Of the doers of good deeds.

“We don’t kill women.”
He told her, as he looked her in the eye.

“We don’t kill women.”
He told her, but he didn’t tell her why.

When you were thumbing through those sacred pages,
Did you ever come across this line?



Then his self persuaded him to the killing of his brother, so he killed him, then he became among the losers.

When you take the truths and twist them
around that trigger in your hand.
When you whisper, God is Great, and press it,
what do you think, He understands?

5:28Even if thou stretch out thy hand against me to kill me, I shall not stretch out my hand against thee to kill thee, lo! I fear Allah, the Lord of the Worlds.

I’ve read your Good Book too.
The Most Holy Quran.
I like to read it in the evenings,
Ponder it’s message to man.




My Lord! grant me of the doers of good deeds.




Were you pondering it too?
When you stormed the Bataclan?
Did you tarry a moment, and wonder,
If this was what Your God had planned?


5:69Surely they that believe, and those of Jewry, and the Christians, and those Sabeaans, who so believes in God and the Last Day, and works righteousness–their wage waits them with their Lord, and no fear shall be on them, neither shall they sorrow.


And when you stole away your brothers,
your sisters, 43 of them, in Beruit.
Was it iron in your breast?
That your right, was absolute?

As your memories slipped with you from this world,
Did you see it plain?
How we come, and go from this earth?
The entries and exits are all the same.

17:13Every man’s fate We have fastened on his own neck: On the Day of Judgment We shall bring out for him a scroll, which he will see spread open.



I am not a daughter of Mohammed,
(though peace be upon his name)
I do not say prayers to Krishna,
(though I’ve read his words, just the same)

And though I know much of God and Jesus
I’m no follower of the Pope.
I do not petition any Rabbi.
I am just a child, of hope.

Because if I, an infidel,
Can find in such books, words of love,
Then any one can find them.
And turn to His work above.

Your actions make us into millions.
We still burn a fire, for peace.
So I leave you the Prophet’s message:
Perhaps you will kill yourself with grief because they do not believe.


There isn’t a lot that I have to give this world, besides words.
This year has been a difficult year, for so many people. I can’t mention every tragedy in a single poem, if I did. I would be writing forever.

But these are my words for the people of Paris, the people of Beirut.
And the questions that I wish I could ask those mortal men, who think somehow that their finite actions are the will of an infinite God.

Be good to the world, please. Strangers, friends. We are in it for just the briefest moment.

Something is coming…

“If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word.” — Margaret Atwood

Sound advice from one of my literary heroes.

I’ve been quiet. But I’ve also been busy. Something new is about to appear. Something I’m really excited about! And if you’re kind enough to read this blog, you’ll be the first to know about it when it arrives c:

The first lesson is always the hardest.

Despite his heartfelt request and my fervent attempts to comply, I didn’t smile all the way home.

