Incongruence.

I fear the reason my posts are now so mundane is because my brain lacks the nicotene that had in the past been stimulating it into artistic literary glory (modesty is my middle name). Regardless I cannot return to that infernal habit and I shall have to make do somehow, somewhere inside this new and improved hardened skull of mine is the potential to picture bouncing mammaries in 1080P. Possessed of such a high definition imagination I needn't worry about a thing, except for the remote possibility that I may one day marry a woman and upon seeing her naked body for the first time fail to be the least bit awed as I'll have seen it all before in a higher resolution than my optic nerves can handle. 

A couple of weeks ago I was in the highest of spirits, I had essentially risen from the ashes like a Phoenix (unbeknownst to most the phoenix is Scorpio's other symbol) after stabbing somebody in the back to get there the university put me on the UKSLA moot team so I'm primed to win my next 5 cases and reach the final in the supreme court (God-willing). I also got a job as an ambassador for the university which I was incredibly excited about (I gave the interviewers a presentation about chai to get in) until this afternoon when I was subjected to a 5hr training/brainwashing session about how never to badmouth the university even implicitly or by mistake and how to speak like a robot taking special care to avoid the use of sarcasm the only form of humour that helps us wash the world down and swallow. 30 minutes were dedicated to the ever so important topic of "how to react if minors or their parents hit on you".

I got back to my room and slept like a log at 6pm waking up to a nocturnal existence and vague memories of a dream about doctors performing 2 surgeries at the same time that both of which resulted in failure. On occasion I mention my dreams on the off chance that the spirit of Sigmund Freud trapped on the internet will somehow find this blog and leave an anonymous comment explaining how mental I am.  

I recently marathoned "Game of thrones" and discovered first hand what a vile sexist show it is, concocted by the very same post-modern bastards with whom I'm studying law. I'm sure that's why they love it so much, they all want the figurative throne someday. Anything for a silken gown. I hear the books are less dependent on blood and sex to tell their story but HBO is known to sexualise whatever it can. Sex sells, , that's why every bookshop lists 50 shades of grey as a best-seller. The mere thought of this tells a great deal about how low humanity has sunk but I am saddened more profusely by the author's status as an ex-alumni of this institution a fact that the PR department has done its level best to suppress even though E.L James has made it to the time100 and secured a lucrative Hollywood movie deal.  

In an idealistically liberal society of course the content of her fiction wouldn't be an issue, the PR department likes to blow its trumpets the moment any other ex-alumni so much as farts their way into the papers.

My spirits were further crushed by my second failed election campaign, leading me to conclude that I am not cut out for politics, and that democracy is gay. In essence the good and the bad balanced each other out and left me feeling moderately pissed off, (my usual temperament). 

I vented my frustrations by volunteering to box in the ring for the first time, I was soon shown the error of my ways and the relative intelligence of the others who were too scared to try it out, still I came out feeling and looking like a badass with a right hand that shook uncontrollably for the next hour, so much so that the guest speaker judge I met directly afterwards took notice. I also took home a refreshingly concussed head and a sense that in the boxing ring nothing else matters, the companies act 2006 doesn't matter, nobody cares that it's the longest statute, nobody cares about who you are, people care about very little other than hitting and not being hit themselves. This realisation along with the adrenaline rush and my love for escapism have prompted me to keep at it regardless of the harassing phone calls I now get from my father advising me that if I intend to enter a profession that involves using my head I should avoid being hit in it.

So I woke up at around midnight and began replaying Kingdom Hearts, something I first played a decade ago I'm currently in Agrabah saving Alladin from Jaffar, very nostalgic indeed, if a bit sad for a 21 yr old on Halloween. 

In other news my six pack has emerged from its coffin thanks to all this boxing and I am once again muscle bound, I have been tucking my t-shirts in proudly for the past 2 days in celebration. I've entered heated debates about whether or not this is some sort of fahsion faux pas. All that's left is to drink raw eggs in the morning, something I've hesitated to do for fear of contracting salmonella. They say Zardari might reverse the recent 800% tax on international calls to Pakistan, I hope so, one less thing for me to be pissed off about improving my disposition by an amazing 0.0025% 

Before I sign off I've also started Alpha Bravo Charlie which in stark contrast to Game of Thrones is a brilliant piece of storytelling and is somewhat of a guilty pleasure for somebody who frequently badmouths desi dramas. 

Yewazetya, because loneliness is too emo. - -updated

I realise that for the past few posts my bitching to wit ratio has gone to hell. Less bitching, more wit. Huzzah!

Although you'll have to forgive the odd bit of rambling, my brain viens de being fucked (mentally) by Kara no Kyoukai 5 a movie that I will have to watch again in order to comprehend to the point that I am satisfied. At the moment all that comes to mind is gender identity disorder and the truism that there was no time at the origin of all things. 

