Who is Mustafa Hunt?
Who is this guy who writes words on paper?
He's someone who wants to become his own person
Mustafa is a man who has gone through a lot of turmoil
Just to understand that the beginning has yet to appear before him
Mustafa is a person who loves to solve math problems
Just as much as he loves to write poetry
He is someone who wants to help others out
Before he even tries to help himself
Who is Mustafa Hunt?
He is a man who has taken many blows
Absorbed many punches
Took every hit
Just so others may feel better about themselves
Mustafa is a misunderstood individual
Who can't explain himself to the universe
But would rather just let himself remain unexplained
Like an equation at its prime factor
Who is Mustafa Hunt?
A "unique individual"
A man not claiming to be different or the same as others
But going out of his way to give you something
That shows that this is who he is
Something that only he can deliver to others
So who is Mustafa Hunt?
He's just an person
Living on Earth with everyone else
Breathing the same air
Walking on the same land
Learning the same lessons in life
But applying them in his own way

Hinanya Kematian Mustafa Kemal Attatürk yang Dikenal sebagai ‘Bapak Modernisasi Turki’ dari perspektif Barat, dia sebenarnya adalah tokoh yang meng’sekuler’kan dan ‘membunuh’ syiar Islam di Turki. Siapa lagi jika bukan Mustafa Kemal Attatürk yang diberi gelar Al-Ghazi (orang yang memerangi). "Attatürk" berarti "Bapak Orang Turki". Attatürk adalah orang yang bertanggung jawab meruntuhkan Khilafah Islam Turki pada tahun 1924. H.S. Armstrong, salah seorang pembantu Attatürk dalam bukunya yang berjudul Al-Zi’bu Al-Aghbar atau Al-Hayah Al-Khasah Li Taghiyyah telah menulis: "Sesungguhnya Attatürk adalah keturunan Yahudi, nenek moyangnya adalah Yahudi yang pindah dari Spanyol ke pelabuhan Salonika". Golongan Yahudi ini dinamakan dengan Yahudi "Daunamah" yang terdiri dari 600 keluarga. Mereka mengaku beragama Islam hanya sebagai identitas, tetapi masih menganut agama Yahudi secara diam-diam. Ini diakui sendiri oleh bekas Presiden Israel, Yitzak Zifi, dalam bukunya Daunamah terbitan tahun 1957. Attatürk mengubah ucapan Assalamualaikum menjadi Marhaban Bikum (Selamat Datang), melarang menggunakan busana Islam dan sebaliknya mewajibkan memakai pakaian ala Barat. Dalam tempo beberapa tahun saja, dia berhasil menghapuskan perayaan Hari Raya Idul Fitri dan Hari Raya Idul Adha serta melarang kaum muslim menunaikan ibadah Haji, melarang poligami dan melegalkan perkawinan wanita muslim dengan non muslim. Dia membatalkan libur pada hari Jum'at, melarang adzan dalam bahasa Arab dan menggantinya dengan bahasa Turki. Tindakan yang dilakukan oleh Attatürk ini nyata sekali telah memisahkan budaya Turki dari akar agama Islam dan menghapuskan Islam sebagai agama resmi negara Turki. Attatürk berusaha keras untuk menghancurkan para penentangnya. Dia membakar majelis-majelis, menangkap para pimpinan majelis dan juga mengawasi para ulama. Attatürk pernah menegaskan bahwa “negara tidak akan maju kalau rakyatnya tidak cenderung kepada pakaian modern”. Dia menggalakkan minum arak secara terbuka, mengubah Al-Quran yang kemudian dicetak dalam bahasa Turki. Bahasa Turki sendiri diubah dengan membuang unsur-unsur Arab dan Parsi. Attatürk mengubah Masjid Besar Aya Sofia menjadi gereja dan setengahnya untuk musium, menutup masjid serta melarang shalat berjamaah, menghapuskan Kementerian Wakaf dan membiarkan anak-anak yatim dan fakir miskin. Dia membatalkan undang-undang waris, faraid secara Islam, menghapus penggunaan kalendar Islam dan mengganti huruf Arab ke dalam huruf Latin. Attatürk mengganggap dirinya tuhan sama seperti firaun. Ketika itu ada seorang prajurit ditanya “siapa tuhan dan di mana tuhan tinggal?” karena takut, prajurit tersebut menjawab "Kemal Attatürk adalah tuhan”, dia tersenyum dan bangga dengan jawaban yang diberikan. Saat-saat menjelang kematiannya, Allah mendatangkan kepadanya beberapa penyakit yang membuatnya tersiksa dan tak dapat menanggung azab yang Allah berikan di dunia, diantaranya penyakit kulit dimana dia merasakan gatal di sekujur tubuh. Dia juga menderita penyakit jantung dan darah tinggi. Kemudian rasa panas sepanjang hari, tidak pernah merasa sejuk sehingga pompa air dikerahkan untuk menyirami rumahnya selama 24 jam. Attatürk juga menyuruh para pembantunya untuk meletakkan kantong-kantong es di dalam selimut untuk membuatnya sejuk. Maha Suci Allah, walau telah berusaha keras, tidak ada yang dapat mereka lakukan untuk mengusir rasa panas itu. Oleh karena tidak tahan dengan panas yang dirasakan, dia menjerit sangat keras hingga seluruh istana mendengarnya. Karena tidak tahan mendengar jeritan, para pembantunya membawa Attatürk ke tengah lautan dan diletakkan dalam kapal dengan harapan beliau akan merasa sejuk. Maha Besar Allah, panasnya tak juga hilang!! Pada 26 September 1938, dia pingsan selama 48 jam disebabkan panas yang dirasakannya dan kemudian sadar tetapi dia hilang ingatan. Pada 9 November 1938, dia pingsan sekali lagi selama 36 jam dan akhirnya meninggal dunia. Ketika itu tidak ada yang mau mengurus jenazahnya sesuai syariat. Mayatnya diawetkan selama 9 hari 9 malam, sehingga adik perempuannya datang meminta ulama-ulama Turki untuk memandikan, mengkafankan dan menshalatkannya. Tidak cukup sampai disitu, Allah tunjukkan lagi azab ketika mayatnya akan dimakamkan. Sewaktu mayatnya hendak ditanam, tanah tidak menerimanya (tak dapat dibayangkan bagaimana jika tanah tidak menerimanya). Karena tidak diterima tanah, mayatnya diawetkan sekali lagi dan dimasukkan ke dalam musium yang diberi nama EtnaGrafi selama 15 tahun hingga tahun 1953. Setelah 15 tahun mayatnya hendak dikuburkan kembali, tapi Allah Maha Agung, bumi sekali lagi tak menerimanya. Sampai akhirnya mayat Attaturk dibawa ke satu bukit dan disimpan dalam celah-celah marmer seberat 44 ton. Lebih menyedihkan lagi, ulama-ulama yang sezaman dengan Attatürk mengatakan bahwa jangankan bumi Turki, seluruh bumi Allah ini tidak akan menerimanya. Naudzubillah.

