Sophist

Nomads
  • Content Count

    2,095
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by Sophist

  1. How did I miss all these! Mujahid my dear Boy, people will start talking unless you kick the ball-- you know what I mean! anyhow, I will see you next Saturday as planned--6th of December mate Insha Allah. Sophist
  2. Jamaal! War Qaadiri maahi ee Saalixi ayaan ahay Hey, I have send you the stuff though I am not very happy with it! tell me what you think of it!. Sophist
  3. Realism! Very interesting concept! Come on carry on indulge us! I have become rather old and ragged these days my mind barely coping with the habitual tasks it is confronts with let alone exercising its muscles for intellectual teeth bloody show down! Dawaco! Anyhow, I am glad that it is not from my personal short coming not fathoming what Rayaana had written—for a second I thought my old age is catching me up quickly. Elated you have given me hope now. Cheerio Sophist
  4. Jamaal1 had ended up what he wanted I suppose! war odey saas soo maaha?
  5. Salifiyah--- I don't think someone with the name like you would have said words like DUDE Rayaana! run through me again! who is Sheikh Subeer? and what are you on about deed! what are you reffering to!!! acuudkee :rolleyes:
  6. Instict Poet! Actually, as it happens I haven't been an actor for such a pantomine for a long time! I have indeed written this 1999! I was clearing some old files and I came accross this! Elated to hear you have more "advanced" game! Sophist
  7. How often it is that both male and female play the game of pretence, actors in there own theater, each knowing their role but play naive to it. "The Man" poses as a stranger merely looking for "friendship". "The Woman" an innocent lady unknown to the ways of the world. So it begins, with "The Man" offering the hand of friendship and "nothing more", "The Woman" "innocently" accepts this union of friendship with all the joy and hopefulness. However, both Man and Woman also play the part of audience, and just like in a pantomime the audience knows the whole plot behind the play, shouting "He likes you" He likes you". But of course, the actors do not hear, maintaining their illusion of pretence, merely to act out the entire play, for it is a play they both enjoy and are use to. So "The Man continues his role and delusion of a friend hoping that it may blossom into a flower of love, meanwhile "The Woman" for her part is happy to play along, knowing all the while his intent and in her mind has already come to a conclusion that is hidden from the "The Man". Now the audience is then separated into two, those who know the ending and those who dont. The Irony is that both know how the play begins but only one knows how it will end. And so I ask "how will the play end? On thee knows!!! Fraternally, Sophist
  8. How often it is that both male and female play the game of pretence, actors in there own theater, each knowing their role but play naive to it. "The Man" poses as a stranger merely looking for "friendship". "The Woman" an innocent lady unknown to the ways of the world. So it begins, with "The Man" offering the hand of friendship and "nothing more", "The Woman" "innocently" accepts this union of friendship with all the joy and hopefulness. However, both Man and Woman also play the part of audience, and just like in a pantomime the audience knows the whole plot behind the play, shouting "He likes you" He likes you". But of course, the actors do not hear, maintaining their illusion of pretence, merely to act out the entire play, for it is a play they both enjoy and are use to. So "The Man continues his role and delusion of a friend hoping that it may blossom into a flower of love, meanwhile "The Woman" for her part is happy to play along, knowing all the while his intent and in her mind has already come to a conclusion that is hidden from the "The Man". Now the audience is then separated into two, those who know the ending and those who dont. The Irony is that both know how the play begins but only one knows how it will end. And so I ask "how will the play end? Only thee knows!!! Fraternally, Sophist
  9. Jamaal adiga afarleydaan iga qabo hee! Ciryoole, caano cuskade, camanyo miidaale Cirka nimankii waagii koriyo cuna cayuunle Libaaxoo ciyaartunayoo dhididku caaryoobey moorryyaanta Ceydiid watiyo Caado timoweyle!!!! :cool: Just kidding brother. War hade ninkaan layiraahdo Rabiic waa balaayo ma ogtahay!. Dad badan ayuu wuxuu ka dhaaciyey inuu Jamaacada kutugado Xaramka maalinkasta iyo Jamaaco kasta. Waxaa ilaaliya technical baaburo ah oo uu wakiil kayahay wiil sodog uu u yahay oo layiraahdo Col Ahmed Raan oo Xuduni ah. War Jamaal, War jiidali Saalixiyo weeye ee Qaadiriyada iga fagee! Libaax iyo Garoowe iiga gee aan kudhahay!. Anyhow, I am going to finish that work beri hadii Rabi idmo. Salaamad. Sophist
  10. Looooooool! Is it just my peculiar sense of humour or did you guys find this whimsical? :eek: :confused: Sophist
  11. Baashi! Afartaana sidoo togog soo hurgamey maku talaabsiiyey Tuqaantuqada reer tolka tibiid maku tariibshey Hadal taagdan yaqaanyahow daanka iga toogso! Abwan?
