INJSA (IN NJ SOULS ALONE)

INJSA (IN NJ SOULS ALONE)

INJSA:

I am Injsa, My name stand for, In NJ souls alone.

My sister Ibsa, stands for, IN Babylon souls alone.

We are twin sisters born in different civilizations centuries apart but born at exactly the same

moment.

My sister Ibsa was actually born in Baghdad, Baghdad of ancient days.

But she wants and that is her utmost desire in life and death and then in life again

to be remembered as if she was born in Babylon.  She is in love with the word, "BABYLON"

Maybe she is Babylon herself in a previous life, centuries upon centuries ago.

I told her if, "Ibsa" if you were born in Babylon then our story, the story we are trying to tell

won't make any sense."

I AM NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF WRITING STORIES BUT I AM TRYING TO TELL A STORY OF TWO CIVILIZATIONS BY GIVING THEM FEMALE NAMES.  iSN'T THAT GREAT?
IN A WORLD FULL OF MACHO KILLER MEN, I AM MAKING TWO GREAT CIVILIZATIONS INTO WOMEN.

 THE  STORY OF TWO SISTERS, TWINS,  TWO DIFFERNET CIVILIZATIONS, BAGHDAD AND NJ, IBSA AND INJSA, REMEBER? IT'S AFACTUAL PROSE POEM CALLED, "MANHATTAN SPLEEN" YOU SEE THE POET LIVED IN MANHATTAN, ALWAYS IN MANHATTAN AND LEFT HER ANCESTORS BEHIND AND HER GRAVEYARDS BEHIND IN BAGHDAD AND THAT IS THE SPINE OF THE STORY AND THE SPLEEN  OF THE STORY AND THAT'S WHY THE WRITER KEEPS GOING BACK TO THE STORY BECAUSE HER SPINE AND SPLEEN IS IN BAGHDAD AND SHE IS LOOKING FOR IT IN MANHATTAN AND THAT'S WHY THE STORY SEEMS FRAGMENTED AND BROKEN AND FRAGILE AND TENDER AND FALLING OFF THE BONES AND THAT'S WHY I CAN'T CONTINUE THE STORY BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO SET IT IN BABYLON AND IT WON'T WORK...IT WON'T MAKE THE SLIGHTEST SENSE...

 And she said, " My dear darling sister Injsa,  THE BOOKS WHICH SELL AND MAKES TONS OF MONEY MAKE NO SENSE MOST OF THE TIME. nothing makes sense anyway, BUT SELL IT AND GET SOME MONEY INTO YOUR HANDS...

INJSA:

I'S NOT A BOOK AND I DON'T WANT MONEY IN MY HANDS...

IBSA:

AND WHY NOT?

INJSA:

I WANT MY HANDS TO BE FREE, SO THAT I CAN HOLD ON TO SOMETHING WHEN

I AM FALLING...IT'S IN THE AIR.  IT COMES FROM THE SKY, HIGH ABOVE, BOOM,

BOOM, BOOM AND YOU ARE TURNED INTO SMITHREENS...

IBSA:

EVERY ONE IS GOING TO BE TURNED INTO SMITHREENS, MIGHT AS WELL HAVE

YOUR HANDS FULL OF GOLD.

INJSA:

WHY WOULD I SELL MY ANCESTOR'S HISTORY?

WHY WOULD I SELL THEIR MEMORY?

WHY WOULD I SELL MY MEMORY?

ALL I WANT IS TO SEND A LETTER TO MY MEMORY EVERY DAY

"TO MY MEMORY A LETTER SENT"

THE FERTILITY OF MY MEMORY IS TROUBLESOME SO I PUT IT IN THE LETTER

EVERY DAY.  THAT'S ALL.  THAT'S ALL I WANT.

I JUST WANT TO KNOW IF IBSA, YOU GETS MY MEMORY SEALED IN AN ENVELOP?

 NOTHING ELSE MAKES SENSE ANY MORE...

