Well I am speckled like a leopard, just like a leopard

•October 6, 2008 • 2 Comments

Why is the pronunciation of leotard so estranged from that of leopard?

x

Reda Haq

Time Passes

•July 26, 2008 • 3 Comments

So, a lot of things have happened since my last post:

  • I’ve graduated with an Upper Second Class Honours in English and Creative Writing from Royal Holloway, University of London. That was last week. It was good, the non-stop celebrating. The actual day was kinda bad in that I was ill – no nerves, I assure you, yet I threw up a total of 5times and collapsed while having my photo taken in the photography studio a mere half hour before the ceremony. But I made it through and we [parentals and J] went for dinner with Lucifer, her sister The Other Hand and their parents/ cousin/ friend which was lovely.
  • I am currently job-hunting. Media. Journalism. Editorial for Publishing houses. PR – that kinda thing.

I’ve spent the last week predominantly meeting up with like_a_rosie, piesecki and bt_phonebox and spending excessive moneys on food and other consumerable goodies like exciting clothes.

We are currently trying to reorganise the house now that myself and the twinbrother have brought back all our respective junk from university…and we have guests coming tomorrow.

I also think I’d quite enjoy writing a script. We shall see whether this thinking becomes more of an urge in the coming weeks… I shall perhaps enlist the help of one Lucifer Knight to further this endeavour if she is not too preoccupied with her own writings… x

Reda Haq

Firefox Vs. IE

•April 24, 2008 • 14 Comments

I’m totally a Firefox lover even if it does slow down my laptop on account of being more memory-intensive than InternetExplorer. It has a better interface, is more user-friendly, has cool add-on gimicky things AND if you wanna type a URL which starts “http://” it prefixes it for you! Unlike IE.

On that note, if you’re not really into shortcuts, apart from the fairly obvious Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V etc for ‘Copy’ and ‘Paste’, when you’re in your browser and want to go to a website enclosed by the common “www—-.com” try just typing the word/phrase and then hitting Ctrl+Enter….

It inserts it for you!
Eg. hotmail Ctrl+Enter -> site appears!
Facebook Ctrl+Enter -> site appears!
Works in any browser – tis Genius, of a kind.

The impetus for this post was on learning that IE was messing up my blog html code… inserting stupid linebreaks. I think I’ve fixed it, but it may still be doing so.

What’s your browser-of-choice?  Or are you so utterly ungeeky that you really don’t care?… By which i mean really don’t care, as opposed to care but think you’re too cool to answer such questions.

I could go onto a Thunderbird Vs. Outlook debate, but firstly I’ve never used Thunderbird, and secondly, I doubt many people reading this really care…
Unless they are Techies [ComputerScience students] *cough* Ninja *cough*

and my sneaky twin who may be forced to make comment… Who chooses a degree where you take a course entitled Computational Complexity? – “What’ve you got Fridays?” – “oh, Complexity…”

FUNTIMES. x

Reda Haq

ETA: Baseless Optimism tells me I have the cool. Thus my geekness is negated.

Epistle to Dr. Zeus

•April 24, 2008 • 2 Comments

Seeing as I’ve published a poem-a-day for the past two days, thought I’d keep the trend alive for a third-time-lucky sorta scenario.

I composed this in first year, 2 years ago now!!! Submitted it as my main Creative Writing piece, but I still rather love it, if you’d forgive my boldness in saying so. Unfamiliar with the Demeter/Persephone myth? Here’s the wikipedia’d take. Any opinions or criticism would be most welcome!

Epistle to Dr. Zeus

I

Dear Doctor, I write in firm truth’s pursuit,
Before this fraud develops to lawsuit.
Defendants such as this you’d wish to save
From matters of distress – it’d prove too grave
A verdict, both for your career and mine,
For without grapes, who could produce the wine?

So here I now come to attest one truth,
I pray you will not find it too uncouth.
That scent of sandalwood, those bloodstained lips,
In Love, mere mortals’ sights are thus eclipsed.

So long was she this sheltered and protected
By her dear mother, who never neglected,
To keep their humble council home abound
With jasmine, sage – sweet roses did surround,
To keep her hidden from the gaze of those,
Who gathered when her silver scent arose.

But she, fair rebel, clad in combat boots,
Dark eyeliner, and hair with aqua roots
Would often roam with her archaic smile,
Plastered into the depths of dark denial.
And with her nymph’an friends she would descend,
Into that neon mass she’d try to blend.

Her angsty, spaced-out gaze was not enough -
Rough? Yes. But now to prove that she was tough.
A powdered line a razorblade can draw,
Dear Doctor, now you spy the fatal flaw!
A lesson from Kate Moss was the new drill,
Who knew that good looks – minus brains – could kill?

Most certain, our heroine was naïve!
Her heart, so prominent, on her white sleeve.
Though her life was not taken, truth be told,
The symptoms did all seem to fit the mould.
Still, in that throbbing, palpitating sight,
She’d come to shine: a pure and wholesome light

That even Darkness could not keep away
And like a moth was drawn from black of day,
And plucked this cosmic flower from their midst,
Enveloped her in his black cloak and kissed
Her tiny, trembling mouth so limply wrought,
Intoxicated thus, her breath was caught.

An arrow drawn from Cupid’s own quiver,
Redundant now, but made the two shiver.
And leaning deeper, hungry in their lust,
Neither suspected that they could combust.
Though weariness shapes wariness as one,
The taking of one path can’t be undone.