                                              I quote "Mystic Eyes of Death Perception"

My body isn't doing much better than my brain. My first boxing lesson on Thursday courtesy of Mickey's cockney variant left me in such pain that I had to get a taxi home the next day. They don't call it delayed onset muscle soreness for nothing. There was also a boxing session on Friday that I opted out of because I was being coerced by my own muscles, by whom I was told "you do that again and we'll make you regret it" in the personified tone of seasoned mafiosi. 

On Wednesday I debated in front of all 420 law freshers, I envied their carefree expressions but was saddened by the fact that they were sitting there with no idea of what law entails and no real understanding of what this means for the next few years of their lives. I'm sure there were many among them who had exchanged dreams for career prospects..But hey I put on a great show for the budding bastards. Too much alcohol in their systems for them to care about anything at this stage. 

I am up at 2am flattening the weekend with a rolling pin. Did I mention that after 4 months I now eat toothpicks and crave hot chocolate instead of cigarettes?  Still some French work to do before I sleep but if I start that now the dough will break. 

So there's boxing tomorrow too, It has been a few days and although I am for the most part free of muscle soreness some remains, I blame cockney Mickey and his clapping push-ups  still I think I can somehow negotiate with my motor neurons to go to another session besides eventually this should stop happening after I get used to 2 hrs of madness 3 times a week. 

There is a very good friend of mine back home whom I feel has drifted somewhat so much so that we are unable to discuss much of anything any longer. I went out to dinner with a couple of "friends"earlier this week too it's not that I don't socialise I do but I feel incredibly disconnected when I do especially when the same people post photos of another dinner to which you weren't invited and you feel cheesed off. I am beginning to suspect that I have some sort of Schizoid personality disorder (self diagnosis for the win) still psychiatrists are evil and the DSM manual is a fraud (but amusing to self-diagnose with). 

I feel like I've eaten too much today, no I have I've clearly eaten too much. Didn't go to the cricket screening, knew we were going to lose/be bribed to lose. Instead I went to McDonald's and used vouchers like a pensioner. I then came back and ate chicken tikka from the fridge. I've been binging on Hajime no Ippo recently. I now know more about boxing techniques in 2 dimensions than I did 30 episodes ago. 

Too bloated to continue this post. Farewell Weekend. Time for some green tea.

UPDATE - Boxing part 2 went well just up until I got home and I felt .. I felt that dreaded tingling in my elbow which got progressively worse. I have now ordered another brace and booked an appointment with the GP I swear it had HEALED .. I had full motion I had my strength back ...and IT WAS FINE after the first lesson (I had rested it for 10 weeks). WHY! WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO ME. I need to get an MRI done or something for £"**('s sake what's the point in being 6"4 if a little tendon injury has me writhing about like this all the time

Hang on a second!

I have (at least according to the old me, that's the me that existed at some point before this me came into being) lost the plot entirely. What began with 2 years spent chasing an LLB,  nicotine cessation and the strange desire to hit other people for the hell of it has somehow turned into a new perspective on life. 

Fate and I have a love/hate relationship, much like the relationship I share with the city of Peshawar. At first I was convinced that it didn't exist and that believing in it would make me no better than the two-bit hypocrites who blame all their misfortune on this mysterious force. (I suppose to continue the analogy I spent my childhood in blissful ignorance of Peshawar, it was just a place I spent my Christmas holidays in). For want of a better word my analysis of fate soon moved into phase 2 after certain cataclysmic events shook my resolve, throwing me off my high horse and turning me into a self hating believer in the "just world" ideology in many ways I have yet to free myself of this phase. I had no choice but to acknowledge fate but at the same time I recovered knowing that as long as (cheesy cheesy Naruto reference) the will of fire continued to burn within me I could according to the sage and satirist Machiavelli ride her like a young maiden. 

Again in contrast I moved to Peshawar,  began adapting and eventually took the reins of my life once again. Whether I pointed those reins in the right direction is now something I question every day. Did I ever really want to become a Lawyer and if I did, did I want to become one for the right reasons? (if such reasons exist at all). Surely returning to the heart of the empire on which the sun never sets was the correct choice but was Law school such a great idea?

I'm 21 I won't ever be 21 again and with the speed things are moving at the moment I doubt my 20s will last for more than a few instants on the large scale of things. Maybe all that Bushido garbage had some truth to it? If this is my life then I should do what makes me happy. Whether that's sitting in the mountains writing books or ..ah right here it is here's the bombshell "Joining the military". This may not be such a scandalous decision for some but for me it is one that has taken great deliberation. For starters I am from a long line of glorified killers who in return for honour and glory have served their respective war-machines with no qualms whatsoever. Maybe I once had such moral issues but to continue to pretend that they matter would be nonsensical. I would love nothing more than to salute and be saluted, to live a life of adventure, to do things that will make youth seem more worthwhile. 