IBSA:

YOU JUST CONVINCED ME AGAINST SELLING BUT JUST WRITE IT AND NARRATE

IT TO US..THAT WOULD BE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR US, THE LIVING AND THE

DEAD. NOTHING ELSE MAKES ANY SENSE...ANYMORE... (Laughs)

 Sense?  That's a laugh.  ABSOLUTELY NOTHING MAKE SENSE DARLING SISTER,  neither

life

nor death, nor graves, nor cemetries,  nor gold,  just the stories..., just tell the story you want to tell, you are the

teller of the story... and you and your sister are in it and what difference does it make where it's

taking

place?  I always believed that I was born in babylon and even if I wasn't, do me a favor and place me

there...will you please?  I just love the word BABYLON...AND YOU DO LOVE ME, DON'T YOU?

We are the story."  And the one's who came to hear it are poets themselves and poet's imagination

goes far and wide, it spreads across the occeans and desserts and the sky and the sun and the moon.

Their imagination will travel from ancient Babylon to Mesopotamia to the present day Iraq and NJ.

My name is IBSA anyway...It can stand for In Baghdad souls alone but please full fifect.ll my heart's

desire, we have silly attachments to things and places. 'In Babylon souls alone" is just perfect.

'If I can live for centuries, roaming around in cemetries I can be very well from Babylon.

Don't worry about the different religions in different terroteries or no religion at all in some.

Religions come and go....but death is the only thing which comes once....

Life doesn't come and go...It comes once and then goes...never comes back...religions are trouble...

always coming back, always creating murder.

Injsa, you worry too much about everything.  You want to be accurate, but fiction is not accurate...

Any way we are not real.  We are metaphores.  Metaphores are easthetics which is the most beautiful

depiction of poetry...poetry belongs to the senses, reality is ugly....

 Reality belongs to Govts.  Reality is just ugly.  Metaphores belong to the poets...

Arn't you a poet?

INJSA:

I wish I was a poet...

IBSA;

Arn't you?

INJSA:

No.  I am a model.  A nude model...

IBSA:

A muslim nude model?

INJSA:

Yes, I am so ashamed to say so...

IBSA:

Why ashamed?

INJSA;

I show my flesh.  That's haram, isn't it?

IBSA:

Do you make an honest dollar?

INJSA:

Few dollars but it gives me peace. Peace and stillness.  And during those moments I think...

IBSA:

What do you think about?

INJSA:

About you, my parents and the lack of every one's presence in my life. When I am ot modelling I am lost.

Lost in a crowd, lost in a train.  Lost in the street.

IBSA;

We are all lost.  I live in the cemetry amongst graves.  I roam around all night reading the names

on the headstones...

INJSA;

Do you find any familiar names?

IBSA:

I don't.  That's why my search hasn't ended yet...

INJSA:

Me too.  I am also searching but have no idea what is it that I am searching...

There is a silent void in me even after they shout at me all day long, that void inside of me remains

still and silent and I want to fill it with some noise...

IBSA:

What are they shouting about?

INJSA:

With sound and fury they call me a, "Terrorist".

IBSA;

I knew it, I knew it...

That's not the sound for your void to be filled with...

INJSA:

I am surprised that you have heard of that word.  You are centuries upon centuries old and you are

familiar with the word, terrorist

IBSA:

Yes, I have heard of this word.  They used a different word, back then but the meaning of the

word was and is the same, they called us, "MUSALMAN' in ancient times.

The Europeans called us, MUSALMAN." with such disdain and hatred, MUSALMAN AND

TERRORIST HAS THE SAME MEANING FOR THEM. but don't let that disturb you

Think about the beautiful things when you are standing still as a model, listen to the song of the,

BULBUL, the singing bird.  Remember in our courtyard on the top of the lilac tree,, our BULBUL

chirping, chirping singing songs of love and joy and contentment?

Be content under all circumstances and the void will go away...

INJSA:

Oh! Ibsa, I wish we were still living together and listening to our song...

IBSA:

You can still listen to the song no matter where ever you are...I live in the cemetry.  The insects crawl

on the graves, ancient insects are better companions than the modern man and then the bulbul comes

to me and sings for me...Don't let any one bother you with their derogatry words.  They know not,

they are ignorant.

