Keep up the drama.

Chapter 27.

To Remind You All

Religion. It's the oldest trick in the book. Ever since man was able to write anything down he started with a lie. A truth is something people understand without the need for any indoctrination. It's only lies that ever needed actual explaining. Now...thousands of years after the inception of faith in something beyond the mortal world...the acts justified in the name of flying balls of light with infinite power have taken a sharp, very HUMAN turn. Last night, in an attempt to raise the amount of aid given to us by foreign pockets claiming it necessary for the fight against terror, the Pakistani government coordinated and sanctioned an attack on one of it's own buildings in Karachi City, with the help of the very people they're supposed to be at war with. I truly believe this to be true. I'm writing it though...so it could be a lie.

You know you're in a bad place when a 1000 kg of explosives are used to raze a building to the ground and the first thing you think is thank God only 17 people died. It's getting so bad in this country we're almost forgetting all the hell breaking loose outside of it.

I'm not political. I'm not religious. I don't even think I'm smart anymore. I used to think I'm above the rest in some way. Hoped to God I was infact. That I was special, more brave, more grounded, more sure of how everything works no matter how ugly it may seem than everyone else. But last night I feared for a lot more people than I can even remember caring about till now. It's annoying feeling that weak. So weak that you could take a gun and just put a bullet in the rat bastard that orchestrated this attack. But you know the truth...gift wrapped, beaten, tied, ready to be killed, nailed to a God damn chair in an empty isolated warehouse sitting three feet from you...you still wouldn't be able to pull the trigger to end the life of the man who was responsible for the deaths of 17 people.

The truth is the buildings in Karachi aren't the only thing that were shaken by this blast last night. It was our faith in good. But I hear we only lose things that those things may have a
chance to find US instead. It's not normal to forget about this in a couple of days, but thats exactly what's going to happen. Though I don't feel sad about it anymore. Everyone's out to set their facebook status to say what happened. Some even try to plug something noble or constructive they were up to at the time they felt the shake. Nabeel was helping a dog with three legs find a home when the earth shook. Nazish was helping an old man put on diapers when the bomb went off so he shit himself before she even could. Basit was building a fucking orphanage with nothing but a spoon and some God damn steel rulers. Then there's always that one fat fuck who was just at McDonalds scarfing down a mac when he spilt ketchup on his shirt which exposes that chubby well he calls a damn stomach through the little spaces between the buttons because the vibrations in the ground were so strong. Atleast a couple of them have the decency to say hope everyone's safe...forgetting that anyone who isn't wouldn't exactly be logged onto Zuckerbergs social fucking network at the time.

We've got problems...this isn't the first time anyone's saying it, but how much longer can we keep up the drama of reacting to these incidents like they're phasing us in any way? Yet if we go on pretending like nothing's happened, how in hell is it ever going to change?

You're not the president of a country. You don't have a civic duty to comdemn bomb attacks then continue to do absolutely dick all about them. When the time comes to pick a side, and I mean REALLY comes...who will you stand with? Humans? Or humanity? Since the beginning of time, wars end only when one side has lost...and you'll know which side did when you see the trail of dead leading you it. Both sides warring in the world today have equal strength...and its the people in the middle with none of it that end up paying the highest price. In this war, there are only two sides. But the side we're supposed to be fighting for, survives on faith alone. You can't see it because your judgment has been clouded by powers pretending to be rivals. Everyone fails to notice one side essentially says God is obsolete, and the other is saying God is violent and backwards. These are your options. And they're one and the same.

This world peace we all hope for...its the absence of war. It's an illusion. A blanket over our eyes woven by lesbians and vegetarians whose idea of a battlefield is a rally holding picket signs saving cows from slaughter and the right to get married. We're skipping ahead of the REAL problems. But you're far too many explosions away from realizing that. That's why this continues.

