Venial Sin

And just as I thought that my life couldn’t get any stranger, the Urds grab the skeins of my life and ravel them up some more. I got into work to be accosted by telephone calls from an acquaintance who used to be a model and now does events planning, and production stuff. She wants me to be the guest on some televised talk show she produces. Hmmm. And then to top it all off, she wants me to model [...]

I’ve sat around for the last few days, and asked myself many questions, for example, why do I fall in love immediately with anyone who shows me the slightest bit of attention? Also, does black make me look fat, or is it white? I can’t decide. Personally, I think it’s the plates of curried meat in all its various forms, and huge amounts of rice and potatoes that are to blame, but it’s easier to go out and buy a [...]

I shall rant later, but here’s the quick version of my last two nights. The guy I’m sort of interested in is probably too spineless to break up with the man who makes him miserable. Then, I met an attractive, intelligent man online, later on in person, and stayed up with him until 8 in the morning at the beach, watching the sun rise as I had my arms wrapped around him. And of course, I didn’t do anything because [...]

Now THIS. This is a good one. I joined a gay Pakistani men group on Yahoo! a few months ago, thinking that it could potentially introduce me to someone who would be able to express his desire to meet me with words slightly more eloquent than: “I want to make friendship with you”, or at the very least intitiate conversation via gambits beyond: “A/S/L?” or derivatives thereof. With the exception of a message or two on the group (and that [...]

I wish I had a head for poetry, I really do. I’m almost completely incapable of judging poems on their literary or artistic merit, primarily because I feel very strongly about forcing any sort of subjective opinion upon work that is essentially highly personal. It’s sort of a “love me, love my poetry” thing. Or is it “hate the poem, love the poet”? Perhaps it should be “hate the poem, hate the poet”.

I have so many things to say that I don’t really know where to begin. There’s this strange, simmering maelstrom in the pit of my stomach, and I can’t decide if I should just start bellowing with rage or whimpering in desperation. I hate men who play head games. I hate it when people try to play me, and I flatter myself that for the most part, I’m perceptive enough to pick up on when people are making an attempt [...]

I haven’t actually slept in almost a week. Bouts of tossing and turning with an occasional muttered curse don’t count. And I think I’m too embarassed to actually admit to the reason for my REM-deficiency; I’m even more embrassed to admit to my arrogance in thinking that I’ve “found my root”. *sigh* I’m not making any sense at all, am I?

How we survived jail hell, part two David Rose Sunday March 14, 2004 The Observer Interrogation For the second six months of 2002, the interrogations ceased. But from the beginning of 2003, interviews with MI5, the FBI, the CIA and US military intelligence became increasingly frequent. Rasul says: ‘They kept taking us and taking us, showing us photos saying: “This guy says you’ve done this, this guy says you’ve done that” – what they meant was that other detainees desperate [...]

From The Guardian: World exclusive: Inside Guantanamo

I got rejected by Vanderbilt. But I got into the University of Chicago. Any ideas on how I can fund my return to the US? Perhaps I should put up a PayPal thing and everyone can chip in $10?