I don’t know how much smiling he did, but I didn’t smile and I only laughed when I did because I had the good fortune of having a novel by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman with me.
In fact, I cried. Though I managed to at least hold off until the plane went up and Coldplay’s ‘The Scientist’ blared through my new headphones with the horrible words “Tell me you love me, come back and hold me” and I stumbled to the bathroom and bawled for the rest of the song and a little more.
After that I alternated between distracting myself with mediocre inflight entertainment or the afore mentioned novel and staring blankly at the seat in front of me, lamenting that all my music was either
a.) songs I had attributed to him
b.) songs that we’d done something together while listening to or
c.) just regularly depressing.
The man next to me on the first leg was an Indian immigrant returning to London who had odd smelling breath and didn’t know anything about personal space and kept talking over the top of me to his wife sitting in the next row. I got some respite after that experience though and managed to  have my pokemon pal in the seat next to me for the long haul (I choose you, bellossom!) The wifi on all of my planes was mysteriously unavailable, as if to thwart my attempts to actually  hold a meaningful conversation with anyone other than myself.
The cookies were at least, very appetizing.
So, I was stuck on this 29 hour journey with so little to do that I thought it would be an apt time to start conveniently planning the rest of my life, starting perhaps with writing something, seeing as that is what I’ve been saying I want to do for the last 10 years.
I could have started writing some lovely fictional story with a healthy dose of mystery or fantasy or pseudo-science  but instead I decided to indulge my narcissism and write about myself. I got told by someone pretty cool at the start of this year that I was the most interesting person they had ever met, I won’t lie, a compliment like that goes to you head a little bit and I thought “Hey, maybe I really am interesting!” So I decided to start this thing… It is sort of like a little series of anecdotes, life lessons learned, and an investigation of the  inescapable sense of irony which I often feel pervades my existence. What better place to start it than right now? The lowest of the low points in 27 and a half years of life. After all, do regular people get divorced after only 7 months? I mean, I know Katy Perry does, but I’m just a short Australian girl with a big mouth and an inordinate love for music, cats, liquor and good books. I’ve got a temper, but I am pretty sure everyone does. My heart is in the right place, I’m a hard worker, I think a lot, I never forget a name or a birthday and I work so hard to please people that I should think the flaw of being able to shriek like a banshee when it is my time of the month can be overlooked.
So what is it about me that he didn’t find worth loving? I mean, I did everything for him, kept him comfortable. Told him how handsome and smart he was, how strong his arms were, how safe he made me feel, how much I needed him. I cooked and cleaned and encouraged, tried to acquiesce to all his whims. Sure we could have had more sex, I would have liked to actually, but I am really shy about sex. You wouldn’t know it from hearing me talk because I am not shy about talking about anything. But I am pretty shy about sex and initiating it. I’ve always had this silly romantic idea that the person I was with would just know I wanted to have sex and do all the initiating thanks to the intensely intimate and spiritual connection we obviously have due to like, being in love and stuff.
It is kind of like the silly idea I have that if I think hard enough about someone they’ll know I need them and call or text or email. Or that if I want something badly enough I’ll get it because my desire will shape the universe.
Does anyone else have these really childish ideas 2 and a half years shy of 30? Or do I still have more growing up to do? Maybe I am not cynical enough yet. All the crap the world has thrown at me so far hasn’t jaded me enough. Every time I get depressed and I think of kicking it all in like a glorious quitter I think of my bloody Mum and how her kids are shit heads who have made her cry enough and I probably shouldn’t contribute to that cycle with a permanent tragedy.
So there I was, stuck on a plane going nowhere with no idea where it is I really want to be any more, or what it is I really want to do, or even what it is I want at all. Seems like most other people my age have got a good grip on things. Jobs, kids, houses. And here is me, with just about nothing to show for all this time on earth but a really comfortable pair of boots and a cool hat I bought for 10 quid in Camden. I mean, I have a lot of stories, and a lot of friends. Both I count as blessings beyond belief, but I am still struck with this overwhelming feeling that I haven’t accomplished anything, and I didn’t have that 4 weeks ago. 4 weeks ago I felt like I had accomplished a lot. I had a husband who I had traversed the globe to be with and loved with all my heart, a green card I had worked bloody hard to get, a brand new Queen size bed and a pocketful of dreams for a beautiful future that involved dogs and cats and maybe even kids. Now I just have a big span of emptiness. A yawning abyss of uncertainty that I’m forced to battle across.
Is this what I get for my leap of faith Kierkegaard? I named a great dog after you once, that is pretty honourific, couldn’t you have thrown me a bone for that? Is this what I get when I gamble everything for love?
Great advice Ben Lee. You said it’d be alright. Well it isn’t. I paid $1.99 on itunes for that advice. I want my money back.
I always said there were only like, 7 stories in the world and we just told them over and over again. Well the truth is, there aren’t 7 stories in the world, there is only one. Every story ever written is just a story about someone trying to find their place. Discover who they are. Uncover what they were put here for.
This is where I’ve chosen to start mine.