Even now I'm typing this shit in the same word file I've been collecting jokes for a stand up set in the near future. THAT'S how much I care. The headline in the morning paper reads "Bomb and gun battle rocks Karachi". Like it's a Sunday Images review of a two band concert. An intense opening with an explosive finish. A review by some social whore who wouldn't know art if it raped him and threw him down six flights of stairs then came up to him and said "Hi. I'm art." Some superstar reporter making the big bucks by just telling us what someone with a REAL job or agenda did last night. Critics and reporters are so very alike. But I swear this isn't going on the list of possible jokes. Not only because it's not show worthy...but because I think it's crude to make light of bomb blasts that kill people. I'd rather stick to simple sarcasm.

The blast last night, was to remind you all what your lives are. And that you must continue to live, as humans, if you remember what that even means anymore, even in the face of madness. But the time will come sooner than you think, to pick a side. Your choice is going to be the death of someone, and at this point, all you can hope for is that you don't know them personally.

Now go and pray for the dead. And try not to whore out to brownie points from your friends by TELLING them you are. Prayers are a lot like wishes that way. They only work if you're fucking humble. Push it all into that big box labelled "the PAST" in your little head, and look towards the future. There's going to be a lot of work to do soon, let's see if we're up to it.

Dark and hopeless.

Chapter 26.

The Good Times

It’s finally happened. The one thing I could do in this world without feeling guilty about it. Laugh. Not so sure I can anymore. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem right. I’m forcing it like crazy everywhere I go. I smile and laugh when people expect me to. It’s all a front. Can’t let them feel anything is wrong.

I wonder if it’s ok to write about this. If I’m even ready.

March 7th, 2010. That’s the day my brother died.

When you first find out it’s happened…it gets a little hard to breathe. But you compose yourself. You try to remember one really fun moment you had with him and take control over your emotions. There’s a couple who gave birth to him and raised him with all their love and support, and they’re sitting in the next room, clueless about what’s happened.

I’m glad. Better their son tell them than some over emotional friend 4000 miles away on a phone line with a delay that’ll only get worse with the bubbling and spitting brought on by incessant tears. Try to think about the good times, a friend says to me the next day. I’ve heard this line before. It’s usually spoken by people who seem much better at moving on with their lives than I am. Someone I knew a million years ago called a few days after it happened. Offered their condolences. Very nice of them. Very correct. Very proper. Not about me or my family. Just about convincing themselves they still care about some 3 people they were once tied to emotionally. Women are LIKE that I notice. Asked me if I’m still hating the world. Horrible thing to say at a time like this. I wonder if I should say, "I don't know, you still a lying slut who dates four men at the same time and lies about it? Maybe I'll wait for your brother to die. Good reason to call you someday. I'll ask you that horrid question then. I hope he dies. Honestly. I never liked the fucker."

I’m not moving on. My brother threw himself off the roof of a building in downtown Montreal. A twelve story hotel. And I’m going to find out why. Unfortunately…I kinda already know.

When I was 13 years old, my brother told me he didn’t expect to live past 30. I took it as a Cobain moment and thought nothing of it. He’d already been playing that annoying instrument for 4 or 5 years now. It was having a less than desirable effect on him. At least in MY eyes.

I don’t wish to skip out on any names of people that came and showed their support. But this is an opportunity for me to remind myself and everyone reading this who I truly believe were and still are my brother’s closest friends and MINE, in terms of their help and support on the days following his death.

Salman Madani
Shohaib Ahmed
Ali Reza
Fateeha Beg
Mariam Shah
Khawer Khan
Faraz Masood Shah
Umayr Tariq Jamil
Mohammed Sibtain Fazli
Hassaan Azhar
Omar Bilal Akhtar, for holding a beautiful tribute in his name which reminded us to celebrate his life and music more than mourning his death.
Samay Shams

And VERY importantly, Aqueeb Qadri. Who was a great friend of his and was unfortunately placed in the position of being the bearer of bad news from Montreal, and went out of his way to be incredibly helpful with handling all matters concerning the family from his end. Again, if I’m leaving out any names it’s just because I’m not and haven’t been completely in my senses these past few weeks. But just so you know…I don’t intend to start anytime soon.

