, I said.
My manner convinced them, and through the house I led.
At length, we arrived at the old man’s bed
With the old man not in it. My explanation?
He was out in the country, and on vacation.
Surely my quick wit halts your accusation.

And in my triumph I then brought them chairs
They sat on his body, surely unawares.
As they chatted with me of familiar things
I treated them courteously, as if they were kings.
But, ere long, I grew weary and wished them from here,
For once they were gone I had nothing to fear.
And I felt myself pale and nervous. Then I heard a slight ringing in my ear.

It was a dull muffled throbbing, a plaintive low sobbing:
The soft thu-thump of the old man’s chest.
His heart beat fearfully in his breast.
But had it not already gotten its rest?
And the officers, they heard it not
As they talked with me with their usual cheer.
And though its cause I could not explain
I realized the sound was not in my ears.

Meantime the beat was growing steadier
And became a gradual crescendo.
How on earth did the old man’s heart beat so?
I talked with heightened pitch and pace,
And my nervousness was beginning to show.

Now doubt, by now, I was very pale.
Why would the group not go?
I arose and gestured violently.
Could it be that they know?

For as I paced about the room
– and foamed and raved and swore –
The police-men chatted pleasantly,
and those were smiles they wore!
They were making a mockery of my horror!

And the sound inexorable,
the heartbeat, so horrible,
grew louder and louder and louder and louder
and louder and louder until…(pause)
Their mockery I could bear no longer
And I tore up the floorboards with a frenzied will.

“Villains!”, I shrieked, “dissemble no more!
I admit to the deed; he’s under the floor!
Tear up the planks – here, here!”
And his heart still is beating, still beating in fear.

The Tell-Tale Heart

Er, any new stuff will appear after finals. Sorry. :)

Back to work.

2008-10-03T16:36:00.001-07:00

Finally, a lull in the bombardment of the various mundane tasks associated with school. So I can 'pologize to all you who read this. Sorry about the inactivity. Will get back to work soon. Can't decide whether or not to post story ideas, though. I mean, I have no idea who any of you all are. Except my friends in real life. You know who you are...

From here on out, this blog will mostly be notes to self about story, plot critters, et cetera. Sorry if I bore you all, but that's my priority for the next few months. Or it is now. I'm making it a priority.

Woefully yours,
That sophomoronic kid who finally has time on his hands that he hasn't wasted.

Spiderwebcomic #2!

2008-07-17T18:26:00.001-07:00

Made only using Paint, so forgive my crude rendering.

The Spiderwebcomic

2008-07-16T10:24:00.001-07:00

Just a Thought

2008-07-14T18:26:00.001-07:00

Believe it or not, I realized this in the shower. Since I've not posted anything else today, I suppose this will have to do:

I've never had a near-death experience, but I've heard that one thing that such experiences do to you is that they wake you up, sober you, they Remind you. God reminds us. When you turn on the news, and you hear about the death toll in Darfur reaching 400,000, or when you remember the devastating tsunami, God has just Reminded you of your mortality.

When you look out at the beautiful sunset, and you think of God, then you've reminded yourself about God, and nobody's dead.

So, the more you remind yourself (with a lowercase "r") the less God Reminds you.

:P

Cuz I'm gangsta yall...

2008-07-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

Chyeah.

So since I've got nothing much new right now, thought I'd just post another one of my more lengthy poetic works. It's in rap form.

It was meant for a religious youth camp thing, so I'm sorry if anyone find this dumb or weird. Just read it for its meaning, forget the context for a moment. ;)

The Gingerbread Man
Thalib Razi

Now listen everybody,
To what I’ve got to say
I’ve got no moves
Or no grooves
Just some words, ok?

Cuz though I'm a poet I try not to show it
I make a rhyme most of the time,
But I ain’t no gangsta no romanster (:D made up my own word!)
Can’t just make a dime
Off this twisted brand of music,
Cuz it just makes me soul-sick
To see women used as ornaments,
Pretty little ornaments
Just waiting to be used:
And they be tellin’ me that Muslim women be abused?
Ha! I tell ‘em ha!
I tell ‘em you have no idea,
That humbleness of clothing
Saves you from yo greatest fear.

But I know it's really hard
For most of us to bear,
The burden of religion
We all have that to share

Fo the kin of my religion
I say hold yo heads up high!
But be humble so you don’t stumble
And get caught up in yo pride.
And while you're at it,
Show the world the true
The religion of submission
Bowin’ down to you
O Lord Almighty! Ya Allah!
Is this the future of our youth?
Is this what you saw?
Tempted by the fruit
O unholy fruit
O substitute of love
Cuz it really isn’t love
It’s just shallow-minded lust
That takes a guy away
On the web, in her bed…
What else can I say?

But I’m no strong man
No stoic knight
I’ve fallen for temptation
Without giving a fight
But then you’re ashamed
That’s a good thing too
It means there’s still some good in you
And fight back!
Give the Devil no inch!
With an inch he goes a mile
and you're back on the binge
So lessen the gap and soften the fall
Get up again show him u ain’t lost at all

So run run run as fast as you can
You can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man!
Even the fox can try his old scam
But there’s no way I’m fallin for his stupid little plan.
Cuz he’s tricked me before
And I ain’t fallin again
Into the riva that’s a-shiva
With the sins of those men
Who fell for his tricks
And his beguilin' words,
Convincing you that stayin' out would just be absurd
You’re just a little kid, he says
Why not have some fun?
Look at missie over there
She won’t try to run ;)

And all these years will be so hard
This is when he strikes
And before u know it yikes!
He looks at you u look at him
And then he says, syke!

