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.