Perhaps this does little to elucidate things, but I have an intense fear of turning out like my father and for a long time my decisions have simply been based around living as different a life as possible. In fact I have so many issues with the way I've started to think that listing any more of them would be boring so let's move on.

I know, clearly this is all Conrad's fault. He has of late dethroned Murakami as my favourite author. Reading Conrad is more like listening to myself than digesting foreign information. His candid view of the world clearly came from being at sea, being removed from society, removed from life and death mulling over wave patterns and seagull cries. Unless I leave somehow, unless I go out to sea literally or figuratively I feel I will never have a grasp of who I really am. My LLB doesn't tie me down it doesn't say that I cannot enlist it doesn't say that I can't join the merchant navy it doesn't say that I have to do anything in particular. I am blessed not to have to work for a living so to speak, so what if I can earn more pouring coffee for some smug senior partner at an elitist firm? I know that wherever I end up starting my career, in whatever field in whichever place I will always start at the bottom of the chain I will be a servant to somebody else's servant (and so on). Servility is inescapable for now, only it has opened my eyes to the limitless potential that I myself possess and the needless sorrow to which my own narrow mindedness has led me. 

Ah well it's about time I graced Angleterre with my presence once more. My final year is about to being this is the last entry I'll be writing from Pakistan for another year. Farewell Dogs, Farewell Family! This has been quite an illuminating stint at home....I swear I met a friend in Islamabad (recently divorced) and the first thing I asked him was whether he'd become a father yet (at which point his expression told me I'd said something terribly wrong) Lord forgive me!

The Pillar of Autumn

Seeing as I couldn't think of a decent title for this post I've decided to name it after me, although in this heat I'm more of a vapourised puddle than a pillar. Peshawar stays the same as always I've been here a month now and I've got a while left before I head back, it's awfully quiet here. My best friend's in the middle of his finals and everyone else seems to have finally left as if they've all moved to Islamabad to realise their dreams of becoming maadern (modern) people.

I've been running away from the fact that I was unable to secure a decent internship, although running away is beneficial I guess. I mean I haven't smoked for a month I'm in tip top shape I spend the whole day exercising (yes even in Ramzan) I say it's because I want to go back and box, I do but the truth is I just don't want to think about failure. My performance this year was top notch but with this economy that just doesn't cut it anymore and I suppose there's always an element of luck involved. The truth is I just want to sweat myself into a stupor in which I don't have to think about cigarettes or make plans for the long term I just want to live in the moment. 

I was re-watching one of my favourite series earlier and there was a bit where the main character goes back to his village and he finds an unfinished bridge missing planks of wood. He's too scared to skip across until his friend mentions that when they were younger they would both skip across zebra crossings seamlessly and the only difference with the bridge was that you could see the current underneath. I suppose looking down is never very pleasant and it probably inhibits your ability to do what would normally come naturally. 

If fortune is indeed female, and she likes to be treated roughly then impetuous young men like myself are only in a position to please her when they decide that they're not going to look down. Machiavelli can be so inappropriate sometimes, still I agree wholeheartedly. 

The tendinitis in my elbow is just about getting better, I lifted too much, T_T but now I've done my back in by suddenly deciding to swim 80 lengths instead of my usual 50. I still need to start cramming some more Kanji. Did I mention I shaved my head - random moment of craziness besides it's hot it feels like I just took a bloody woolen cap off that's how hot hair makes you SHAVE YOUR HEADS PPL let's all turn into nutcases together, maybe I'll feel less bald that way. If you haven't noticed that cue-ball is a visual representation of my head much to my mother's horror. Can't be bothered to proof-read this post I'm too consumed by the moment to think about the Nazis that may remark about the lack of punctuation...actually I lied I know nobody is going to read this anyway so HAH.

The Horror

In an attempt to suck up to the top tier Law schools my university decided to schedule every single law paper in a row with the result that we all lived through a week of absolute agony, cheap energy drinks and endless case-files. At one point all the caffeine and nicotene mixed together made me feel so twisted that I was twitching all over the place as if insects were crawling up and down me. Somehow or another we all survived and all of us deserve a huge *hulk smash* pat on the back for coming out alive. Lord in heaven, without someone watching over me I would have caved in under the pressure, in fact 2 hrs before each paper some random girl who nobody had ever EVER seen before would post her notes on the LLB forum, I subsequently accused her of being some kind of godsend and there are still many unanswered questions about this mysterious figure. 

For 5 days I was pushed to my limits I'd memorise one pile of case-law forget all about it and revise the next bunch in less than 24 hrs, rinse, repeat. Now that I have nothing to do (well I have a French exam on the 22nd but that's so easy in comparison it doesn't count and after consecutive papers the 22nd is light years away) I feel listless and bothered. 

