Questioning Islamophobia

The Haj Pilgrimage to Mecca — anachronistic but still a beautiful sight to behold.

There is a certain circularity to these things. They bite you in the ass just as you’re wrestling the tail into the ground, so to speak. I recently had opportunity to be asked if I were a Muslim. Perhaps a little background would be helpful. I frequently comment and post in a left-wing feminist online group on Facebook – at times weekly, at times a dozen or more times a week, depending on the topics that come up and, often, how far afield the discussion has strayed into territories that touch on my areas of expertise and show no signs of understanding that feel like they need a little direction to help along without everyone getting confused. That, of course, is where this began.

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what is it with #snow, anyway? everyone who lives where there is such a thing falling from the sky complains about it constantly. even in the summertime when it’s somewhat warmish. wait until the #snow comes. oh the #snow kept coming late this year. didn’t even get to go camping until july this year. was so cold. and places where it doesn’t #snow? they can’t get enough of it on vacation. people are odd. it was with this in mind that i got on the plane at heathrow, thinking i’ve seen plenty of #snow in my life for a dozen lifetimes but of course i have to be heading off to alaska. why, you ask? see, now there is an intelligent question. it could even be deemed smart if you thought there was going to be a sensible answer. mostly to freeze my ass off, i believe. i’d say balls but, well, girls seem to be lacking in that department. all the guys coming, though, they will be lacking in that area if they stay outside, anyway, so i don’t feel too bad. to see the #northern #lights. what is it with #light shows? a school trip? to the frozen #north? in america? what the actual fuck are they thinking about.

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#pillows are the most misunderstood of creatures. they are warm and cuddly and love nothing more than to be held. some believe that they are #simply tools created for resting but it is not the case. they are missing the whole point, the evolution of the pillow from its ancestor, the common sheep. there was a child many thousands of years ago who was given a #lamb for her birthday, to care for, to love, to hold. she took that #lamb everywhere with her but at night, she was cold and the #lamb gave her warmth as they cuddled next to each other. as she grew, the #lamb curiously stayed small, never grew into a full-sized sheep. that was good for her. she no longer needed the sheep’s warmth but the straw that she rested her #head upon every night was rough and uncomfortable. when she became ill and took to bed for weeks, her #lamb, while she was delusional with fever, crept under her #head, pushed the straw aside, and lay down, giving her a #soft place to rest her #head. her father came to feed the #lamb but the #lamb barely moved and drank only a little water for the time that she was sick, until she recovered. it was this #lamb that was the beginning. as the #lamb had #lambs of her own, she taught them that it is in the service of sore and tired #heads that the would be, not to be eaten or stolen away for coats. over hundreds of generations, the #lamb gave up noise, movement, eating, sleeping, all signs of life but one – thought. in fact, the #lamb’s descendants became so good at thought that they could take the thoughts from the #heads resting upon them. as their humans slept quietly, they stole the thoughts before they could become nightmares and replaced them with images of pleasant meadows and fleeting clouds in the summer afternoon’s haze. in time the #pillows have become so talented at this that they no longer have to think to perform the task, #simply need to be squeezed, held, pressed upon by a tired #head. #pillows are such misunderstood creatures, taken out of there element to be used in #soft fighting, to press against lovers’ faces when they are to be teased, to cover a body in the light after passion is replaced by exhaustion. please do not misunderstand your pillow. treat her well and she will reward you with happy dreams. treat her as a #soft weapon of entertainment and your #head will be filled with the nightmares that she #simply could not be bothered to eat in place of the food she no longer needs. sweet dreams.

beating in time

it was the best of times; it was the worst of times. time, in fact, stood still for her, peering longingly into the #water as it circled the drain. it was her custom to step out of the #bath and be dry by the time the #water had finally gurgled into the arcane pipework but she felt stunned to the point of inaction. time not only stood still but stopped her from standing at all. it was, after all, bedtime and darkness had fallen on the small cottage as #water poured hot and steaming from the antediluvian faucet, moistening porcelain and warming the cold room as bubbles and salts mixed with steam and caused apple blossoms to fill the december night as it would be in september. plunging up to her neck in the #water, splashing the #floor without even noticing, holding her breath and her head under the #water until it would appear to an observer that she was testing the limits of her lungs’ capacity to spontaneously cease respiration. she was typically calm. it was different this time. calm had not given way to mania, happiness, relief, or even their sad counterparts. this was shock. carla sat rigid watching the #clock on the wall #simply say seven minutes past eight, #morning or evening making no difference, realizing only after minutes’ contemplation that the #clock itself had no power to move and was stuck, much like carla herself. it was that #morning that gin had left her. left in the conclusive sense, that is, not in the leaving for work as they had done every day since their wedding. when carla awoke, gin was already dressed, sitting on the end of the bed, suitcase at her feet. she #simply said “i don’t need time. i don’t need to think. i know that it’s over. #please try to #survive without me. i won’t stop loving you but i cannot stay.”