I have been gone for a long time
Too long for me to count
But I've been gone doing some thinking
Remembering what my mentor once said
"you know what
Forget this!
Grab hearts with your fist"
So I left the stage
Went into hiding
And grabbed my heart with an open fist
See, Mad Max was nothing
Mus was nothing
Zero is definitely nothing
So why would I call myself any of these names?
Because Mustafa wanted to give them something
Mustafa wanted to give them meaning
But they tried to take over
So I left the scene
And thought about my mentor
"You know what
Forget this"
I knew I had to forget the past
Move my *** forward
And show everyone that Mustafa is back
Back on the center of the stage
Ready to read what I wrote
Speak what I know
Express my feelings and emotions
Unlike those masks
Trying to make me a missing link
In this exhausted world
"Grab hearts with your fist"
I can't help but keep remembering this one line
The line that helped me go beyond what I originally did
And gave me life beyond attempted ******
I mean life beyond a depressed lifestyle
I know where I am now
Why I'm back now
Because of that line
My mentor
My friend
My allies
Mustafa has made a return to the stage
Ready to speak against myself
No ready to speak for the future
NO!
Ready to speak...
For a new change and a new start

Could be I’m on a mission:
Convince the entire world
I am the World's Greatest Living
English Language poet;
Of course, genius such as mine
Goes generally unrecognized until
The posthumous crowd weighs in.
And yet, wouldn’t it be nice?

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Yes, wouldn’t it be nice?
(The Nobel Prize,
Tribute at the Kennedy Center,
A MacArthur Grant,
The Presidential Medal of Honor,
Reverent BJs from hipster groupies . . .
The Poet Laureate in his vicarage,
Enjoying my sweet twilight celebrity.)

(Cue “Guys & Dolls” soundtrack: “What's in the daily news?
I'll tell you what's in the daily news.”)
23: Beheaded at Nigerian Election Rally!
Amanda Knox Gets Away with ****** Again in Italy!
Kung Pow: Silicon Valley Penisocracy Crushes Ellen Pao
German Crash Dummy Co-pilot Flies Jet into the Alps!
Hilary’s Emails Are *****!
Sierra Leone Ebola Lockdown!
Iran: Kooks with Nukes!
Sri Lankan President’s Brother Dies from Ax Wounds!
Saudi Diplomats Evacuate Yemen!
Stampede at Hindu Bathing Ritual, Bangladesh Kills at Least 10!
Simply put:  THE WORLD IS IN A STATE OF ****.