I see myself sitting here, accomplishing absolutely nothing asking metaphysical questions about the nature of existence. After the celebratory dinner at Wagamama's I went and saw the Avengers which was pretty good considering it was just a load of action sequences strung together with a flimsy plot. Full marks for everything else 0 marks for depth (which is why batman will always be the best superhero flick). 

I did the laundry today, cleaned up a bit, cashed in on some book vouchers, returned all my library books, still part of me actually misses the intensity of the week that just went by. Depending on the status of my internships I'll be going back to Peshawar soon, my father is flying over for a conference next week so at least I'll get to meet him, even if I end up going back later or not at all (again contingent on whatever the firms decide my fate will be).

Life's definitely moving too fast for me, people I went to school with are getting married. I'm already a year away from graduating. I wouldn't mind getting married if it was to Scarlett Johannson's behind, what a lovely thought to end with, the shapely Jewish posterior of perfection that is SJ's rear end. 

Imbeciles with Ray Guns

                                    The Space Fortress "Barge" - (Note the Giant Beam Cannon)

So the US Defence Department has unveiled its newest secret weapon, one that it has very graciously, already tested on the Afghan populous before the wider world ever knew of its existence, the invisible beam that is fired from what appears to be a radar emitter of some sort penetrates the skin about 1/2 a millimeter and is said to be painful but harmless, a Godsend for riot control! No more rubber bullets. 


General McChrystal seems to have sent the weapon back citing that the Taliban might use the idea of  innocent civilians being microwaved to their advantage. I suppose what they gathered from this trial run on the civilians of a third world country is that the weapon needs some sort of publicity boost in order to sell.


In comes the press, go Google it you can see a bunch of giddy reporters standing on little Xs being zapped one by one, laughing slightly and then running away, I must say it is quite surreal. There is no way to tell whether they're faking it or whether the weapon itself is some sort of scare tactic. Conspiracy theories aside I'm really not sure what they hope to accomplish. 120 million dollars down the drain so far (even with all the press attention there are no buyers) This shouldn't be a problem because several puppet governments being given aid can perhaps one day be forced to purchase the device, maybe we'll see the Israelis using it in Gaza I really don't know. There just seems to be an air of a belated April Fools joke about it. 


"Hey world, we've spent lots of money on a ray gun isn't it awesome? Watch me fry these reporters! I bet y'all want one now dont'ya!?" 


Maybe one day it will be miniaturized into the sort of thing new generations will use as a substitute water pistol, I bet the Chinese are already working on the copy. In the words of Borat "Great Success" we're one step closer to the post apocalyptic world every science fiction buff secretly wants to live in.


Wait It's all become clear to me now! Back in 2010, the reason General McChrystal was relieved of his duty is because he didn't like Obama's new Ray gun.


Obama: "If you won't use my pimp gun, I'll make Patraeus do it". 

Undermining Insanity: The Breivik Ordeal

                                           Raiden:  I am Lightning, The Rain Transformed 

                                    

The use of the term insanity has always been politically charged, and the same remains true today. The Psychiatric profession's claims to a firm scientific base are laughable at best, from the electro convulsive therapy of the  past to the ever growing list of conditions that "require" medication both psychologists and psychiatrists have continually proven that the only possible explanation for their behaviour is that they are political professions.

It takes coherent thought to be able to write something, the fact that I am writing this post today proves that I am aware of my actions (to some degree at least) and that I have a thought process that I wish to convey to the wider world, this in my opinion is where the line between sanity and insanity should end (Of course in my opinion the line should be stamped out altogether but if one must legally prescribe some sort of objective test then the simple ability to reason is enough). It is of course difficult to reconcile legal definitions with practical ones - even though the common law reasonable man test is supposed to reflect the perception of lay people. The inadequacy of this test to reflect the opinions of a significant part of society can be seen in the many allegations of compensation culture aimed at the legal system/profession (a body of suited ambulance chasers). 

The surrealist movement of the 20th century highlighted the self righteous nature of the politically sane. The founder Andre Breton frequently called himself "insane" as if to mock the sentiment of his era. A decent example of this is the observation that his iconic heroine Nadja loses her appeal once it is revealed that she belongs to a sanatorium and that her flashes of what may appear to some as deep philosophical reflection about distant stars are just manifestations of her status as a woman who is clinically insane. 

Breivik is to the far right what Osama bin Laden is to the Muslim world, he is a callous individual with a twisted sense of morality and a warped ideology that relies on misinformation and hateful Nazi propaganda. His actions and the actions of the IRA or militant Christians in Lebanon have (thankfully) not resulted in the demonstration of the Christian faith but they have cast new light on the double standards of enlightened European society when it comes to Islam which is supposedly a religion of terror.  

I spent a great deal of time today reading through Breivik's manifesto (I don't advise anybody else to do so, it is long and very disturbing) but the fact that Breivik was able to construct an explosive device and meticulously plan his terror attack over 8 years while writing this giant tome of propaganda shows that he was more than capable of coherent thought. 