You are the daughter of the poets, poets who recited poetry in the garden

next to the river Euphrates with candles lit... like the old days when the prophet would recite verses of

 the qoran and the scribes would write it down always in the candle light,...candles belong to me as

well Injsa..our candles brought a revolution in the dark ages.. people forget, its us who brought the

light into dark souls and dark streets of the world. and that candle lightmakes patterns of an avant

garde painting in the deep, clean,

blue waters of the ancient rivers...

INJSA:

Those rivers have blood in them now.  The color of the water is of burgunday shade.

IBSA:

Blood of our ancestors and the plastic of the modern world together floating, floating...

Blood and plastic...that should be the title of your new poem in case you want to write one...

Poetry, my dear baby sister, is your only salvation. Hold the QALAM in your hand and pick up the

hand made paper made by your dead great, great, great grandparents and write a poem and then

another poem and then another...and you will never hear the word, terrorist...

INJSA:

I wish I dream about you more often...Ibsa..

IBSA:

It's not a dream Injsa. I am always with you.  I am in your thoughts, in your heart, in your breathing.

I am your breath, I am your air.  I am your silk garment with which you cover your breasts after your

nude modeling job...I am your garland.  I am your candle.  I am your light. I will show you the way

like  I always have.  You are not lost, you are not confused, You remember me.  Your memory is

crystal clear.  YOU REMEBER ME.  YOU ARE MY FUTURE.  Don't be sad. I am with you,

I breath when you breath.  Breath for me.  Live for me.  Without you I will die again....

 now run along baby sister for your modeling job....

Stand still for a while and think of me...and compose your poem. But Injsa, infact you are the

poem...never forget that, think of yourself more often...

INJSA:

People ask me if my sister IBSA is really a belly dancer?

And if she is why is she not dancing?

She has to be a belly dancer...wasn't that art form more prevalant in Babylon?

I said, "Yes.  She is the belly dancer in Babylon and I am the bellet dancer in NJ

And my ankles are broken...

And that's why I am standing still on a modern boulevard

Where all are in a hurry...

Racing me by...

Passing me by...

Running marathons...

Knocking every one off in their path.

I am posing as a nude model in an art class which is now turned into

an olympic stadium...where everything is a sport.

I am a good model.  I mean I can be...

I can stand still for eternity...

Take my clothes off and pose

"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST MISS."

The police man putting handcuffs on me.

Why?  I ask

"You are naked, stark naked, this is a proper civilization and you are stark naked in the

middle of the road,"

"Well,  well, when was an art class  now known as, "THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD?"

"NO wonder the art which comes out of these classes is not very good any more if

you are going to treat work of art as a shopping mall. You are not going to get a Rembrandt out of it...

Definitly not Leanrdo Divinchi...

"YOU NEED NAKED BODIES STANDING STILL TO TEACH THE FUTURE ARTISTS

WHERE THE SPINAL COLUMN IS IN A HUMAN BODY AND IF YOU COVER THEM ALL

UP, THEY ARE GOING TO LOOK LIKE DEAD BODIES WRAPPED IN ANCIENT GARBS

LIKE ALL THOSE DEAD POSING IN BABYLON LIKE MY SISTER...

S"DO YOU KNOW Mr, POLICEMAN THAT IN BABYLON LIVES MY SISTER?

SHE IS POSING WITHOUT A SINGLE MOVEMENT AS WELL.

I CAN STAND STILLAT THE SAME SPOT FOR CENTURIES WHILE OTHERS CAN GO TO

THE MOON I CAN JUST STAND STILL FOR ETERNITY...THE ART LOVERS WILL LOVE

ME,  (laughs)  AMAZING SOMEONE WILL LOVE ME? YES, THEY WILL.

A NUDE MODEL STANDING STILL...STUDENTS LOVE THAT.

AND I CAN..

I AM A MUSLIM.

I HAVE STOOD STILL FOR FOURTEEN HUNDERD YEARS

I AM THE WORLD' SFAVORITE NAKED MODEL.

"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. DON'T BABEL TOO MUCH.

THERE IS NO STREET CALLED BABYLON HERE AND YOU HAVE NO SISTER

NOWHERE...

YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE AND NAKED ON TOP OF IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET

CALLED,  CIVILIZATION."

