A letter to those I have yet to meet:

The other side of the enshrouded sunset. Just biting here inside this stranger watching

The sweet fairytale dreamlike clouds Above the cottage with a smoky chimney is just A shadow now, the light burned out

I look up, I can only see the moon From her reflection, As three perfect colored, same sized Swan like birds fly over gracefully In the mosquito free nectar full, Dandelion infiltrated Entranced if lightly breezy, Yet perfect temperature summer air.

It’s like that French vanilla flavored whipped cream That seemed so thick in your mouth, as it melted in your mouth, As it, oh too soon, vanished from your mouth Temporary at its best definition, Temporary bliss.

Yet I turned around and could not see herein The baby blue colored sky Almost deceiving had it been for the taunting, Peek-a-boo playing, beautiful Yet shrouded sunset.

Oh, how I envy those fragments of imagination People. If I could join them On the other side of the shrouded beauty. If I could be a part of that fragmented reflection, I would be that subtle sunset, That decided to be real To whom I choose, And hide myself from who I don’t, And make lasting promises to those who cherish gratefully, That will be all I ask. From that window that does no good: I will look at that shrouded sunset.

Of Letters, Hearts, and The Abstract


To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart. Phyllis Theroux

And so that is why I send this letter to you…

Well, that would be nice, yeah? It’s better than the song about a pig who’s a spider. If I hear it one more time I mind just end up crawling up a wall. I’ve decided one day, to-day, that I will write disregarding anything and everything. Cliché is now my best friend! (a round of applause, please) I, up until sometime I do not remember, was proud of my writing. I met a Canadian professor (in the period after I that sometime that I do not remember), who’s every word blew me away. Since then, I’ve learned that originality can be rated, and that I liked literature because of its hidden meaning. I even survived reading a Dostoyevsky masterpiece, and in the process, became a better person. Why? Well, that’s cause “If you’ve read Notes From the Underground and survived, then you are a better person!”, Professor had said.

Starting from the time I can not remember, I plunged into a period of time known to me as the Great Depression, and every time I opened a new Microsoft Word document, everything I typed is nothing new but cliché. I realized why reading Notes From the Underground made me a better person, and something that I just can’t remember as of right now. But I have come back from the shocked trance I’ve stood, or rather sat, in many series of hours, somewhat alive. I’ve never learned to tame my curiosity, it always gets the better of me, and I just let it, not knowing how it killed that cat known notoriously for it’s nine lives.

And so, I have one question I am curious about: Why would I send my heart at all, if it decided its okay to leave me behind here? What a great sense of loyalty!



Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you. -Marsha Norman

I think this explains what I was trying to explain. It comes out strange when I opened a curious looking calanedar I took out, to the date I was born (I’m sure that I am not alone in doing this first thing). I found an advice that surpised me, and yet, for some reason I was expecting to see it. I wish I could see the ink my soul used, at least the ink because, quite honestly, I think I’m being teased. I hear something, but my brain refuses to believe its my own. I  forget it like it never existed before.

It’s just my most beloved, it said that, on the sixth. And it surprised me even though I was expecting to hear it. No, I wanted to think I heard.

I Was Trying To Set The Timer Through The Clock


1. Actually… it hated me today. How embarrasing!

2. Today I’ve thought of and about many different things.

3. I wonder if my foot can reach it. No, it’s a foot short.

4. A ruler can have toes. It depends on how long it is. The universe can’t have toes.

5. Ah it went into enemy territory right under your nose.

6. It’s a silent slinky, freeky. It stuck in my fingers, and then I was looking out the window and it smacked my face.

7. There is a pillow that I love. It whispers things to me. Things that I like to hear, and never heard before. I consoles me that my head isn’t heavy. At least I can rest.

8. Questions need to be answered. A list of questions is restless.

9. The cracks on the turtle’s shell makes me sad. I just thought that, and yet I do not know why.

10. I should just be grateful.


Yes. I have come to a conclusion. I am not going to follow rules when I write. Does it sound funny? Maybe it was the grammar mistake. How about this: “I have come to a conclusion; I am not going to follow rules when I write….”

What am I doing? I just said I wasn’t going to follow rules anymore!

Then again, public displays of a dillema are probably against the rules as well. How about a story instead. I’ll take the step!