  12. 'Me? I thought, OBE me? Up yours, I thought' An invitation to the palace to accept an New Year honour... you must be joking. Benjamin Zephaniah won't be going. Here he explains why Thursday November 27, 2003 The Guardian Angry: Benjamin Zephaniah I woke up on the morning of November 13 wondering how the government could be overthrown and what could replace it, and then I noticed a letter from the prime minister's office. It said: "The prime minister has asked me to inform you, in strict confidence, that he has in mind, on the occasion of the forthcoming list of New Year's honours to submit your name to the Queen with a recommendation that Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to approve that you be appointed an officer of the Order of the British Empire." Me? I thought, OBE me? Up yours, I thought. I get angry when I hear that word "empire"; it reminds me of slavery, it reminds of thousands of years of brutality, it reminds me of how my foremothers were raped and my forefathers brutalised. It is because of this concept of empire that my British education led me to believe that the history of black people started with slavery and that we were born slaves, and should therefore be grateful that we were given freedom by our caring white masters. It is because of this idea of empire that black people like myself don't even know our true names or our true historical culture. I am not one of those who are obsessed with their roots, and I'm certainly not suffering from a crisis of identity; my obsession is about the future and the political rights of all people. Benjamin Zephaniah OBE - no way Mr Blair, no way Mrs Queen. I am profoundly anti-empire. There's something very strange about receiving a letter from Tony Blair's office asking me if I want to accept this award. In the past couple of months I've been on Blair's doorstep a few times. I have begged him to come out and meet me; I have been longing for a conversation with him, but he won't come out, and now here he is asking me to meet him at the palace! I was there with a million people on February 15, and the last time I was there was just a couple of weeks ago. My cousin, Michael Powell, was arrested and taken to Thornhill Road police station in Birmingham where he died. Now, I know how he died. The whole of Birmingham knows how he died, but in order to get this article published and to be politically (or journalistically) correct, I have to say that he died in suspicious circumstances. The police will not give us any answers. We have not seen or heard anything of all the reports and investigations we were told were going to take place. Now, all that my family can do is join with all the other families who have lost members while in custody because no one in power is listening to us. Come on Mr Blair, I'll meet you anytime. Let's talk about your Home Office, let's talk about being tough on crime. This OBE thing is supposed to be for my services to literature, but there are a whole lot of writers who are better than me, and they're not involved in the things that I'm involved in. All they do is write; I spend most of my time doing other things. If they want to give me one of these empire things, why can't they give me one for my work in animal rights? Why can't they give me one for my struggle against racism? What about giving me one for all the letters I write to innocent people in prisons who have been framed? I may just consider accepting some kind of award for my services on behalf of the millions of people who have stood up against the war in Iraq. It's such hard work - much harder than writing poems. And hey, if Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to lay all that empire stuff on me, why can't she write to me herself. Let's cut out the middleman - she knows me. The last time we met, it was at a concert I was hosting. She came backstage to meet me. That didn't bother me; lots of people visit my dressing room after performances. Me and the South African performers I was working with that night thought it rather funny that we had a royal groupie. She's a bit stiff but she's a nice old lady. Let me make it clear: I have nothing against her or the royal family. It is the institution of the monarchy that I loathe so very much, the monarchy that still refuses to apologise for sanctioning slavery. There is a part of me that hopes that after writing this article I shall never be considered as a Poet Laureate or an OBE sucker again. Let this put an end to it. This may lose me some of my writing friends; some people may never want to work with me again, but the truth is I think OBEs compromise writers and poets, and laureates suddenly go soft - in the past I've even written a poem, Bought and Sold, saying that. There are many black writers who love OBEs, it makes them feel like they have made it. When it suits them, they embrace the struggle against the ruling class and the oppression they visit upon us, but then they join the oppressors' club. They are so easily seduced into the great house of Babylon known as the palace. For them, a wonderful time is meeting the Queen and bowing before her presence. I was shocked to see how many of my fellow writers jumped at the opportunity to go to Buckingham Palace when