For those of you who didn’t know my brother, turns out you can’t tell much about him from his many photographs surrounded by his many friends. He seems to always be smiling in them…which is confusing to me now…seeing as this is a man who chose to leave this world behind him. He’s SO much further away from worldly requirements now…given there’s a heaven and what not. I’m sure they’d make one especially for him. But from the pictures…you’d never be able to tell something was troubling him. Clearly though…something was. They picked up pieces of my brother from a sidewalk in front of a hotel. He was 29 years old, a free spirit, a beautiful man, a brilliant artist, a super talented guitarist and a highly gifted musician. He came back home as a wooden box with a serial number on it. People were struggling to get the straps cut just so they could take a good look for themselves. He always knew how to be the main event on any given night.

For those of you…that DID know my brother…thank you. Most of you were there pretty much throughout that hellish ordeal no decent human beings should ever have to go through alone. You made it as easy as it could be to face the fact that after 26 years of having my ass kicked by solid skin and bones, I suddenly find myself an only child.

I see him everywhere I go now. He walks right beside me, begging me to change my way of thinking.

"So...you still hating the world?"

At the time, my answer was that it comes and goes. But now I’m much more sure. Now, more than ever before, I believe I hate this world and everything in it. See my brother didn’t have it in him to see the world the way I see it. The way it really is. Dark and hopeless. There are things happening out there you just CAN’T write songs about. It wouldn’t make sense putting something as inspiring as music to something so corrupt. He’s standing next to me right now. He’s asking me to see the brighter side of this dark hole. And I can’t. I tell myself I’m arrogant enough to say I WON’T, but the truth is…I really just can’t.

This world is an evil place. It pushed him over the edge. He didn’t understand it. All he wanted to do was fly…and it didn’t let him. Just kept attacking him with formalities and deadlines and other plain worldly crap that makes numb, senseless beings of once spirited men. They won against you, but they didn’t win against him. They couldn’t break him. He knew his lot in life. He knew his choices and his priorities. And he’s in a better place because he just isn’t here anymore. And we have the nerve to feel sad about his passing, just because we’re convinced that living like what we consider a normal human being is actually a better way to go than death itself.

He had no evil in him. He was incapable of hate. No matter how hard I tried…I couldn’t ever get him to dislike ANYTHING. It annoyed and frustrated me but only till about two weeks ago. Now I understand it all. He was better than anyone I ever met in my life. He had so much more to teach me…now I feel I would’ve listened so much more carefully. I could’ve spoken to him more often. I could’ve saved him. But he made his choice. And now I’ve made mine.

There’s no saving any of you. He loved the world so much he had to die just to rid himself of the pain of seeing everything that happens here on a daily basis. But I won’t die so soon. And that’s unfortunate for you. Because that’s what I finally realized. All the hatred and evil that should’ve been in him…has always been somewhere else. And it’s been growing. Now twenty fold. It’s me. And even though a piece of good from my brother now lives in me, it only serves as a motivating factor to burn this shithole to the fucking ground. I now have enough good in my heart to know who to save. And finally enough evil to know where to find more.

And I WILL find it. I’m going to find all the evil in this world. And I’m going to destroy it. Everywhere I go. Not because I care for you, and not because it’s what a GOOD man would do. But because I’ll like it. I’ll burn in hell for eternity just as long as I get to see someone else do it here first.

They tempted him. They called him just like they called you. They dangled ideals revolving around peace and liberty and love like a big juicy steak in front of a starving dog. And they led him to the killing grounds. He got halfway and realized what a fucking farce your idea of a progressive society is, and before he could back out, they killed him. It’s because you’re weak and pathetic…and the same steak flavoured with corporate greed and financial success he got scared of? You treat it like it’s the fucking Holy Grail. No need for a soul if the bills are paid for. It’s the oldest trick in the book…and mankind’s been falling for it since one person had even a single day to his advantage above the rest.

I was supposed to be an uncle before I became a father. I was gonna spoil some kid rotten and try to show myself up in front of his dad. We were supposed to be old and still fighting about stupid shit like children because we could. Now we can’t. My brother was all I had. If I can’t have him back, you’re going to lose what’s dearest to you as well. I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal.