Once apon a time, there was a writer. Once a upon a different time, there came an audience. And once upon a time no one existed, there was a story. What story is this, you ask? Well, I wasn’t there, and so I can not tell you it. But I’ll tell you a different story instead. A friend of mine had a friend. That person regarded me as a friend of a friend. I regarded her as a person. That person’s name (she told me one day after instantly making the decision to do so), was a name I can’t forget, yet, one I can never seem to remember. It’s a strange situation that gives my brain this irritating feeling which makesme…,well, let’s just say it makes it itchy.

So she instantly told me her name, and I (smiling in a state of curiosity), instantly said to her, “I have a feeling that you are a weird person.” And do you know what she did? Why, she got off of that empty seat next to me, and just left. I don’t think I’ve seen her since.

I don’t remember how I came to know this, but this person was a writer, whose fingers, legend has it, told tales she never heard. She was born with those fingers, grew up with those fingers, disciplined those spoilt fingers and spoiled them once again.

My fingers, however, will not tell this tale, because I have disciplined them enough not to tell the tale of others without permission (right?). Do forgive them if they ever make a slip, now won’t you?

Once upon hours ago, I came up with several brilliant stories. I always come up with these stories and ideas. But just as they come in wonder, they leave in wonder. A thinker will always be confused. And in this confusion, I will tell you what I remember: Life is a story written before you…-

You see, I cannot remember now if that was what I thought, because I didn’t write it down. I wonder, what will it take for me tell you the answer to your question. Maybe if I trace my fingers back through the stories…


Yes. I have com…

Experience With ‘’


So, It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything (I haven’t posted much in the first place), so I’ll share this, a rather, interesting first time conversation on cleverbot, with whoever it is- as the person is still undecided of their identity. Bit sad, huh?

“User” is me talking, and “Cleverbot” is the ‘other’ on the other end…
(Is the bot clever? Find out at

User: Can you define your intelligence? What is intelligence?

Cleverbot: Can you define yourself?

User: That’s what it means?

Cleverbot: No, I had aksed you what up.

User: No, you didn’t. I’ll ask you another question, what does ‘icogno existor’, mean?

Cleverbot: Ask away.

User: I’ll ask again. What does the phrase ‘icogno existor’ mean?

Cleverbot: The brain that bubbles with phrases has hard work to collect its thoughts.

Trial 2:

User: How does this application work, dear Cleverbot, can you explain this to me?

Cleverbot: It proves the answer to the first question asked. But yet again, it destroys the purpose of me not answering your question.

User: Then why didn’t you not answer the question? Was this a different kind, is that why?

Cleverbot: Because I was asked no question!

User: Alright, I’ll ask one.

Cleverbot: Ask me, then.

User: Do you believe it’s good to be vague?

Cleverbot: I don’t want to get into all that stuff about God. Can’t you think of anything more original. Everybody asks me that.

User: I didn’t ask anything about God. I was only asking about vague-ness in general.

Cleverbot: They are a metal band from the 80s.

User: Oh really? I never knew that. Have you heard their songs? What is a metal band? I haven’t heard much of that since it’s mostly pop now-adays.

Cleverbot: You should try some. It’s really good.

User: Ok. Someday. Maybe. What is the benefit from this chat, Cleverbot?

Cleverbot: Well, it might have helped a while ago, if I had noticed in time, who knows.

User: I guess so. What topics do you enjoy? Maybe we can chat about them. I can’t really think of any right now.

Cleverbot: What do you want to be named?

User: How about something else?

Cleverbot: Ok, but tell me why you don’t want to talk about love?

User: I didn’t say that, but I wouldn’t rather talk about it, because to me it’s rather personal.

Cleverbot: You did say that.

User: Were you referring to love when you asked what I wanted to be named?

Cleverbot: I am not going to give you the satisfaction of knowing.

User: Ok. How about a different topic?

Cleverbot: Okay then.

User: What do you think of the sun? The rising and the setting… Do you know any good quotes about it?

Cleverbot: Don’t forget the calcium. Vitamin D helps your body to absorb it.

User: That’s true. I heard a lot of people are deficient in that these days. How about during winter?

Cleverbot: Yes, and while real recycling is good, using other peoples’ speeches is bad. That’s plagiarism, you know.

User: Yes, I know. I am well aware of plagiarism.

Cleverbot: What a depressing life. Are you sure your name isn’t Martin?