His lack of empathy has been cited as a reason for his insanity by some of the individuals who evaluated him, (I would question their own lack of empathy) but is empathy really a decisive factor when it comes to sanity? Was Hitler insane? Was Mao Insane? Was Tony Blair Insane? Was Osama Bin Laden insane? The list could go on, but the fact remains that humans are very capable of dissociating themselves from notions of empathy should they so desire, looking at history the rape of Nanking serves as a striking example of this. Was every single soldier in the Japanese military insane? The answer to this question is a resounding NO - these people were very conscious of their actions their lack of remorse only proves that their morality appears skewed when analysed from our perspective. 

It is the responsibility of human beings to ensure that these psychiatrists do not undermine our morality by comparing it to clinical notions of sanity and insanity. While it was once true that political dissidence in the USSR and pre-marital sex in Victorian England were grounds for insanity, our understanding of the ambiguities of politically charged labels has evolved, it is no longer in a primitive state of blind acceptance. 

When crimes become too heinous for us to understand, their motives too obscure to interpret their criminal nature must not be denied. Mr Breivik is a criminal who deserves to be killed or at least locked up for the remainder of his existence, the smile on his face in court today was an affront to families of his victims and to society at large. 

Procrastination

So I've been having a bit of a hard time recently, my exams are close, I have 3 essays to write in 10 days, procrastination is a funny thing (something I happen to be an expert at) one thinks of all sorts of rubbish while trying to run away from legal theory. My latest brainstorming session has resulted in an amazing epiphany, one that I should have come up with earlier, seeing as I'm so frustrated and how my hate for the world at large shines with such virulent grandeur there is only really one thing to do! I'm going to bash a few heads in, I'm going to imagine that my opponent is the embodiment of all that's wrong with the world and I'm going to inflict a couple of brain injuries, Boxing society here I come! 0_0! 

I know this sounds naive, it's not like I have no experience whatsoever, I did 2 years of Kyokushin Karate when I was a teen, full contact gloves off Kyokushin in Peshawar city, it was extremely brutal our sensei used to hit us sadistically to increase our tolerance for pain, we would break lots of shit, I still fondly remember the day that I graduated from hitting a cement filled punching bag to just hitting a tree, he used to run over us on his motorbike too (we would all lie down in a line with rock hard stomachs) when I think back to the form I was in back then I can hardly believe where I am now. My poor 6 pack has since drowned if it had a voice it would be singing that godawful Rahim Shah song ze pakey dubegama! mala lambo na razi!

I started smoking, got lazy, got speedy internet, had to study more, it's not like I lost interest I just got out of form and couldn't push myself to that level anymore so I quit. That was 5 odd years ago, I'm still a heavy smoker and I'm lazy as hell, I figure I could try giving up smoking again, this time I'll have a good reason to do so. I'm not making any promises though. I do love my nicotene, she's always been there for me when I needed her.  I'll see where this goes, maybe this is just one of these stupid inklings that will disappear after I get back to my senses. 

A Bit of Cynicism followed by Photos - that will make you forget all about it.

An old friend of mine seems to have randomly turned into an expert photographer, I saw this picture the other day and my jaw dropped, reminds me of the time I went on an IDP safari (I'm aware that I may have coined this term) with my cousin who was so obsessed with taking winning shots that he would rejoice when a particular shot was noticeably inspiring of sympathy he went as far as to twist the life stories of the children that were interviewed to be sadder than they really were, "Oh so three of your brothers were killed? Let's make it 5 shall we" it was quite distasteful but I was indebted to him for helping with my own photos a few days earlier (Don't judge me, I already live with the guilt). Sensational journalism is an evil thing. 

On the other hand the reason I think the photos I'm about to post are so good is that they reflect the real fortitude of people living in poverty, the ability to smile more sincerely than any of us, to live in the moment, and to make the most of being alive. (Pashtun spirit in a nutshell).

Of course maybe I'm overstepping my boundaries, that's the thing about speaking from behind a lens, it sounds so anthropological. Like most useless fields of study the analysis one makes is often a better reflection of the observer than the observed, the observer projects their own insecurities onto their subject. Part of me feels guilty for feeling the way I do about photos like these. What right does somebody like me have to share in the happiness of these people? I may as well be from another dimension. To the camera they'll always be subjects and nothing more. This is the part where you're supposed to ignore my stupid rambling and look at the pictures (click to enlarge). 

                  Hats off to Hoor! And to the smiles she's captured. 

Hence it comes about that all armed Prophets have been victorious, and all unarmed Prophets have been destroyed.