Perhaps it’s time we turn again.
Seek solace in poetry—
“Yeah, chemistry,” insists my Sky Masterson,
My “Guys & Dolls” alter ago.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be.
All poets are gamblers & moonshiners.
We polish our chemical craft,
Sweet-talking the distillation apparatus,
Getting us, getting at linguistic essence.
Cunning linguists are we.
(Colonel Angus, are you back?)
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
We open this hearing to determine
Whether or not S.I. Hayakawa—guilty of
Numerous crimes against humanity & other
Professional Neo-Fascist “entrechats.”--
Whether or not he merits a kinder, gentler
Wikipedia BIO.
(Wikipedia ( i/ˌwɪkɨˈpiːdiə/ or  i/ˌwɪkiˈpiːdiə/ WIK-i-***-dee-ə) Wikipedia)
We open this forum, focusing on his
Courageous stand against the
SDS & Black Panthers, part of
An unlikely coalition: The Worker-Student Alliance
& It’s rival, Joe Hill Caucuses.
Da Name of the Place:
(“I like it like that!” Hot Chelle Rae-“I Like It Like That” lyrics| Metro Lyrics www.metrolyrics.com Lyrics to 'I Like It Like That' by Hot Chelle Rae. “Let's get it on, yeah, y'all can come along/Everybody drinks on me, buy out the bar /Just to feel like I'm.”)
The name of the place: San Francisco State,
1968-69, the longest student strike in U.S. history,
Led successfully to the creation of
Black & Other Ethnic studies programs
On campuses across the country,
And, one could argue,
Gave the green light to
Osama Hussein Obama,
Our first Uncle Tom President.
But I digress.

ACTING SFSU President, Dr. Hayakawa—
Perpetual audition, the pressure on,
Feisty, independent-minded & combative,
Screaming at that skeevy student mob:
(Skeevy as in “He bought the thing from
Some skeevy dude in an alley.")
Declaring “A State of Emergency,”
Calling in the SFPD, whose
Inexplicable slogan says”
“Oro en Paz,
Fierro en Guerra.”
Archaic Spanish for
Gold in peace,
Iron in war, by the by,
For you holdouts,
Those of you who still
Think the “English First Movement”
Breathes life still.
I’ve got more news for you:
That crusade died long ago,
Locked up, dark & shuttered,
Bank Repo thugs, their thick
Neck muscles flexing from side to side,
Sashaying across the parking lot,
Like John Wayne on steroids,
Right up to the front door.)
The SFPD: San Francisco city fuzz,
(As they were known at the time) &
The California National Guard, as well,
Obstreperously, generously catered by
Governor Ronald Wilson Reagan,
(Early stage, Alzheimer’s at the time.
But still very much “The Gypper,”
Still chipper in Sacramento.)
Ronnie--keenly interested in
The Eureka State’s congressional clout,
Lassoes a seat in the U.S. House of Lords:
AKA: The U.S. Senate, SPQR.
It’s still hard . . .

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Still hard to believe that California was once
Rock solid in the clutches of the GOP,
Gripped tightly in the Party’s
Desperate talons. But the grip slipped,
Slipped in the slip-sliding 1970s.
It got harder and harder . . .

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Harder and harder to remind
Leroy & the rest of his ebony posse,
That it was Abraham Lincoln—
“The Great Emancipator” himself—who was,
Our first Republican President.
The Emancipation Proclamation:
That toothless rhetorical flourish,
Based solely on Abe’s
Constitutional authority as
Commander-in-Chief,
Not on a law passed by Congress.
It was just Abe blowing smoke
Up their ***** again,
Just an egalitarian blast from
His Old Kentucky past,
A youth spent splitting rails,
Busting his *** just like
Any plantation ******,
A stark plebeian commonality,
Too deeply etched to be ignored.
Poor Abraham Lincoln:
Probably a **** Creek crypto-Jew,
Neutered by the opposition:
His very own Republican majority Congress,
Another example of the GOP
Shooting off its own foot, right up there
With Mitt Romney’s "47 percent of the people,”
The rhetorical gaffe which cost him his
Second & final shot at the White House.
But I digress.