Reflections on my first bite out of the big apple.

So you wanna be a New Yorker?
The first thing you need to learn about being a New Yorker is that you are always in a rush. It doesn’t matter if you’re not, you are.

Do not wait for the flashing red hand to change to the white waking man.

Just walk.

Do not amble for the subway.


Stick your foot in the closing doors. You don’t have 8 minutes to wait for the next L to Brooklyn.

If you do miss that train. Stand at the edge of the yellow line and gaze impatiently down the subway tunnel. By watching for those headlights piercing through the black and sending the rats scurrying you will magically make them appear faster.
Elbow people.

They should be behind you, not beside you.

Yes buddy. That was me who just pushed on past you. But aren’t you the same briefcase clutching, Wall St, Mother Fucker who nearly shouldered me off the escalator yesterday? Don’t look so indignant.

The second thing you need to learn about being a New Yorker is not to take offence to any of the aforementioned behaviour.

It is part of the daily grind.

You’re in the biggest baddest city in the world now. Of course people are in a hurry.

Only so many hours in a day, and I want to be in at work half an hour early so I can catch Happy Hour at Phebe’s tonight and grab a hot dog! Come on man, it’s fucking Friday!

Banana Muffins ala Elliterate

The finished product

My friend Jules gave me a great recipe for banana muffins a couple of weeks ago. I enjoyed them immensely, but, I like to experiment. So I came up with my own banana muffin recipe!


3 Bananas (I tend to use over ripe ones to get rid of them x3)

2 tbsp of Maple Syrup

2 tbsp of Vegetable Oil

3 tbsp of Butter

1 tsp of Vanilla Extract

1 Egg

1 & 1/2 cups of Flour

3/4 cup of Sugar (Special mention to Ms. Mka Argenio for her sage advice about the sugar <3)

2 tsp of Baking Powder

2 tsp of Cinnamon

EDIT: I made this mix again today (23rd of June) and as the banana’s I used were still fairly ripe I found I had to add a little milk to the mix to help blend it all together. Not a lot, not even 1/4 of a cup. Just a splash to help the wet and dry ingredients combine. Something to keep in mind if your using ripe bananas!

First, I mashed up my bananas in a small bowl. Best part of making these muffins by far. Jules advised me to use a potato masher and that was wise of him, however I’m poor and living in America, I can’t afford a potato masher, this is a god damn recession. I just used a fork.

Once they were mashed I cracked in the egg, added the maple syrup, vegetable oil, butter and vanilla extract and stirred really vigorously. Once everything was combined to satisfaction I grabbed my mixing bowl and measured out the dry ingredients. I should mention that I never actually “measure” anything when I cook. But the measurements I have given here are approximate. I do actually have measuring cups. But I am really lazy and hate washing dishes, so I only use the 1 cup size to measure everything. I am pretty liberal with cinnamon myself, being a fan, but if you’re not then 2 tsp will be enough!

Once my dry ingredients were combined, I added the banana mix. Stirred it all up with a wooden spoon and then whacked them into pre-greased muffin tins. My muffin tins are disposable ones. I just re-wash them. For all my Australian readers, can you believe this? Disposable muffin tins!? Do we have those back home!? I really don’t remember ever seeing them. I don’t believe we’d create such a thing. I mean, the only reason I bought these was because I can’t afford -real- muffin tins on my $7.25 an hour minimum wage P.O.S. job.

Once the muffins were all spooned into their little al-foil homes I whacked them in my oven, which I had pre-heated to 375 degrees Fahrenheit, or for all of us who decided the metric system was better, about 190 degrees Celsius. You can crank it up to 200 I am sure.

Baked them for about 20 minutes, until they were golden brown on the top. Served one to my taste tester, a man with the silver palate, and I was assured they were a success!

So please, give the recipe a go and let me know how you like it! Or, alternatively, if you’d like any more of my recipes, (such as the garlic beef parmigiana with spaghetti that I am making for dinner tonight) let me know! I love to share!❤

Good night, sweet dreams.