Oh!
He’s always hissin’ always plottin
To try to make you do something
You’ll forever regret
So close your ears
Embrace the light
The noor of Allah and all His might
Say you made of fire and I'm made of clay
But I’m going to fight you
Startin' today!

And whenever the devil whispers to you
Trying to make you do something devious, untrue
When he makes you want to do some foolish fun
Clear your mind, and you will find
If you say your prayer, look over there!
He’s on the run and this song is done.

W00t! New layout!

2008-07-03T07:14:00.001-07:00

I've gotten a bit bored with the desert layout, and this matches my avatar better.
Don't be alarmed by the random jumps of color scheme; I haven't exactly picked one to stay with. :)

Fox Hunt

2008-06-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

Hello, readers and friends. I've just finished making a song on fl studio again, and I hope that I've improved since the last time you have listened. This time, I've made extensive use of the Mixer, so it should sound much nicer and less rough. This song was originally composed for violin and viola -- with the help of my friend Logan Jones, a violist. This version -- with the exception of some ideas -- lacking of the input of my friend, so the work is mine. Needless to say, however, this song may be redone sometime in the future with the help of Logan. We shall see.

Hope you all like it!

http://www.supload.com/music/Thalib-Razi-Fox-Hunt-download-1RJUG0LY2FD9.html

Still alive...

2008-06-13T11:56:00.000-07:00

It's been some time. As I revisit this blog, I realize that it is already mired with the webs of spinners and there's a fair layer of dust. So as I rummage for my quill in a desperate attempt to revive this blog, I'll first say: Hello, again!

Introductions done. So down to business, and it's time to oil this rusting engine. It's funny, I've only had summer break for a few weeks, and I already feel stupid. So to keep myself sane, I will attempt to fill out this blog for you readers.

Once upon a time, I was writing a story in the genre of fantasy. But school and sheer laziness prevented me from doing anything with it. Low self-esteem had something to do with it as well. But now it's time to organize my thoughts.

Firstly, the setting. A coin-shaped planet called Sekka. It revolves around a sun much like ours does, but it is flat. There are many implications of this:
1. There is an edge. An Edge, in fact. With a capital E. If you jump of the Edge, you will fall -- for a time. The thing is, gravity on this planet works in different directions, as a result of its angular faces. On one face, gravity pulls you down, while on another, it may pull you sideways or upside down. So if you jump off the Edge, two forces of gravity are pulling at you at the same time: one from the face that you will land on, and one from the face that you just left. As a result, you will fall for a time, but gravity will shift and you will land on the other face. Does this make any sense at all? If I get the time later, I will post a picture.
2. There is a strip of land between the two faces called the Girdle. It receives only a few hours of sunlight, but the sunlight is very bright, due to the lack of clouds and also to relativity. When you're in the dark for most of the day, bright light seems even brighter.
3. Also, time zones are weird. When the sun is just setting on the Obverse, it is beginning to rise on the Reverse, and it is bright midday on one part of the Girdle, while it is midnight the other side of the Girdle. Sorry if this makes no sense; if you have trouble understanding this, just don't bother. I'll get a picture sometime soon.
4. Dawn and dusk colors are weird too. Note: the array of colors we experience when we see sunset is due to the positioning of the sun during evening, where it has to go through more atmosphere to reach us, and the light is reflected (refracted? I'm not sure) and gives off a reddish tinge. On Sekka, the amount of atmosphere (and the dust and particles in it) varies, so sunset varies, depending on where you stand. If you're at the very Edge, close to the sun, the sky would probably be a normal sky blue at evening. Bizarre, right? Going eastward, the colors go from blue to green (yes, green) to pinkish, to reddish, to a bright shade of orange. Any scientists out there who could tell me if this makes any sense, or should the colors be different, or what?
More to come, when I have time.

Edit: Here's a picture.

A poem about love...kind of.

2008-04-27T15:27:00.001-07:00

Again, the lack of material on this blog is really bugging me. So, here's a sonnett that I made a while back, in reference to Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It's called "Puppy Love."

Puppy Love
Thalib Razi

Hidden within the heart of every boy,
there dwells a wolf that soon will wake from sleep.
Though some would call it sin and others joy,
unleashed too soon, the wolf will hound the sheep.

He's strong, good-looking, silver-tongued, and sly.
Disguised as love, he calls, to lure his prey:
"Hey baby girl, what's up, can I drop by?"
or "thou art lovely as a summer's day."

Untamed, he is controlled by his desires.
His arms bring warmth and comfort -- short reprieve!
Their love, a melting candle, soon expires.
It's spent too soon -- it's dark now, so he leaves.

But with his taming, bygone shepherds found,
A wolf could be to sheep a faithful hound.

Puppy Love

Arrgh! A pirate song.

2008-04-26T15:48:00.000-07:00

Good afternoon to all! I've recently made this blog, and I feel the sudden urge to put something on it. So, here is a song I made a few months ago on a software called FL Studio 7. Enjoy!

http://www.supload.com/listen?s=F2LGB3LU7HCQ

A Dabbler in the Arts

2008-04-26T15:21:00.000-07:00

By the Arts, I mean the self-pleasing but scarcely profitable hobbies of music, writing, and drawing. I do not wish to imply in any way that I am possesed of Magic, so all you crazy people with stakes and flaming brands, bug off! You're about 400 years late to the party.