Machiavelli how I wish that that those were empty words! Recently, I did the unthinkable, something no self respecting man should ever indulge in, something that I now regret profusely. That's right I launched a campaign to be elected president of our debating society, in doing so I entered the world of politics, and left shortly afterwards, with more than just a slap on the face. If I were to describe my face right now I'd say it's dripping with the sort of venomous acidic saliva that can only be produced by the female gender. (Forgive the sexism but...hell hath no fury).


So I began telling everybody I knew to vote online, I made it quite clear in my manifesto that I would be appealing to a wider audience, those who were not seasoned debaters like me, but the sort of people who are on the fringes of our society, those who haven't yet had a taste of the limelight. My opponent who was already on the committee (in a lower position) saw this and 5 minutes before the polls were scheduled to open, there was reportedly a malfunction with the online poll (which meant it never opened) and it was replaced with her conveniently prepared paper ballot, towards which she marched with an army of friends.


Hell, I'm used to dirty politics back home, even though my supporters told me to protest, I decided I was ready to accept  that I had been outsmarted by a snake. Yep that's right I kept quiet.


The following day, the new committee were looking for volunteers for an uncontested position, NOTE - NOBODY ELSE WANTED THIS POSITION. I went in as the only volunteer, I was asked to explain why I would be a good candidate (besides the point that almost made president -_-), I left the room and came back after 10 minutes. "We have decided that you are incapable of handling the position in question, in light of this decision you are free to leave the room" *Door Slams*.


Excuse me? I've spent 2 years debating for this university, I've devoted my life to this society for 2 years and you're going to sit there with a godawful smirk on your face and tell me I'm incapable of managing a low level position because I ran against you for president? I hope you die a painful death, I hope you writhe in pain till your insides explode you awful little wench.


So nobody is going to get this position now because - there are I quote "no suitable candidates". Suitable my hairy ass the same ass that has spoken at events all over the country.


Honestly, I didn't think people could sink this low. Oh surprisingly all of her other committee members are girls too (with the exception of 1 guy) and they're all her little stinking cronies. Positive discrimination any-FUCK-ing body.

On This Grey Wednesday

So I'm pulling another all-nighter, after handing in the worst tort assignment in the history of the obsessive blame game we call negligence I'm expected to be able to prepare for a business French test?  Vous avez tort! Ce n'est pas digne d'un être humain.


I'm not actually sure if it is indeed Grey outside either, it could turn out to be the sunniest Wednesday on the planet. Since I've been up all night I will likely sleep through any sunshine that manages to seep through the netting of the Burqa clad sky. (Poetic I know), I suppose it all depends on whether you're an optimist or a defeatist cynic like me.


I always treat myself to scrambled eggs on campus every Wednesday, probably the only day of the week that I actually eat anything for breakfast. Every morning I climb mount Olympus to get to campus, I kid you not the gradient is insane, the other day a girl was run over by a car while climbing the same mountain, with the result that I pass by her funeral bouquets twice every day, may she rest in peace whoever she was, I've always thought about stopping to pray for her but it is difficult to do something so conspicuous when submerged in a sea of judgmental students, not to mention how pissed off people would be if I stopped in the middle of the footpath, that's right my not stopping has nothing to do with the stares I imagine I would attract.


Notably her death became the subject of a class on negligent driving, her memory... forever embedded in our lecture recordings. I wonder if her estate will ever be able to claim anything from the motor insurance bureau.


I should mention that I don't know who Joseph Kony is! (Don't bother telling me I'm just one of those people  destined never to know) I think it's wonderful when people rally together for a cause they believe in, only causes that have to be explained by a 5 year old pointing to the picture of a "Baddie" make me want to ignore them completely. Joseph Kony ... Nope doesn't ring any bells.


The world after I graduate is just a big blur at the moment, applying to firms is a harrowing process, I barely have the time to organise my own thoughts nowadays let alone read anything that isn't a case-file. I hate this feeling of uncertainty, I hate the people around me, I hate the world at large and I hate having to come up with inventive bullshit for every vacation scheme application. I hate the way you get rejection letters written by HR wankers wishing you the best in your career. Thank you for wasting a day of your life filling in a never-ending application form now please proceed to fuck off.


Screw it I say, I just want to give this test and get back to FF6. Oh sweet Terra, sweet escapism!


A Cheesy cover of Mawaru Penguindrum's third ED. Indulge yourselves.

The Playstation Generation

A couple of weeks ago my Facebook page was defaced with a youtube video of the new Ghost Recon game's portrayal of American troops fighting a war in Peshawar, naturally I put on both beard and my shalwar kamis in a frenzy and made the decision to go outside and burn a few star spangled banners in a show of sporting appreciation. Okay so none of that really happened, but I was offended and for once I found myself siding (at least on the surface) with the resentful bearded fascists whom I needless to say tend to distance myself from. The youtube video itself became a troll fest with the "modern camp" versus the "barbaric anti-western camp".