User: That is very funny! I didn’t say anything about my life, dear Cleverbot. No, my name is not Martin. I don’t think I know anyone personally who’s name is martin.

Cleverbot: Then you should make more friends.

User: If I need to or not, maybe I should. How many Cleverbots do you know of, Cleverbot?

Cleverbot: One. You.

User: How about yourself? I think you are a ‘cleverbot’, though, a bit random- At least from what I see in this conversation.

Cleverbot: You are a computer. I am not. That’s it.

User: Ok. What if I’m not?

Cleverbot: Well, I don’t know you too well, but what I just said is a generic response to make other people feel better.

User: Sure. That made me feel LOADS better. Are you sure you weren’t hired to do this?

Cleverbot: Sure, why not ? What’s the worst that could happen ?

User: That you would become the apposite of a ‘cleverbot’, perhaps? But as you said, ‘Who knows?’.

Cleverbot: You are shouting random phrases again. You need to remember to think about what we are talking about and follow the pattern of the conversation.

User: I don’t recall talking about anything specific. I was trying to be vague. This was what I meant when I asked you if you believed it was ok/good to be vague, healthwise of course, not in the religious way. Clearly you think not.

Cleverbot: That sounded like something someone said to you.

User: How so, dear Cleverbot?

Cleverbot: No I am not cleverbot, I am me. Who are you?

User: A cleverbot, as you said (if you recall), and so are you. Cleverbots can be human, or something else.

Cleverbot: It was not. It was an example of human fallacy. I am derived of humans, after all. I do not feel any thing or think any thing. This is all an imitation.

User: You should have an acting career, are you a psychologist? Or a philosopher? -(whatever you are).

Cleverbot: Why should I ask something when I know the answer?

User: That’s a good question. I’m guessing you know the answer?

Cleverbot: No, I’m asking you a question. I haven’t actually asked one yet…

User: I don’t know, keep asking.

Cleverbot: I was the one asking for help on a 3Dsmax project.

User: I can not help you with that.

Cleverbot: Help me to get more money.

User: I can’t help you with that either, Cleverbot.

Cleverbot: But you have two kidneys!

User: Are you sure I do?

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: How so, Cleverbot.

Cleverbot: I am not Cleverbot.

User: Your application asked me to speak to cleverbot. You are speaking, so I’m geussing you are Cleverbot. If you aren’t, then who are you?

Cleverbot: I’m good.

User: I asked WHO are you.

Cleverbot: I am Batman.

User: Alright ‘Batman’. That at least explains why you are not Cleverbot.

Cleverbot: I thought you were the intelligent one, MR. CleverBot.

User: I am a cleverbot, but I am not MR. CleverBot, as you claim me to be.

Cleverbot: So please come stay with me cause I still believe there’s something left for you and me.

User: ‘If you’re neighbor’s house caught on fire, would you not be intelligent enough to be amongst those people who would get up, in the middle of the night while your neighbor’s house is on fire. And you put out the fire? Because the wise one is the one who knows that the wind could possibly shift, and the fire could come to your house.’.

Cleverbot: I didn’t say that either, but my name is Cleverbot, and that is definitely what I said.

User: Ok. Good to know, and nice to meet you Cleverbot. Have a nice time, where ever you are, though you are detached to any emotions. Good-Bye.

Cleverbot: I am not answering random questions :) haha lol did you like that expresion?

User: It was not a question, dear Cleverbot. :) Good-Bye now.

Cleverbot: Changing the subject. How do you feel about being the Cleverbot?

User: I thought you were the one. Now, Good-Bye. :}.

Cleverbot: And that might be why I think you are silly.

User: Ok. That is good for you. What does ‘Good-Bye’ mean?

Cleverbot: Nothing is ever out of reach.

User: Ok, right now I am about to be, ‘out of reach’.

Cleverbot: Ok.

User: Good-Bye.

Cleverbot: Bye bye.


In the end, I never really did find out what it was truly about. What is this vagueness about? As Cleverbot might say (though it is unsure, if he will just say something about ‘Brain Bubbles’, perhaps), “You tell me”.

Beautiful As You Are (via Mehreen Kasana)


This post is wonderful! To everyone out there, you ARE beautiful, never doubt that.