Whispered in the night,

In the dark recess of my mind,

Are fears, unconquered,

Of what is known and what is lost,

Fragments of space and time,

Played out like children’s lullabies.

And I am a ghost,

Floating down familiar passage ways,

Watching the process,

Hearing the protests,

But mute to speak my mind.

“Running over the same old ground”

But I’m just walking along,

That ground beneath my feet,

Learning to find strength,

In the eyes of the strangers on the street.

Sometimes what you want,

Is never what you need,

And sometimes what you need,

Is something no one else can provide.

I went for a walk last night, after the witching hour and watched the lightning through my father’s old binoculars.  There was a storm in the sky and a storm in my head. But even though a thunder storm is frightening, there’s a dangerous beauty about it. I feel like my life’s a bit like a storm at the moment. A lot of uncertainty, but I think it’ll be followed by something as majestic and powerful as the lightning that splits the sky.

Or at least that’s what I hope.

Realizations at the kitchen sink.

I’ve got about 4 hours before I absolutely have to sleep tonight. I made myself a cup of tea with just a smidgen of honey in it. I plugged in my headphones so that the soothing refrain of 90’s rock songs won’t wake my 7 and a half month old nephew and I sat down, with the full intention of working on one of the many assignments I have to do. All of which are overdue. None of which I actually care about.

What do I care about? Quite a lot of things at the moment, but I suppose there are a few things in particular I care about more than others. I was thinking about this earlier, as I washed the dishes from dinner, what is it I care about? Today was a hard day. A very bad day all things considered. I was feeling quite low in spirit, but then as I scrubbed saucepans and baking dishes I resolved to think about the things I care the most about. And it surprises me what those things are.

I care about myself, much more than I ever did previously. Suddenly I have a deep and staunch desire to go and take what I want from life. I have some sort of resolution that I was lacking before, something that grips tightly at my heart and head and buoys me up when I start to sink beneath the raging waters of doubt. I am determined now to achieve the goals I set for myself. The desire is backed by reason, and opportunity and I cannot ignore it.

I care about creating my own happiness and peace of mind. Forging the sort of self-reliance which I have been struggling to attain my whole life, but to date have not quite managed. I don’t want to depend on others. That is not to say that I won’t play the game of give and take, that I won’t turn to others and let others turn to me. It is simply to say, I want to be able to deal with my emotions without that. Because once I can master my emotions, there is nothing in this world which can hold me back.

I care about laughing. As much as I can, I want to laugh until I cry. So that my sides hurt and my breath comes short and sharp to my chest.  I care about sharing this laughter with others, and enjoying it in my solitude. I care about facing each day with a smile, and still wearing it as I close my eyes when that day ends.

I care about adaptability. I care about being able to reinvent myself when I need it, being able to cut my losses and start afresh with no regret and no sorrow. I care about letting go. L e t t I n g g o .

I care about feeding my passions. Not letting those things that make me inquisitive and creative fade away. I care about keeping them alive, and keeping myself alive by that act. I want to always seek, always reach, to always ask for answers.

And in learning what I care about, I’ve also learnt what it is I do not care for. I don’t care for callous words, or over-acting. I don’t care for assumptions, and conclusions hastily jumped to. I don’t care for judgement being passed, nor do I care for phony charity, only offered to ease the guilt of the giver.

I don’t care for doubters, and nay-sayers. I don’t care for blockades in my road, I don’t care for fear. I don’t care for lies, inventions of the mind which satisfy some insecure neurosis. I don’t care for demands, or insinuations. I don’t care for safety nets which are full of man size holes.

I don’t care for people who neglect the present in favour of a glorified past or an imagined future. I don’t care for people who don’t have the spine or perhaps the dignity to voice their opinion to my face.

But I do care for a lot of things. And I won’t be letting the things I don’t care about put a stop to them.