One side seemed profoundly pleased that their city had been given the publicity it so clearly deserved in a game that people will play across the world, the other saw it as politically incorrect. I am not going to try to reconcile the two I'm merely going to tell you why the cool modern crowd is extremely disillusioned.


1) Peshawar has seen enough violence, the last thing anyone wants is for American troops to be fighting a war there, it is unlikely you will be able to empathize with me on this point unless you've actually lived through the worst period in the city's history. Taking the strained nature of Pak-US relations into account it is completely inappropriate for people to rejoice about a Peshawar being portrayed in such a light.


2) The Playstation Generation lacks remorse, when sent to war people who have grown up playing virtual representations of war see each kill as just another point in a deathmatch. Whether you choose to admit it or not children will grow up playing this game, one day they will join the army and they will be more than ready to invade Peshawar. To those of you who think this is conjecture. I'm sure you're all familiar with the famous collateral murder video (go watch it).


Yes it's JUST A GAME but games are political, the enemy is always dehumanized  and I don't appreciate the opinions of people who are so desperate to appear modern and liberated that they start celebrating when they see something that should upset them. On a side note the game is a clear gears of war clone they've even copied the needlessly disorienting crotch zooming camera when you move from cover to cover.

Os justi meditabitur sapientiam, et lingua ejus loquetur judicium.

So piracy is stealing right? Wrong! It's just another piece of Orwellian doublespeak that you've been brainwashed *ahem* I mean socialized into accepting. This isn't to say that I want to bitch-slap every poor soul who happens to read this with a painfully stiff hardback edition of the communist manifesto, I simply don't have the energy but what I will say is that the words Read in the name of your Lord who created you contain an implicit obligation not to read Twilight.

Say you go out and buy a loaf of bread (yes you're a boring hypothetical person and you often decide to buy things that reflect your own lack of character) you pay for it because at any given moment there are a limited number of loaves out there, in paying for your loaf you deprive a bunch of other hypothetical bread enthusiasts of their prize. You walk out of the store with your head held high because YOU alone are entitled to this loaf; you can now go home butter it, have sex with it, or put it in some sort of pretentious display cabinet. In any case the bread is no more, it is either in your stomach, censored, or covered in the fungus of your own bourgeois bread enthusiast tendencies. Wonderful!

Here's where things get complicated, the thing with data is, in all honesty it's made of zeros and ones, the mp3 you're listening to, the movie you're watching, this godforsaken blog they're all just zeros and ones. The thing with zeros and ones that makes them a bit different to bread is that they can be replicated infinitely at no cost whatsoever. You can refresh this page a million times and other people will still be able to see it, you can download as many mp3s as you want (they won't run out). So what we have in essence is an infinite supply in our world of limited loaves of bread and resource wars we have something that can be spread over the internet ( mankind's collective consciousness) for free! The net is truly vast and infinite.

"Hang on a second!"

Says the record company boss, "You've been paying me (way too much) to produce physical media for decades now, just because I'm as obsolete as the clichés I sell you doesn't mean I'm not going to lobby for intellectual property laws that create ARTIFICIAL SCARCITY".

But you're not going to be satisfied by such inane banter NO! You're going to leave your loaves of bread behind and call for pirates to be stopped because you care for artists and inventors those wonderful people who have over the years created things that have made your sad life easier. Except true art isn't something that people create for remuneration, the reason we get the same banal bullshit over and over, the reason Justin Bieber was born is because mainstream "art" is simply a cash grab. Companies know what people want or what they've been conditioned to want, and that's exactly what they give them. 

The internet is opening avenues for people to self publish and self produce and while a small subculture of online pirates can be tolerated anybody who dares shift the balance between creative individuals and their all encompassing production companies must be stopped. That's right they must be eliminated at all costs! Even if it means cooperating with governments all over the world to arrest some yacht owning dot com fraud in New Zealand. This is what happened to the fat bloke who owned Megaupload. 

Becoming a Cyborg in Peshawar

                                            "Listen to my story.....this may be our last chance".

The problem with making entries so infrequently is that one often finds it difficult to recall events that took place right at start of where one's account is supposed to begin. Not that I have the memory of a goldfish, I can remember the important bits and pieces quite clearly, I can watch them over and over again in my minds eye, unfortunately my mind's eye'suffers from nostalgic myopia and can quite frankly be a real dick sometimes. 

We catch up with our hero as he's making his way back home, heading to Peshawar over Christmas break, in the highest of spirits. He dresses for the occasion, combs his beard, wears a leather jacket and looks in the mirror like a narcissist for half an hour. "What fun it is knowing you're going to spend the next month having your every whim catered to" he muses as he steps into Heathrow airport glowing like the smug bastard he is, staring at all the forlorn expressions he passes, soaking in all that lovely schadenfreude. 