THERE IS NO NAKED SISTER SISTER OF YOURS ON ANY STREET ANCIENT OR

MODERN, YOU ARE THE ONLY CRAZY ONE...A NAKED SLUT, YOU ARE COMING TO

THE PRECINCT, COME TO THE PRECINCT AND WE WILL SHOVE SOME PRUNES,

BERRIES AND


DATES UP YOUR NAKED ASS, YOU WILL LIKE THAT.  IT WILL CLEAR UP YOUR

DIGESTIVE SYSTEM AND WILL IMPROVE YOUR MEMORY OF YOUR IMAGINARY

SISTER AND HER FANTASTICAL STRRET NAMED BABYLON...WHAT THE

FUCK..BABYLON, SHALABYLON...

MY SISTER IS LUCKIER THAN ME.

SHE IS SILENTLY RESTING ON THE GRAVES

AND NO ONE IS CURSING AT HER. SHE IS IN THE CITY OF DEAD PEOPLE

IT'S A CITY OF DEATH

IT'S A CITY OF DEAD CIVILIZATION

DEAD PEOPLE DON'T CURSE...

"HURRY UP MOVE"

POLICE MAN IS YELLING AT ME

"HURRY UP,  I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY FOR SOME ONE AS DUMB AS YOU.

You want to be a criminal?  Be a smart one, HIDE YOUR SELF, CAN'T BE STARK NAKED AND

 BE A CRIMINAL...MOVE IT."

I CAN'T MOVE"

MY ANKLE IS BROKEN.

"WHICH ONE?"

THE RIGHT ANKLE...

"HERE YOU GO"

THE POLICE MAN SMASHES MY LEFT ANKLE

"NOW BOTH OF YOUR ANKLES ARE BROKEN, NOW MOVE YOU BITCH..."

HE IS PUSHING ME,

SHOVING HIS ROD AT MY BREAST

NOW I AM ABITCH...

I THOUGHT I WAS A BELLY DANCER...

NO.  THAT'S YOUR SISTER...SOME ONE YELLED IN THE BACKGROUND

WHAT'S GOING ON?  AM I GOING NUTS?

POLICE MAN, A MOMENT AGO SAID, "THAT I HAVE NO SISTER ANYWHERE"

AND WHO IS THIS PERSON TELLING ME THAT  MY SISTER IS A BELLY DANCER?

"YES, YES, THAT'S CORRECT.  IT'S YOUR SISTER IN BABYLON WHO IS A BELLY

DANCER.  YOU ARE A BALLET DANCER, YOU ARE IN THE MODERN WORLD.

THAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE MODERN AND ANCIENT.

BELLY AND BALLET DANCE...

"OH1 WHOEVER THIS PERSON IS,  SEEMS TO KNOW MY HISTORY BETTER THAN THE

POLICE MAN"

HE MUST KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES

I THOUGHT NO ONE KNEW MY SISTER EXCEPT ME.

NOW SOME ONE SEEMS TO KNOW...

I HOPE THIS SOME ONE DOESN'T TELL THE POLICE ABOUT HER WHEREABOUTS...

THEY WILL GO AND SMASH HER HEAD.

THEY LIKE TO SMASH THINGS AS YOU CAN TELL.

MY ANKLES ARE THE WITNESS.

"NO, HER HEAD IS ALREADY SMASHED" THE POLICE MAN SAID

"WE ARE GOING AFTER HER ANKLES."

BUT HER ANKLES ARE ALREADY BROKEN IN BABYLON, I SAID

"IS THAT WHY SHE IS NOT DANCING HER BELLY DANCE?  HE ASKS

NONE OF US ARE DANCING RIGHT NOW...THAT'S WHY SHE IS LYING DOWN ON HER

ANCESTOR'S GRAVES DAY AND NIGHT...FOR COMFORT BECAUSE SHE CAN NO

LONGER DANCE.

"WE ARE GOING TO BABYLON SHALYBLON AFTER WE TAKE YOU TO THE STATION.

YOUR SHALYBLON IS NOT FAR, JUST ACROSS THE HUDSON RIVER.

GOING TO BABYLON TOO, NOT FAR, NOT FAR AT ALL TO TEACH ALL OF YOU A

LESSON, THE LIVING AND THE DEAD TO SHUT THE FUCK UP."

