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A Letter to the Mother of My Step Children

Elements of motherhood and the journey that follows, beautifully put down in words and phrases!

Living, Loving, Laughing...

I know I am not the perfect step-in parent for your children. I make mistakes. I misjudge. I get frustrated, confused, and conflicted. It’s a tight wire balance of being too close and being too far.

I don’t want to overstep my boundaries. And yet, I sometimes lose track of the rule book. I don’t always know what to expect. And even when I think I do, I realize how far-off the beaten path I really am. I manage the best I can for them. Not necessarily as another parent, but someone who loves being in their life. Someone who cares for them, because I care for their Dad. But, I fail. I try. I fail. Then I brush myself off and hope you can forgive me.

From the first moment I met them, I wanted them to know I could never replace you, nor would I want…

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Celebrating my death!

Here and now, I declare myself dead. Away from all sorts of humane and realistic restrictions and constraints. Separate into a new dimension of freedom and openness. Jump into a new space where the old habits and reflexes were useless and unnecessary. At least, now I can die in peace.

The handbook of this current society demands so much more of an individual that they tend to become educated dumb-fucks! They can set a system in motion with their expertise with the subject, but they can’t understand the real need of the system variables on which the correlation and dependence of the gears with the rest of the universe is based upon. The world is filled with knowledgeable candidates waiting in line for their part in the system, but no one comes up with ways and means to strengthen the basic foundation of the system.

I am dead in my own terms. Well, living on this earth hasn’t been much exciting or peaceful. Expectations are brewing up with lack of time and patience and pieces of rectangular paper and round metals are riding this earth to disaster. On the one hand, we have rich people swimming in notes, and on the other we have skinny beings drying up to death- obviously, a feast for the scavengers at hand.

Dying on this planet, for me, is perhaps the best thing that has happened to me as of yet. Dying foretells benign and tranquil life ahead. As I have no expectations from myself or from others, I have already rested in peace. Look out, my friends! You cut trees to make paper, write on them “Save Trees” and use the same paper to control the eradication of forests at large. Moreover, there is so much hatred, war, corruption, tyranny, weapons, nuclear explosions and jittery souls. Death has never been more fulfilling.

The sun gives us life and the humans take it away. Irony of this world! Cruel as it is, yet satisfying that at least life has not been completely diminished in this world. There is a certain ray of hope that prospers life on this planet, a juice of relinquished faith among people. But Always I have faith in me that I am of no good on this planet, so I am now dead.

Cutting to the chase, my point is that although there is very little trust left on this planet, yet there is always a fight against the evil to resurrect the right and the worthy. It’s not all bad and not all white. Some letters are written in ink and some in gold. We have to choose when and what you would like your history to be written with.

“celebrating death is a sign of maturity”

Is Feminism Depressing? On the Use of a Loaded Term.

Feminism and it’s weight-age in today’s society and the meticulous world. A mesmerizing excerpt on the vivid dilemma faced by women everyday everywhere!

bottomfacedotcom

I took part in a discussion with a few Twitter users the other day in which we spoke about the appropriation of the term “depressing” in the title of a webchat about the effects of fourth wave feminism. This conversation took many meandering paths and we were pretty unanimous in our opprobrium of medicalised terms to discuss everyday experiences. We spoke, at length, about the myriad ways in which we, as women with disabilities, are erased from the discourse of mainstream feminism. On the one hand my instinct is to ignore the word “depressing” as something which has become deeply assimilated into our everyday conversations, but on the other I am aware of the hypocrisy of ignoring such terms whilst feeling offend by the use of other medical terms such as “schizophrenic” or “retarded” as adjectives for negative terminology. 

 My life has been full of a variety of tragic strands…

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Do you see me?

Do you see me?

Look closer!

Here I am, standing in front of you. Tired and vanquished. Fighting to get a glance of the rising sun. Desperately searching for contemplation and redemption. The shaggy and tattered clothes hang loosely around my skinny shoulders, bones trying to show themselves at any cost. Dark rough and brisk skin, scaly and dry, hardly trying to hold up the flesh of my body. Though I am looking at you, yet you can’t see me. Your ego has blinded you. Your false attire of self respect, fame and power has led you to misjudgment. The masks that you have put on for the world are slowly becoming one with your  naked self, refusing to come out. You find a piece of paper more valuable than a beating heart. The luxury that you live with everyday has become your sweet poison. The importance of your life is just a few nickels on your death bed and a few nails on your coffin. Maybe, as you rise up, you can see clearly.

Do you see me now?

Take a deeper look into yourself!

The Forgotten Joys of Longhand Writing

Want to write freely again? Feel the joy of holding the pen and surf through the mystic world of your handwritten paraphernalia!

Nillu Nasser Stelter

The Penman's Blood by arnoKath The Penman’s Blood by arnoKath

I have a confession to make. The content of my email inbox, with the exception of pictures of my nephews and the blogs I subscribe to, is uninspiring. My virtual letterbox tends to be filled with bills, receipts and reminders. Emails save time and money, yet still I long for days past. I’d like to cut down on the amount of missives I receive, and replace them with more satisfying ones. I’d choose fewer but longer emails over the perfunctory electronic communication of today in a heartbeat. What a joy it is to pour over rare long emails, the ones filled with delicious titbits of news and sensual descriptions of new experiences, reminiscent of the letters of old. Snail mail is even better. How wonderful to sink into a sofa, tuck your legs up under you and tear open a letter from afar, to see…

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Maybe, this is the end!

A walk into the end of the world conundrum.

The Higher Firewall

Maybe, we may see a brown sun rising

Or maybe, another befalling ice age.

Maybe, the sky will look all dark and scrawny

And maybe, all of us would coop up in a cage.

Maybe, silence traps us into a life sucking abyss

Or maybe, we lose our real identity to the Christ.

Maybe, time is running out to run from this end

And maybe, we cannot stop this inevitable demise.

Maybe, we are just losing our mind over it

Or maybe, running behind money has cost us this.

Maybe, nothing practical is going on around here

And maybe, there are so many things in this world to miss.

Maybe, we are struggling for our ends to meet.

Or maybe, cutting through each day needs to amend.

Maybe, we still have hope to bring back those days

And maybe, this may not be the abetted end.

View original post

Maybe, this is the end!

Maybe, we may see a brown sun rising

Or maybe, another befalling ice age.

Maybe, the sky will look all dark and scrawny

And maybe, all of us would coop up in a cage.

 

Maybe, silence traps us into a life sucking abyss

Or maybe, we lose our real identity to the Christ.

Maybe, time is running out to run from this end

And maybe, we cannot stop this inevitable demise.

 

Maybe, we are just losing our mind over it

Or maybe, running behind money has cost us this.

Maybe, nothing practical is going on around here

And maybe, there are so many things in this world to miss.

 

Maybe, we are struggling for our ends to meet.

Or maybe, cutting through each day needs to amend.

Maybe, we still have hope to bring back those days

And maybe, this may not be the abetted end.