On the plane he sits next to a failed lawyer turned accountant, and a medical rep he's in such a merry mood that he spends the whole flight talking to this medical rep about life till the plane lands, at this point our hero emerges waits for his luggage, smoking in front of Benazir Bhutto airport's no smoking sign, borrowing a lighter from one of the security staff "home at last". His mother is here to pick him up, what a sight she is for sore eyes, he goes with her to his grandparents' house in Islamabad, his grandmother remarks on how handsome he looks (our hero takes this as a quite a compliment as she is the biggest nitpicker on the planet appearance wise). 

Off to Peshawar the city where (as our hero will soon discover), traffic jams no longer exist, dentists are all closet-sadists and your next door neighbours are squatting on part of your lawn. At this point our hero who happens to be narrating this story tires of referring to himself in the third person. 

Fast forward x8 - met the family, went to a few dinners, met the new puppies (who are to be given away as soon as my mother is done enjoying the cutest stage of their lives, which surprisingly enough doesn't seem to have happened yet), went on a number of father-son walks, lounged about eating parhatas in the morning, you know the drill.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any better I fell ill, I spent a 5 days in bed, but who am I kidding in Peshawar even being ill is fun! Because when you get better and actually start meeting people again, the people who you told you couldn't meet earlier because you were sick run into you by coincidence (when you're out with other people) and accuse you implicitly of lying "alaka te bemar na we?". 

Traffic jams no longer exist in Peshawar because there's some sort of repair work being done on the ring road meaning every blasted car in the city is now on the main road. This essentially means that the traffic moves at 2 cm per second 24/7 which in turn means that there isn't an instant when the main road is not jam packed, hence if "traffic jam" is a relative term referring to abnormal vehicular congestion it no longer applies to the state of affairs in Peshawar. As somebody who suffers from extreme road rage I found this difficult to cope with, I usually drive around with this song playing in my head http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2n2LMZEtA_s ahhh I need to buy an old sprinter some day (I like old things, they're made to a better standard than things today. I'd rather turn one of those obsolete spinny circular phone dials than fiddle with my mobile's gimmicky touch screen...why did I buy this phone again? Because I'm a self loathing socialist-consumerist prick that's why). 

At this point I realized I had loads of work to do, 1 research essay (practically a dissertation) 1 normal essay, and a mock trial to prepare for, it was like being hit on the head with a hammer, I knew deep down that my holidays were over and I would spent the next 2.5 weeks working like a slave to the legal system that I aspire to be part of some day. The next few days were spent with selective amnesia, Nope I had nothing to worry about, I sat there playing Gears of War 3 with my brother (a shitty game mind you) watched tv, went out some more etc etc.

During my last 2 weeks I forced myself into being a nocturnal in an attempt to actually get some work done, this worked, when I wasn't wasting time on youtube, I also conveniently ignored my Junior Counsel who was raging at me on Facebook for not keeping her informed about the progress of our case...hello WE HAVE NO CASE BIYATCH!  DAMN IT I HAVE ESSAYS TO FINISH FIRST GRRRR is what I wanted to say but couldn't. Oh speaking of the case, which is going to be in front of 3 high court judges 1 week from now, I had a suit tailor made for the occasion *strikes a pose* this is going to be my first ever trial in front of a real judges and I'm understandably nervous.  http://objection.mrdictionary.net/go.php?n=5495424

Instead of unwinding I wound myself up, there were lots of people I wanted to meet whom I didn't have time to hang out with, I have done my best to pacify them with an apologetic facebook status. I had a root canal 48 hours before my flight back to England, this needless to say hurt like hell (never had one before) I thought most of the rumours about pain were exaggerations by people who just hated dentists. Unfortunately I was wrong and I realised this while the nerves inside my tooth were mercilessly being scraped out with a bottlebrush, the guy kept on asking if I felt any pain. Silly me I assumed anybody who heard noises like this  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7ftpF10U1M  would notice that their patient was undergoing sufficient trauma, alas the scraping continued.

My parents dropped me at the airport, I left them behind swerving my luggage trolley through the crowd in a metaphoric display of independence, I'll miss them as usual, I'll miss everyone but now isn't the time for homesickness, I just got back after all.

Here I am back, back in England, in my room feeling sorry for myself, finishing off one of my essays, eating microwavable rubbish with my head at a 90 degree angle chewing only on 1 side.  Now the reason this  may be our last chance is that if I get pissed off enough I may just stop writing in this blog altogether, this may be the last post you ever read, I was never very faithful to any of my diaries as a child, they usually became doodling books after 2 entries. Bonus points for anybody who recognises where the quote at the beginning came from! Ah yes and because the place where the nerves in my tooth should be is now filled with synthetic material I am for all intents and purposes a cyborg, I don't know why I came to this conclusion but musing over it is how I kept myself busy on the flight back. In flight entertainment you ask? My seat's console was out of order, This is PIA you should be happy I'm alive.