"MY POOR, POOR SISTER, NOW THEY ARE GOING TO BABYLON TO BREAK HER

ALREADY

BROKEN ANKLES.

"NO, POOR YOU, YOU ARE GOING TO JAIL FOR OBSCENE BEHAVIOR...

WHERE DO YOU COME FROM YOU BEAST?"

AND THAT'S HOW IT GOES AND GOES

IN IBSA'S MIND

IN INJSA'S MIND

TWO TWIN SISTER'S MINDS

IT GOES AND GOES AND CENTURIES KEEP PASSING.

INJSA (IN NJ SOULS ALONE) IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE

INJSA 9INNJ SOULS ALONE) IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE)

INJSA:

Feel like homeless, motherless, godless child.

Some times I feel I am the daughter of Hagar, te slave woman

IBSA:

No, that's me, Injsa that's me. I was born in Babylon.  The history belongs to me

The faith belongs to me.  The graves belong to me.  I live at the Cemetry, Centuries old Cemetry.

You the daughter of NJ, You must ne in a tall, tall skyscraper with sheetrock interiors.

Don't light candles.  The building will burn.  You don't need candles.  You have electricity.

Don't you?

Candles also belong to me... The ancient child, the ancient daughter, the daughter of the prophets.

I heard our prophet invented the candles and than sat down and wrote the verses of the Qoran by

candle light.  But you don't need candles, they are ancient.  Candles brought a revolution in the

dark ages.

INJSA:

But the prophet did not write anything.  He couldn't. He didn't know how to read and write...

IBSA:

He recited in the candle light, recited the verses the scribes wrote for him. "REpeat after me, repeat

the word IQRA,  "RECITE IN THE NAME OF GOD WHO CREATED YOU FROM A BLOOD

CLOT"

INJSA:

Who invented the candles?

IBSA:

Our ancestors...Muslims, who else? and the paper and the ink.  There is a street in Baghdad

where hand made paper and ink was sold...the whole street was the street of poets and their poetry

INJSA:

You mean there was a street in Baghdad?  Are you talking about the same Baghdad which was

decimated by a father and then again by his son.

IBSA:

Allright there was a street in ancient Baghdad which was dedicated to the scribes.  They wrote on

parchments with the ink of the river Tigris.  They wrote verses of wisdom and poetry. They were

poets your great, great, great grandparents. who wrote poetry in that street during the day and recited

those poems in the evenings with candle light to hundereds of people.

INJSA:

I wish I was a poet.

IBSA:

Arn't you?

INJSA;

No,  I am a model.  A nude model.

IBSA:

A muslim nude model?

INJSA:

Yes, I am ashamed to say...

IBSA:

Why ashamed?

INJSA:

I show my flesh... That's haram.  Isn't it?

IBSA:

Do you make an honest dollar?

INJSA:

YES, VERY FEW DOLLARS BUT IT GIVES ME PEACE.  PEACE AND STILLNESS.

And during those moments I think...

IBSA:

What do you think about?

INJSA:

About my parents and the lack of their presence in my life.  When I am not modeling, I am lost.

Lost in a crowd, i a train,in the streets.

IBSA:

We are all lost.  I live in the cemetry.  I roam around all night reading the names on the headstones.

INJSA:

Do you find any familiar names?

IBSA:

I don't.  That's why my search hasn't ended yet.

INJSA:

Me too.  U am also searching but I have no idea about what is it that I am searching...

There is a silent void in me even after people shout at me all day long, that void inside of me remains

still and silent and I want to fill it with some noise, some familiar noise..

IBSA:

Aren't they calling you a terrorist?  Thy are actually shouting at you with fury but I guess that's not

the sound for your void to be filled with...

INJSA:

I am surprised that you said that. I thought that you were never aware of that word.

IBSA:

I have heard of that word.  Yes, I have.  The meaning of the word was and is the same but they  used

the word, "MUSALMAN" instead of the terrorist in ancient times...The European called us,

"Muslamans" with such disdain and hatred...exactly the same feeling but don't let that disturb you.