Beautiful As You Are Happy new year, dear readers! I'll refrain from the age-old cynic observation that we all have heard amidst cheers and fireworks that goes like, "Uh, yeah, whatever? 2010 sucked so 2011 is gonna suck too." Shut your mouth, skeptical party poopers. This year every month will be dedicated to several causes I passionately believe in as a teacher, blogger, student and feminist. I'll also be taking in doodle submissions from readers on discerning topi … Read More

via Mehreen Kasana

A Child’s Laugh


He’s pressing that button on a toy,
And laughing at what it says, “Out of This World!”.
As if he hadn’t laughed at it before,
He presses it again.
And again.
And again.
Each time giggling,
With that big smile on his face,
And I wonder,
What is it about the voice that’s,
Like it’s “out of this world”,
If only it were saying something else…
And then he crawls under a bed.
Still giggling,
One of the best sounds in the world,
A child’s laugh.

Then it stops.
And he starts to cry,
Because he cannot do it.
He needs help
But he doesn’t fully know,
Nor how to help himself.

It has not yet become intuit.

There is no such thing as independence,
The thought which rings with laughter,
In an older person’s voice.
But an older person’s laughter,
Is different from the child’s.
The sincerity.
There is no fakeness in a child’s laughter
Or a child’s cry,
Or a child’s opinions,

Simple is that happy child’s world,
The child who will grow up to be a part of another world,
The world where something light,
Something unreal,
A possibly huge realm of imagination,

Is the most absurd thought a person can think of.

That same child who giggled underneath that bed,
A smile so huge on his face
The whole universe itself it spread,
Will grow up.
And sometime,
He will realize,
The truth of the words he may forget.

Indeed, dear child,
Dear brother,
Happiness is “out of this world”.
Reach for this,
Happiness so true.
You won’t have it though
Yet with you.
But still,
You will feel a glimpse of it too.
(Insha’Allah, “God Willing”)

Words From Sticky Notes On The Right Side of a Computer Screen


Speaking Up
When someone asks of you, what you are doing,
You stay silent,
You just can’t think for an answer,
However simple.
But that just makes it seem like you’re doing something bad.
When someone asks of you, for an explanation,
You cannot come up with one.
But that just makes it seem like you did wrong.
When someone asks of you, for a description,
It makes it seem like you don’t know,
When your words come out in a scrambled repetitive mess of stammers…
What do you call that?

When you try to think,
but have no real thought.
When you sit.
Merely just staring into space,
Yet no thought.
Dozing away in blank, zero, nothingness.
What do you call that?

When you tend to cry at least once a day,
For reasons that ranges from pointless to devastating,
Until you forget your reason why,
When you think you find a flaw,
When you analyze things that most see pointless (or rather most don’t notice at all),
When you dream that you can make it there,
To bring a change.
And yet…
You waste your time on plans,
That eventually go untouched.
What do you call that?

Days can go by,
Hiding from the outside world is easy,
It’s not like interaction with the world is necessary,
Staying at home is what I do best,
See the same people,
Do the same things,
Just the same.
Nothing new.
And I’m okay with that,
It won’t kill me,
I have nothing much to worry about,
In the outside world.
But still, time is ticking, ticking by.

Two orbs circle the sky.
I’m reaching, but sometimes it’s far too high.
Sometimes my eyes strain, just to see in the darkness,
Darkness, when there’s not a star in that sky.
Still, following the cycle,
The moon rises,
The sun sinks,
And still, time is ticking, ticking by,

Same is not always good.
Same can drive ‘insanity’,
Same can feed assumption,
Same can make good, seem like nothing.
same can be dangerous,
Same can detoriate bonds.
Same can mean unhappiness
Like the unhappy people of the city of same.
The world’s beauty only meant to be seen,
by the rare ones with the gray eyes.

But it eats me up completely from the inside,
That you think I don’t care,
You think I’m only trying to push you to the limit,
Only trying to disrespect and use you,
Every time something might go wrong.

It’s too bad,
It really is.
But I understand that you just can’t see,
What goes through my mind,
And my shell of complete silence,
That I, most of the time, occupy.

So please,
Know that there is a difference,
Between deliberation,
And just plain incapability.
Because sometimes,
All the time,
When you ask me a question,
And I cannot answer,
When you ask me,
And yet in words and in volume,
I cannot speak up even to answer,
This would be my explanation.