the Queen had her "meet the writers day" on July 9 2002, and I laughed at the pathetic excuses writers gave for going. "I did it for my mum"; "I did it for my kids"; "I did it for the school"; "I did it for the people", etc. I have even heard black writers who have collected OBEs saying that it is "symbolic of how far we have come". Oh yes, I say, we've struggled so hard just to get a minute with the Queen and we are so very grateful - not. I've never heard of a holder of the OBE openly criticising the monarchy. They are officially friends, and that's what this cool Britannia project is about. It gives OBEs to cool rock stars, successful businesswomen and blacks who would be militant in order to give the impression that it is inclusive. Then these rock stars, successful women, and ex-militants write to me with the OBE after their name as if I should be impressed. I'm not. Quite the opposite - you've been had. Writers and artists who see themselves as working outside the establishment are constantly being accused of selling out as soon as they have any kind of success. I've been called a sell-out for selling too many books, for writing books for children, for performing at the Royal Albert Hall, for going on Desert Island Discs, and for appearing on the Parkinson show. But I want to reach as many people as possible without compromising the content of my work. What continues to be my biggest deal with the establishment must be my work with the British Council, of which, ironically, the Queen is patron. I have no problem with this. It has never told me what to say, or what not to say. I have always been free to criticise the government and even the council itself. This is what being a poet is about. Most importantly, through my work with the council I am able to show the world what Britain is really about in terms of our arts, and I am able to partake in the type of political and cultural intercourse which is not possible in the mainstream political arena. I have no problem representing the reality of our multiculturalism, which may sometimes mean speaking about the way my cousin Michael died in a police station. But then, I am also at ease letting people know that our music scene is more than what they hear in the charts, and that British poetry is more than Wordsworth, or even Motion. I have no problem with all of this because this is about us and what we do. It is about what happens on the streets of our country and not in the palace or at No 10. Me, OBE? Whoever is behind this offer can never have read any of my work. Why don't they just give me some of those great African works of art that were taken in the name of the empire and let me return them to their rightful place? You can't fool me, Mr Blair. You want to privatise us all; you want to send us to war. You stay silent when we need you to speak for us, preferring to be the voice of the US. You have lied to us, and you continue to lie to us, and you have poured the working-class dream of a fair, compassionate, caring society down the dirty drain of empire. Stick it, Mr Blair - and Mrs Queen, stop going on about the empire. Let's do something else. Bought and Sold Smart big awards and prize money Is killing off black poetry It's not censors or dictators that are cutting up our art. The lure of meeting royalty And touching high society Is damping creativity and eating at our heart. The ancestors would turn in graves Those poor black folk that once were slaves would wonder How our souls were sold And check our strategies, The empire strikes back and waves Tamed warriors bow on parades When they have done what they've been told They get their OBEs. Don't take my word, go check the verse Cause every laureate gets worse A family that you cannot fault as muse will mess your mind, And yeah, you may fatten your purse And surely they will check you first when subjects need to be amused With paid for prose and rhymes. Take your prize, now write more, Faster, **** the truth Now you're an actor do not fault your benefactor Write, publish and review, You look like a dreadlocks Rasta, You look like a ghetto blaster, But you can't diss your paymaster And bite the hand that feeds you. What happened to the verse of fire Cursing cool the empire What happened to the soul rebel that Marley had in mind, This bloodstained, stolen empire rewards you and you conspire, (Yes Marley said that time will tell) Now look they've gone and joined. We keep getting this beating It's bad history repeating It reminds me of those capitalists that say 'Look you have a choice,' It's sick and self-defeating if our dispossessed keep weeping And we give these awards meaning But we end up with no voice. · Taken from Too Black, Too Strong. Published by Bloodaxe Books (2001)
  13. Lakkad, my fellow Nomad, Only those whom I have the pleasure knowing can I formulate a judgement--be that as uncritical one. We all sometimes feel left out (fat chance of that happening to me ), laakin furaha waxa weeye kor adeeg iyo ishilmaansiin xaalada markaas kuheysata! be cheerful. Sophist NB: Ma anigaas itiri publicist (xayeysiiye) ii noqo! Soomalidu waxay kumaahmaa LIBAAX NIMAAN AQOON AYAA LAX KARITA-- laakiin waxayna kudarin, hade ..............................! just playing with you my old boy!