They killed my brother. And they kill countless others every single passing second by getting us obsessed with visions of things that don’t exist, and wouldn’t matter if they did. A billion false dreams that need the dreamer to be asleep forever. A thousand have died while I’ve been writing this. A couple thousand more by the time you finish reading. They feed off the death of your loved ones…and maybe you’re not ok with it the next day…or the day after that…but someday, you surely are.

I’m not. I won’t remember the good times. I won’t share them. They’re mine, and mine alone. Thinking about the good times and appreciating the fact that there won’t BE any more is too small and human and pathetic a trait for me to be able to get any pleasure from. But make no mistake. This isn’t about me. It’s still about my brother. And that’s why I refuse to move on. All these years, I thought the best thing to do with a world that’s broken is to fix it. When all the while, I should’ve been asking one simple question.

What do you do with a clock that refuses to tell time?

If you’re too scared to speak the answer out loud…congratulations. You got it right.
Soaring, burnished buildings make no measure of the people that occupy the spaces within them. I cry today, days, weeks, months after his death. I cry because it took maybe five and seventeen days for people to forget about him. Cute of some people to speak on his facebook account. Like that’s one of his primary worries in the afterlife. How many people messaged his page. Yes. I know. You loved him. Keep it to yourself. You’re not winning any point by pressing enter on a page he’s not even watching.

Months after I’ve written this bit, and found the strength to include this into my horribly real and unsympathetic list of memorandums, I find some flood has hit this country and maybe I should do my bit to help the people affected. It makes me happy.
I’ll tell you why. Me, bhayya, and a few friends (you know who you you are and I will love you forever. I will give my life for you, Each of you. Whoever asks for it first, frankly. Only got one to give) went to help these earthquake AFFECTEES back in old 2004. Seeing them one night, ignoring my constant plea to let it go when I was saying “please don’t start the Muhammad and God talk with them, they’re idiots…they know not better…” bhayya only said one thing…about all those people who were now stranded in tents and broken mud huts…waiting for resources to be handed to them by a government that was MEANWHILE feedinf off their misery.

He said, “I’ll tell you something Faraz. This quake? Best thing that ever happened to these people.”

Tell you what he meant.

It made us come together. As a nation? As a people. For the first time in their lives, these people were FORCED to live among each other like their lives depended on it. They got out of their houses, and knew how big the world was because symbols from flags of countries they never heard of were joined to millions of dollars worth of relief equipment to help their cold, starving asses.

We had helped loading the rice, flour, used clothes and shoes to be shipped to Balakot a month prior. We saw the same material being burned in the street when we got there.

This…TALIBAN person. He’s gonna win. Like they ask…so many pledges for SO many dollars made to SO many relief efforts for the tsunami and Haiti quake victims. Barely any for this 20 million flood scene. Taliban sponsors the rehabilitation of badly affected areas, creating schools and whatnot of new super horrible ignorant fanatics. Just realized that according to the new Microsoft Word, TALIBAN is not a word they red underline. It exists in the dictionary.

I’m an artist. So was my brother. He lived to help and serve others. I’m gonna try to raise some money for these victims of SUPPOSEDLY natural disasters. Something he mighta prolly coulda SORTA wannit me ta do.

You’re safe for now.

Soon though? Horribly dangerous to live here for you. Keep talking about your revolutions and murdered politicians till it serves your cause in a social setting you can’t quite afford to avoid. Whatever it takes to get into that chick's pants cuz' she's only here for a few weeks and wants atleast ONE dick in her life that wasn't a COMPLETE idiotic waste of space. Keep telling yourselves that despite the fact you haven’t visited you own home town in four years, you’re a real Pakistani just because you run down a New York street corner carrying a green and white flag, which you know you won’t because it’s only convenient to join a facebook group supporting our problems, but actually doing it means actually…fucking…DOING it.

Quit it. You're not here. You have no idea what's going on here. Don't even fucking try.

Poor flood relatives.

Here we come.

Welcome home, Bhayya. See you soon (Following the whole 'an eternity on Earth is the same as a mere few seconds in the afterlife' theory).