Think about te beautiful things when you are standing still as a model.  Listen to the song of the

bulbul. The singing bird...remeber in our courtyard on the top of the lilac tree chirping, chirping...

singing songs of love and comfort and contentment.  Be content under all circumstances and the void

will go away.

INJSA:

Oh! Ibsa, I wish we were still living together.  Still listening to the song of our bulbul.

IBSA;

You can still listen to the song.  I live in the cemetry and I still hear the song of the bulbul.

Don't let them bother you with the shouts of derogatry words.  They know not.  They are ignorant.

You are the daughter of the poets.  People who recited poetry all night in the garden next to the river

Euphrates with candles lit making patterns of avant garde paiintings in the deep blue clean waters of

the ancient rivers.

INJSA:

Those rivers have blood in them now.  The color of the water is deep burgundy.

IBSA;

There is plastic in the rivers as well.  The blood of the Arabs and the plastic of the modern

civilization who came here for democracy but brought plastic instead.  Now the rivers are red with

the remanents of free world's plastic floating together.  Blood and plastic, that should be the title of

your new poem in case you decide to write  poetry.

IBSA:

My dear dear sister, poetry is your only salvation, yur only escape from the anguish of this lost planet

and its inhabitants.  Hold a qalam (Pen) in your hand, pick up the hand made papers  made by the

 dead and write a poem and then another poem and then another...and you won't hear the word,

"terrorist"

INJSA:

I wish I dream about you more Insa...

IBSA:

It's not a dream Injsa.  I am always  here with you..  I am in your thoughts, in your heart, in your

breathing, I am your breath.  I am your air. I am your silk garment.. I am your garland.. I am your

candle. I am your light.  I will show you the way like I always have. You are not lost.  You are not

confused. You remeber me.  Your memory is crystal  clear...YOU REMEBER ME....You are my

future.  Don't be sad, don't be sad, don't be sad.  I am with you.  I breath when you breath.  Breath for

me.  Live for me. Without you I will die again...........

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES

Say you are

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES

Say you are willing to compromise

Say you are willing to calculate in your own favor any thing you

do in life and death and in the name of spirtuality.

Say, I give in your name oh! god and you return it to me a thousand time more.  Well that's really smart, that's really business like, so if you can be business like with god, then why not with the publisher?

Which publisher?

The one who will publish your book

Which book?

This book...this book, the one you have been telling us about,

the two sisters, twins, two different civilizations, IBSA and 

INJSA.  Remember?

That's not a book.  That's poetry and it's not fictional poetry.

It's a factual prose poem called, "Manhattan Spleen"

You see the poet lives in Manhattan, always lived in Manhattan

Left her ancestors behind and her graveyards in Babylon.

And that is the spine of the story and the spleen of the story

and that's why the writer keeps going back to the story

because her spine and her spleen is in Babylon and she is 

looking for it in Manhattan and that's why the story seems 

fragmented and broken and fragile and tender and falling off 

the bones and that's why I don't want to continue.

You are your own worst enemy.  Calculate and then sell.

Every one is calculating even the ones who are into god.

They are saying," God I will do this for you and you will do 

that for me" A bargain.  It's even spirtuality.  "Spirtuality of 

business"

BUT WHO IS IN BUSINESS? Not me.  I am a writer who is writing a metaphorical story of two civilizations by giving them female names. Isn't that great? In a world full of macho killer men.  I am making two great civilizations into women.

No one will get it.  No one will understand it.  No one will buy it.

I will just write it.

What good will that do?

Something positive to do..

You call this positive? Positive things make money

Money?  Where?

Into your hands.

I want my hands to be free...so that I can hold on to something when I am falling...it's in the air.  It comes from the sky. High above, boom, boom, boom and you are turned into smithreens..

and that's how it goes...in two different worlds of two different 

sisters.

You don't get it.

No, you don't get it. Let me tell you again.  The story I am telling you or at least trying to tell you is the story of two sisters, twins born centuries apart, one living in Babylon or she is Babylon herself and the other living in the most modern world called, New Jersy born exactly at the same moment...

I don't get it, how is that possible?

The reader says, the listner says...

It's possible.  It's a real story. It's metaphorical. It's both.

Metaphores don't sell.

