tickle yo mind

Dwight Eisenhower

A glimpse into the deeply intellectual conversations between me and my brother, Naysan.

My sister is traveling by herself for the first time tomorrow, and she has a connecting flight at JFK. My dad has a friend who we shall call “Sobhan”. Sobhan lives in New York, and recently suggested that if there are any issues with her transit, my sister should give him a call. This is the conversation that just took place between my parents, as they attempted to evalute this situation:

Mom: “Sobhan is so kind, I would never have expected him to extend such a generous offer to look out for Nura during her travels”

Dad: “Well. It’s not like he’s looking out for her himself… he has a network.”

Mom: “A network? Please, he’s not in the mafia.”

Dad: “No, but he has two iPhones. That means he can be on the phone with Nura on one, and call one of his buddies to pick her up on the other. He has a system.”

My dad, on the surprise party thrown for his 80 year old coworker by her children.

These spiritual window-shoppers,
who idly ask, ‘How much is that?’
Oh, I’m just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them down,
shadows with no capital.

What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping.
But these walk into a shop,
and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment,
in that shop.

Where did you go? “Nowhere.”
What did you have to eat? “Nothing much.”

Even if you don’t know what you want,
buy something, to be part of the exchanging flow.

Start a huge, foolish project,
like Noah.

It makes absolutely no difference
what people think of you.

- Rumi, Mathnavi VI

Recently, whilst traveling via aero-plane, my brother wrote something like 12 haikus to cure his boredom. One of them, On Sartorial Decline, particularly struck a cord with me, as I felt it was a personal attack on a pair of sweatpants I inherited (ironically from my brother) that are admittedly falling to pieces. Below is the transcript of the haiku-off that took place in defense of my gloriously ugly Notre Dame sweatpants:

Naysan:

On Sartorial Decline:

Jihad on zippers

Stretchy sweatpants of lost hope

Your comfort? My eyes!

Nava:

On the Rise of Reason:

Pants of injustice

Eyes? To see inner beauty?

I ask: Can I live?

Naysan:

Ah, inner beauty.

It may be like a diamond 

But still needs a ring.

Nava:

a ring of diamonds?

allow freedom’s ring instead

at least that will last

Naysan:

See your elastic.

Freedom frayed, and pants sagging.

Notre Dame would weep.

Nava:

hunch back and take note

you now have a new haven

notre dame: take pride

to go home.

smallfish:

newyearskiss:

fizzzzy:

scottfriday:

(via allcreatures)