He led her down a pretty primrose path,
And further down – “heed not the aftermath.”
He whispered it as delicate refrain;
An act that proved deliciously inane,
For when he tried to garner a response,
He found she was the queen of nonchalance.

II

He took her to a dingy little room,
As dark as night, as serene as the moon.
And here he lavished her with tales of woe,
Of how he was a misunderstood foe,
And whilst she helped herself to scones and tea,
He told her, through his tears that flowed so free:

“It is not folly, nor capricious wit,
Which tether me, so ready to admit -
But merely love, and love that is so real,
I find you too audacious to conceal
My true intentions, which may come as shock,
A marriage ring shall bind the marriage lock.”

She stamped and stomped and screamed to be released,
But would not leave before enjoying a feast.
A pomegranate seed, a cake or two…
Between the feasting, showed him her tattoo.
It would not take a gen‘ius to construe,
That gluttony was here seen sharp and new.

Meanwhile her mother grew hysterical,
And knocked from door to door, numerical
And ordered in her search to discover,
Just where her daughter was held under cover.
The wheat did come to weep, I must confess,
And with her all the land lay in distress.

With lands so sad, she sought to search the seas,
All seven of them, yet did not find ease.
The Oracle at Delphi gave no clue
“Some clairvoyant! Some soothsayer! Some fool!”
She cursed under her raw, grief-stricken breath.
This trying journey seemed to signal death.

And never did forever mean so much,
As when a restless mother could not clutch
And embrace in her arms her tender child.
Wonder when she evolved to something wild?

And desperation never threatened life
As now it did, so multiplied by strife.
She looked up at last to the stormy skies,
Berated herself for all those white lies,
And found herself addressing the heavens,
The clouds that lay in layers, steep sevens.

“Helios!” She called obsequiously,
“Bright sun, what is there that you do not see?
My daughter is vanished, where were you then:
On the night of the Twenty-First, at 4pm?”
The mother now looked certainly relieved,
For alibis, so quick, are not conceived.

III

She soon exposed a dingy little room,
Where sunlight fought through perpetual gloom.
The withered leaves, the petals were now dead,
And poor Demeter felt that her heart bled.
And in this land, dear Hades did reside,
Now Persephone suffered from divide.

And here I now come to attest the truth,
Before this fraud develops to lawsuit.
That scent of sandalwood, those bloodstained lips,
In Love, mere mortals’ sights are thus eclipsed.

A shattered fist, an undulating sigh,
A cry of mercy and a broken eye,
Will come to pass if something isn’t done.
I ask you now, dear sir, to draw your gun.

How now to deal with those who tempted fate?
How now to chastise and how to berate?
How to, both mother and lover, sedate?
The question: How to settle this debate?

Though I have reviewed all such evidence
I cannot see who’s worth deliverance.
This case does leave me poor and none the wiser,
I call upon you now, oh great advisor

So was she altogether free of sin?
Does beauty have a blackened soul within?

x

Reda Haq

Copernicus

•April 23, 2008 • Leave a Comment

tenderised knife edge of a star

castrating pentagrams

smoking helium in an enclosed sphere

buoyant

concentric, thought closer

dripping silver mountain water on

the river never meets the now shattered black sea

as the cuspate star severs paradigm paralysis

x

Reda Haq

Illusions

•April 23, 2008 • 2 Comments

ﺩﺷﺖ ﺗﻨﮩﺎﺋﯽ ﻣﻴﮟ، ﺍﮮ ﺟﺎﻥ ﺟﮩﺎﻥ ﻟﺮﺯﺍﮞ ﮨﻴﮟ

ﺗﻴﺮﯼ ﺁﻭﺍﺯ ﻛﮯ ﺳﺎﻳﮯ۔ ﺗﺮﮮ ﮨﻮﻧﻄﻮﮞ ﻛﮯ ﺳﺮﺍﺏ

“In the wasteland of solitude, my love, quiver

shadows of your voice, illusions of your lips.” – Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Illusions

Hope, as it echoes, smokes eternity
Like a ripe volcano. A cascade of
Pyroclastic inhibition – Speed is
Beauty – Falling like a chiffon curtain

Veil. Where two lovers are indistinct but
United at dusk; where my answers are:
Reflectionless desire. Impressive
Versatility; I smoke it behind

A mask – Venetian in design.
I smoke hope cigarettes with speed, calming
Ripened nerves to ropes in a graveyard where
Lovers are united in smoke curls.

x

Reda Haq

The Collage

•April 22, 2008 • 1 Comment

Coloured translucent, beyond the crinkly

yellow of the sweet-wrapper he’s just unwrapped
penny toffee, a disc now being spun

‘cross the horizon you see it glow, grow
sticky in his fingers – he’d liked Quality Streets

or was it Roses – you can’t remember
this one was always particularly sweet to the touch

and still dividing loyalties, as the disc spins
on the desk

you wait for it to land but he keeps flicking his nail at the edge
as though it were a coin, or a die

unwilling to decide one way or other, preferring
nothing to the silence from a twin you chose

Instead, the hazy way he looks as you hold tracing paper up to the light

x

Reda Haq

P.S. I HATE penny sweets… not sure why I just wrote a poem on the subject. Anything to avoid the imminent inevitability of essaying I suppose.

 
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