Senator Sam S.I. Samuel Hayakawa:
That inscrutable Asian fixer, is now U.S. Senator,
Republican, California, 1976-83
Pulpit-bullying his Senate colleagues,
Fiercely opposed to transfer of the
Panama Canal & Panama Canal Zone to
Panama: a diplomatic no-brainer; Duh?
Their freaking name is on both of them.
Senator Sam, obstinate & blustering:
"We should keep the Panama Canal.
After all, we stole it fair and square.”
And Hayakawa, later the driving impetus
Behind the Far Right “English Only” movement.
His co-founding an "Official English"
Advocacy group, U.S. English;
Their party line summarizes their belief:
“The passage of English as the official language will help to expand opportunities for immigrants to learn and speak English, the single greatest empowering tool that immigrants must have to succeed."
That’s how they sold it, anyway.
In sooth: just old-fashioned nativist
Anti-immigration hysteria.

Hayakawa: always the high achiever.
Hayakawa: The Great Assimilator,
Preaching his xenophobic Gospel:
“Immigration Must Be Reduced!”
Aryan rhetoric, of course,
A bi-product of radical authoritarian nationalism,
A movement with deep American roots.
Senator Sam: a Japanese-Canadian-American,
Always tried too hard to fit in.
Sam, comfortable in Chicago during WWII,
Not personally subject to confinement,
Advocated that Japanese-Americans
Submit to FDR’s 1942, Executive Order 9066.
“Time in camp, will eventually work to Japanese advantage."
Later, during the Congressional debate over
The Civil Liberties Act of 1988 . . .
(Passed the House on September 17, 1987 (243–141)
Passed the Senate on April 20, 1988 (69–27, in lieu of S. 1009)
Reported by the joint conference committee on July 26, 1988,
Agreed to by the Senate on July 27, 1988 (voice vote) and
By the House on August 4, 1988 (257–156,
Signed into law by President Ronald Reagan 8/10/88.
He opposed $reparations for WWII internment:
“Japanese-Americans should not
Be paid for fulfilling their obligations."
Some guys, I guess, would say, or
Do anything for Bohemia Club membership.
Plagued by night terrors, nonetheless,
His Manzanar nightmares, his vivid
Imaginary experience at other Japanese
Internment Sites: Tule Lake & Camp Rohwer.
Stalag (German pronunciation: [ˈʃtalak])
Stalags, infamous still,
“Stalags ‘R Us,”
Still palpable memories for
Issei ("first generation")
& Nisei ("second generation").
See: 323 U.S. 214. Korematsu v. United States
(No. 22: Argued: October 11, 12, 1944.
Decided: December 18, 1944.140 F.2d 289.
The opinion, written by Hugo Black,
Chief Justice Harlan Stone, Presiding.)

Hayakawa: a strange duck, of course,
But we mustn’t ignore his strong credentials,
And I’d like to disabuse anyone here
Of the notion that it was anything
Other than his academic record
That got his case to this Forum.
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
So begins this fractured Pardoner’s Tale,
This petition for forgiveness,
The Capo di Tutti Capi,
Presiding: the original Italian mafioso,
His Eminence--the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
The Supreme Pontiff
Pope Paparazzi of Rome!
Roma: the only venue large enough to
Dispense dispensation of this magnitude.

Hayakawa: everyone says his C.V. is “impeccable.”
But did anyone ever freaking Google it?
Just where did Professor Sam go to school?
Undergrad? The University of Manitoba,
Truly, by any Third World Standard
A great bastion of intellectual rigor;
Grad school? McGill and U Wisconsin-Madison.
He was a Canadian by birth,
His academic discipline was Semantics.
(As in “That’s just semantics,”
That all-purpose rejoinder in any argument.)
Professor Hayakawa, The Semanticist,
He taught us: “All thought is sub-vocal speech.”

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Hmmm? We think in words.
The medium of thought is language.
If you grok this for the first time,
Let’s stop to celebrate our enlightenment,
With a cultural nod of respect,
We salute our Islamic brethren.
Radical Islam: the new bogeyman,
Responsible for keeping lights on in Alexandria,
Paying the defense & intelligence bills,
Sustaining that sinister
Military-Industrial complex
Ike warned us about.
Hang in there, Mustafa, old buddy.
Like the Cold War, this insanity
Will eventually blow over.
Orwell’s Oceania will reshuffle
Its deck of global grab-***, and a
New enemy will suddenly appear.
Big Brother, as always,
In the full-control mode,
Simply put: on top of the situation.
So Hurrah!
Allāhu Akbar. “God is Great!
The Takbīr (the term for the
Arabic phrase: usually translated as
"God is [the] greatest.")