You keep talking about selling.to know if Ibsa

Why would I sell my ancstors history?

Why would I sell their memory?

Why would I sell my memory? , "All I want is to send a letter to my memory every day."  'To my memory a letter sent." The fertility of my memory is troublesome so I put it in the letter every day.  That's all, That's all I want.  I just want to know if Ibsa gets my memory sealed in an envelop?

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED
A PERFORMANCE NOVELLA
IN FOUR SEGMENTS

IST SEGMENT:

ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA:  TWIN SISTERS BORN CENTURIES APART IN DIFFERENT LANDS.

2ND SEGMENT:

IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE)

3RD SEGMENT

INJSA (IN NEW JERSY SOULS ALONE) TWIN SISTERS BORN ENTURIES APART IN DIFFERENT LANDS

FOURTH SEGMENT

JAFFER;  A SPINLESS MAN AFRAID TO EXPRESS ANY OPINION IN CASE HE OFFENDS
                  THE POWERFUL, SO HE STAYS INVISIBLE...

IBSA: (In babylon souls alone AND INSA: (In NJ souls alone.

SOMEHOW?

What is the meaning of this vague word,

SOMEHOW?

Things have to happen somehow...

Somehow they got to Babylon

And left you in NJ

Wasn't that your town once?

No, it was my sister's...my sister Ibsa was born in Babylon

I was born in NJ

Babylon belonged to my sister

What belongs to your sister, belongs to you...

Babylon was yours

Now it's not...

Go and claim it

How?

Somehow, I don't know...tell them to get the hell out...

But they will tell me to get  the hell out of NJ

So get the hell out of NJ, no big deal

Where do I go?

Go to Babylon

They won't let me in

Tell them you were born there

No, it was my sister Ibsa.  Ibsa is Babylon but not of Babylon at the same time.

She lives at an ancient cemetry...where the insects crawl all over the graves but

at least she has company.  The ancient insects are more loyal then the modern people.

Listen Injsa, forget about sad things.  Forget about sad places. Go back to NY.

Isn't NY the place where happy people live?  Happy because it's the city where everyone gets

awards? By the way did you get your Obie?

 INJSA: Oh! Ibsa, for Centuries old person, you have a great memory.

When you lived in NY you talked about it for 30 years.  Did you get it?

INJSA: Oh! they decided to give it to me last year but then the village voice lost its business

IBSA: What's village voice?

INJSA:  It was a news paper.  A free news paper...

IBSA: A news paper gave an award?

INJSA: Yes...

IBSA:  Whyied about getting an award, an award with a lousy name from a free news paper the hell

you were so worried about getting an award with a lousy name from a free news paper? A paper

which couldn't even sustain its own business...

INJSA:  Oh! every one was getting it, so I didn't want to be excluded...

IBSA:  Injsa, if you are going to have pain of exclusion, have the pain of exclusion from Babylon...

I have no place here either, only the cemetries.  I walk around all night looking at the headstones of

my great, great, great ancestors.  I can't move outside of the cemetry, there are guns there...guns and

bombs....and dead people...Babylon is nothing but darkness now, but not for the armies who came

here, they put neon lights and drink their beer...You want to have pain sweetheart, have pain for your

graveyards...You say you perished in Manhattan...you are afraid to go back...maybe you are right.

 Maybe you did perish.. does anyone see you? does any one know you? You are invisible in NJ as

well.

Yoiu are not there either. Maybe you are in Babylon...No one see you.  No one sees me either.

We are as ancient as our graves, as invisible as Babylon. Maybe You are Babylon.

Please do not scare me with your story.  I don't want to know your story.  I do not want to hear your

story.

Your story sounds familiar.  It scares me to death.  How many times you want me to die?

I am not interested.

Go write a happy story

If you can

With a happy ending

Then com back

And then perhaps I will look at it

And make sure there is an angle to the story

The angle to make money

You are in 21st Century

And you are writing about 3BC

Not interested....

And that how it goes and goes

In IBSA'S mind

In  INJSA'S mind

Two twin sister's minds

It goes and goes

It gets around and around and Centuries keep passing...