  14. Bee and Athena! Can we roll up to your dinner party or this is only for ladies with manners! some of us just wanna taste your cooking ....... rumour has it you guys are top notch chefs!. Sophist
  15. Guur iyo xodxodasho (romance) waaba waxa kaliya ee dadbadani unool yihiin, jaamacado uga baxeen oo hadii Ale idmayo noloshuba hade ey kuxirantahay. War Libaax: War Anigu hade Saalixi ayaan nodey, miyaadan maqal: Ninkii Saalixiya waanaga helee walaalahayoow kasoo kaca'e! Anaga qasiidadeena waa Soomali, ciraaq mid laga soo koobiyaareeyay maaha!. War meelahaas aa hada heysataan anigu tegi maayo, summerka insha allah Ceerigaabo ayaan soo booqon (the graves of my grandparents) insha Allah. Marka, kobtaasna timoweynta 100 kilometre ey ujiraan Saalixyadeyda iyo Salafiyaa kataliya! latter being very powerful and rich Sophist
  16. My plans are to just catch up with my old freinds in London--- Mujahid we should meet up mate, so as Jamaal11--- come down to the city man! what are you going to in Middlesex!! we shall all take the micky out of each other.
  17. I row when I am stressed about anything to do with my studies-- which is quite often lately. Sophist
  18. Jamaal11, adiga ma aad maqashey wiilkii gabadha intuu ka masaafeystey Biyo Guduud (near Ergavo) oo doonaayey inuu geeyo xagaa iyo xadeed, markii habeenkii uu dhamaadey oo subaxdii qoraxdii ey subuq ey soo tiri ayey gabdhii hade waxay ku tiri, waryaa hade afku wuu cadilmaye wax aan kucadayano ma inuu wadaa? Bal waa kaase Jamaal arinka fasir! LibaaxSankaTaabte @lol walaahi aan aheyne waad iga dhoola cadeysiisyey! waan hilmaamey maagaala madaxdii hore ee Timaweynta inaad kusoo barbaartey! Yaa Hilib aan loo saoo shaqeysan cuney aan nimankaas ahayen!-- haatabn Yagoori ayuu Qudbi kadhistey baa layiri, kobtaas ayaa u ah Magaalo madax!
  19. Libaax Sanka taabte! Eloping inaad qatar ku aheyd aan umaleynaayey! Habeen dhaweyto ayaanba rabney inaan gabar kamasaafeyno Camridge oo reerkoodu deganyahay! waxaan isku qabanay ina kiilmitir ee shardiga u ah nooh! Wali arinkaan waa jiraa, waa socdaa, waana dhaqan wali dadka qaarii rabaan iney preserve-gareyaan! YOu can imagine the English Family being exteremely alarmed by this concept of elopment in Somali Style-- gabadha oo afar wiil go' kuridanayaa! What a scene! Waxay gabarta ka dhaahiciyeen in Elopment-ku uu ku ansaxayo in go' lagu rido nooh! can you imagine her facial expression when she hears that? Just kidding!
  20. Section6, Isn't you avatar from one of those Jamaican Ragie music vedeos? Just asking!
  21. Mujahid, I understand your concerns my dearest brother. As human beings, we are inately feeble in our approach of life and its intricate realities. People want to have "fun" and the only way that is available to them in the west are those aforementioned things, perhaps you should conjure up some physically stimulating "fun" for us to do!!!!. Afur Wanaagsan Sophist