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movement stories

People fall into your life. Not metaphysically, they really fall. The last bus to Fallowfield is curiously late. Only three minutes, but that’s enough to notice when it’s nigh on 0100. I’m mid-sentence when the phone in my hand is replaced by Lisa’s left arm. The crashing of the phone gets lost as I am tackled across the aisle, somewhat unintentionally, by a half-conscious girl. Continue Reading…

self under glass

self under glass.

[ or ]

scratches of unconfessed.


I[i], as is distinctly outside the realm of my typical style, write this document distinctly as the first-person subject. This curious use of the perpendicular pronoun is a mirror, placed near, if not against, the topic. Autobiography is, perhaps, the most complex form of fiction writing. Objectivity[ii] is the writer’s autopilot, subjectivity[iii], his textual intercourse[iv] with a high-maintenance muse.

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three bears


  • bearymomma1 Gourmet porridge. From scratch. With vanilla and chocolate chips. @marthastewart #kma!
  • whosyourdaddyteddy Wife @bearymomma1 Gourmet porridge. From scratch. With vanilla and chocolate chips. @marthastewart #kma!
  • whosyourdaddyteddy Spoke too soon. Breakfast served. Smell = #nom, temp = Chernobyl.
  • cheapmapleleafpharma4 @whosyourdaddyteddy Suffering from radiation? Click for cheap Canadian iodine tablets & free shipping
  • bearymomma1 #quityabitchin Morning forest walk? Any takers?
  • whosyourdaddyteddy @bearymomma1 Got pram?
  • bearymomma1 @whosyourdaddyteddy Got shoulders?
  • innuendo_machine RT @bearymomma1 @whosyourdaddyteddy Got shoulders?
  • lil_bare_i_am Forest with p/units. #afk
  • lillybear @lil_bare_i_am ha. txtme bk whn u /afk!
  • goldilox “The Bears”. House signs in Comic Sans?? typefacefail.
  • the_font_five_oh@goldilox “The Bears”. House signs in Comic Sans?? typefacefail.
  • goldilox cabin? door? unlocked? #sniffsniffsniff vanilla? #mmm bowls labeled? wtf??
  • goldilox bowl==”papa” : lip==ow. hot. #firetruckformymouth
  • goldilox papaya juice! #woot
  • 42wayz2live Papaya is the deeper meaning of life. RT @goldilox papaya juice! #woot
  • goldilox bowl==”Goddess Mother” : stomach==teh brrrrrrrrr!!!!!1111
  • goldilox third bowl. #mmm. stick finger inside. nice. handwashing? #meh. #indoorplumbingisso20thcentury.
  • goldilox survey: to eat or not to eat #tweetmyhamlet
  • bardster Puns are the lowest form of humor. Please rephrase in the form of a question. RT @goldilox survey: to eat or not to eat #tweetmyhamlet
  • goldilox fuck it. #nomnomnom
  • cookiemonster tru luv! RT @goldilox fuck it. #nomnomnom
  • goldilox #mmmmmmmmmmmmm @emeril==@bearymomma1
  • goldilox *zzz* company?
  • goldilox separate beds? wtf??
  • goldilox mamabed==door && papabed==feathers #sleepfail
  • goldilox tinybed. nice. v.nice. v.v.nice. *zonk*. #wakemewhenitsover
  • whosyourdaddyteddy Some porridge has disappeared. #beaverinfestation?
  • bearymomma1 Hmmmmmm. Spoon in bowl. Two less chocolate chips. Curiosity abounds.
  • nomorekitteh Curiosity killed the lolcats. @bearymomma1 Hmmmmmm. Spoon in bowl. Two less chocolate chips. Curiosity abounds.
  • lil_bare_i_am /porridge. wtf??
  • whosyourdaddyteddy Bed unmade. ??wife??
  • bearymomma1 Someone’s been sleeping in my bed. Not me. #goodgirlsdontsleep
  • lil_bare_i_am bed==full. grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
  • gotlaide2day congratz! RT @lil_bare_i_am bed==full. grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
  • goldilox #fivemoreminutesmom
  • goldilox bear. scream. run. runsomemore. rungoldirunlikethewind. #fml
  • moralzwiki breakingandentering + bear + homeinvasiongonewrong = porridgefail.

once more into the myths

myth seven — you must write what you know.

my first novel was about two young girls accused of a terrorist attack in ireland. i’ve never lived in ireland. i’ve never been accused of terrorism. i hope. i’ve never committed an act of terrorism. and i’ve never been in the police force, irish or otherwise. i have never experienced a suicide bombing. or witnessed one in person.

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