"BOUDOIR" A NEW PLAY BY BINA SHARIF

'BOUDOIR"
BY
BINA SHARIF

MANHATTAN DAYS

MANHATTAN DAYS
A JOURNAL EXTRAORDINAIRE

A TOTAL GHUSHTI, (BITCH)

Success , which is a catastrophe...TWilliams

Success is a ghushti...(Bitch)  Bina Sharif

Tuesday evening with the ghushti, for sure she is and not only a ghushti but a dangerous ghushti.

A leech, a parasite, a flea which bites, an annoyance of utmost irritation, an un-believable low class

ghushti.

Utterly spineless and anesthtized, emptied of all emotions.  ?

Love means having to give others space and freedom.  BS

Love doesn't mean suffocating the other person and putting demands on them in the name of love.

Love doesn't mean a claim of possession like personel property.  BS

"They seem to flea- they seem to evaporate." ?

"Ability and blindness is a symptom exclusive to the autodidact."  ?

"Autodidact possesses nonetheless the gift of freedom and conscisence of thought."  ?

"Folly of my solitude undertaking my zest." ?

"I believe that my fate has taught me better than anyone, to resist the negative influences of the world

thought." ?

"Resist, resist, resist the negative thoughs and negative influence of others." ?

'You should stop withdrawing from the world and refuse not to fight for yourself." BS

Philosophers:

Kant, Descartes.

Kant's ideas are admirable concentration of genius, rigor and madness. ?

"The initial inspiration should be towards simple and sublime things." ?

"Pointlessness of discourse," ?

"Slow and terrible degaration of the world." ?

"The world can not and will not appreciate." ?

"The victories of the Inconspicous." ?

"SElf satisfied elite with arrogance...this adds double prestige." ?

"A ferocious autodidact who devours art, music, Japanese culture with biting humor.

She scrutinize people, most of them her inferior in every way except material wealth." ?

"LIfe's seeming futility." ?

" Hide your extraordinary intelligence under the mask of mediocrity." ?

'NOTHINGNESS"

Put an end to the nothingness of the mornings.  Do it this instance.  Three months of

Un-believable, un-controlable events and now an un-ending loneliness and nothingness

and withdrawl?  Not healthy...If nothing else happens, nothing new and original just put it on the blog

the old stuff written on tons of notbooks collecting dust all over the place.  There might be some

gems in there...you never know..."  BS

"Nothing is harder or more unfair than human reality." ?

"The words and not the deeds which has power." ?

"We are primates who are programmed to eat, sleep, reproduce, conquer to make our territory safe." ?

"What's the nature of human consciousness?  What do we know of the world?

The world is an inaccesible reality and any effort to try to know it is futile." ?

"All knowledge is merely reflective consciousness exploring its own self." ?

"Solitary-endless monologue of consciousness...just let it go.  Do not take every thing as personal

affront."  BS

'She stubbornly insists on remaining a bitch.  A bitch from hell.  A flea stricken bitch, spreading

her fleas everywhere." BS

"Acknowledge what's going on inorder to prevnt it." ?

"Kairos."  A concept:  The right moment.  A great word." ?

"A dark web, where hope is trapped." ?

"Deprived of the Oxygen of money." ?

"Pajamas look the very uniform of demise." ?

"Concentrate on the object.  Convey all the nutritional elments from the outside to the inside...

They will cause the object to grow." ?

OBJECT

Your health?

Your body?

Your mind?

Your physical demeanor?

Your outlook?

Your hobbies?

Your wardrobe?

Your creativity?

Your grace?

Your dignity?

Your ability?

Your outlook?
 sustain
Your satisfaction?

Your contentment?

Your anxiety?

Your hope?

Your fragility of life?

'Green beans and vit C, however much they nurture us, can not save lives, nor sustain

our souls." ?

"In the end we are all alike." ?

"Unproductivity of the mornings is bothering me. Must spend at least four hours putting

the material from old notebooks on the singing bird, my writing blog. BS

'Life is a permanent battle where you can only WIN by DESTROYING the other guy.' /

'DO"

'"FAKE DREAMS"
A
ONE WOMAN PLAY

Write one...

Ask Kevin for the list of Equity show cases

Google open mike places

Wed, go to Nomad and read a poem or two.