A Myth in Creation

And she listens to him talk on the phone, speaking of what he did in the day, how is so busy in studies and activities that he doesn't have time to get bored, how he watches this movie and that series, how he reads this website and reads that blog, how he laughs and shares with his trusted friends... and she wonders, 'What should I tell him?' She has nothing of that. What does he know of the hell-hole she lives in? Of her chronic depression and ceaseless ennui. He stops. Takes in her saturated silence. He knows . But what can he do? He cannot cure her. He cannot give her his coping mechanisms, his avenues of escape, even if he tried. Oh, believe me, he tries all the time. But it doesn't work. He cannot take away her problems. He cannot give her true friends. And the silence is too unbearable. So he talks, in his desperate attempt to pour some of his life into hers. Desperate. *sobs* "Honey, what's wrong?" Everything is wrong, you moron. "Please, I ca

The second generation of Postmodernism has arrived: see this excellent review of "Reality Hunger" by David Shields. "The first generation of postmodernists, Baudrillard for instance, were constantly at pains to show us that the new reality was manufactured and therefore, in a funny sense, not really real. Baudrillard called it the simulacrum. Reality had become simulation all the way through. To look for the underlying reality on which the simulation was based was to miss the point. Second-generation Postmodernists like Shields find such concerns boring.... Notice the subtle but profound shift in attitude. We have gone from worrying whether there is any reality at all to being overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the reality we face.... First-generation Postmodernists always wrote like they were standing outside Postmodernism looking in. The sentences came falling to Earth like bombs. And nobody likes getting bombed. David Shields isn't bombing anyone — he's he

This blog has entered the competition for Best Individual Blogger in Pakistan's First Blog Awards. If you like this blog and think it should win, please do vote: http://blogawards.pk/2010/02/23/individual-blogger-m-awais-aftab/ Thank you :)

( True story ) X: One of my ex-classmates is bothering me with a long sermon about Valentine's day being the root of all evil (-_-) Y: I got a Valentine-is-unislamic-and-evil sms from my future mother in law. Beat that ;) X: Haha! Dude, I give up. That is unbeatable! *roflol*

Aati on my Valentine's day: " Waisi ki jawaani barbaad ho rahi hay! ;P "

Valentine's Day by Awais Aftab A person is selling roses on the signal. I am drawn to buy one for you. But like all such temptations, I have learned to suppress it with a smile. Knowing full well that, Condemning the petals to wither on my desk, Would not bring you any closer to me.

Imagine the relief of Atlas when he lets go of the heavens and the sky doesn't fall down crashing on his head...