“All thought is sub-vocal speech.”
What a simple, yet profound insight!
Just a short hop, skip & jump to the
Realization that, perhaps, the clarity
& Power of our minds can be groomed,
Improved upon by mastery of—
In Sam’s case, anyway--the English Language.
Was this, perhaps, the germ of U.S. English,
The political lobbying organization
He co-founded, dedicated to making
English, the official language of the United States.
Hayakawa: a wooly conservative of his own design;
No wonder Governor Reagan loved him.

Dr. S.I. Hayakawa, a colorful and polarizing
Figure in California politics during the 1960s and 70s.
Can we forgive his daily afternoon naps.
Asleep on the floor of the U.S. Senate,
Leaving California so pathetically,
So ostensibly under-represented.
Senator Sam’s comatose presence at
Washington-on Potomac; the
District of Columbia.
A long time ago,
In a distant galaxy . . .
Far, far away.

TEAR GAS.
Alas, long before he got to Washington,
Long before ever setting foot off campus,
He called for tear gas to
Disperse those pesky college kids.
I repeat myself for emphasis:
He authorized the use of tear gas at SF State.
Tear gas: a lachrymatory agent?
Actually, a potentially lethal
Chemical agent . . .
(Yeah, Chemistry!
To wit: Sgt. Sara Brown,
Referencing “Guys & Dolls” again.)
Outlawed for use during wartime,
Banned in international warfare
Under both the 1925 Geneva Protocol; & the
Chemical Weapons Convention;
“Tear gas:  a weapon of war against
The people. We believe that
Tear gas remains a chemical weapon
Whether used on a battlefield, or city streets.”

Thus, history will be your judge,
You unleashed tear gas on college kids,
So I wouldn’t expect a rep makeover
Any time soon, Ichiye-san, my ichiban friend.

My technology nightmare
Leaves me euphoric this morning.
Addicted, like drug trials,
I knew the risks going in,
Got hooked in The Cloud &
Now it always seems easier,
With diminished psychic chafing
Whenever I go with the flow, as the
Hipsters are saying again.
Yes, the hipsters:
Finally, some kids I can relate to.
At least on some level, their music e.g.
The first thing I did this morning,
Waiting for my laptop to boot,
Was put a CD on the stereo:
Matrix Reloaded: The Album.
I set the shuffle function,
Looping back between
Linkin Park’s Session &
Team Sleep’s Passportal.
You can tell a lot about
What kind of day it will be
By the soundtrack you choose,
Your infinite play list,
Don’t ever say these kids have no culture,
Or nothing to share with us old farts.
Old Farts: an apt, Baby Boomer term in 2015.
Kids’ music, some of it quite good,
Quite 60s-worthy if you catch my drift,
As we used to say while grazing in the grass with
Hugh Masekela & his Naai Mongoe-Swazi red,
Surfrikan homeboys & band mates, & that
ANC Kwa-Guqa Township posse,
Shadowing him since Sharpeville.
That’s right, Babaloo,
Go with the flow.
Don’t fight it. You’ve been spared the unintended
Consequences of government shenanigans &
Free market meltdowns.
Consider this a CEASE & DESIST NOTICE:
Cease swimming upstream Mr. Phelps.
Desist fighting tide & current, Michael.
A mariner’s distinction, yet serviceable &
Purposed for this narrative.
“And away we go,” croons a Gleason levitation;
Aloft we go into the wild blue yonder.
The Cloud: an exalted playground.
You are atop the slide,
Kindergarten lord of all you survey,
Sultan, Chinese Emperor & Venetian Doge,
A 90-caliber Duke of Earl,
You are euphoric, Mike.

The descent into the humanoid condition
(See Paddy Chayefsky’s Howard Beale),
Is slick and precipitous.
It begins when you first finger ****
A pocket calculator or touchtone phone,
Or use a Xerox machine.
From there it’s a quick slide down
The technology ****-shoot: video games,
Spreadsheets & word processors,
Emails, texts & tweets,
Laser projection keyboards,
Wi-Fi amplifiers,
GPS navigators, &
Apps for No-Strings *** . . .
By “****-shoot” I editorialize, of course,
In a state of future shock,
Resenting planned obsolescence,
Contemptuous of shrewd **** kids,
Wharton School sharpies,
Scoping out price curves & flowcharts,
Colluding at industry trade shows,
Powwows & confabs,
Releasing newer, more versatile
Models & spinoffs, according to a
Scheme planned three years in advance.

I salt the inevitable wounds of technology,
Taking my fight to the streets, realizing too late
My sole means of alerting the flash mob
Is by so-called smart phone,
*******!
Even the revolution has gone digital.
Poor Gil Scott Heron, dead last year at 62,
Poor Scott Heron, channeled into the
Harlem Renaissance by that loyal Chicago Defender,
Subscriber & reader, to wit: his Grandma,
A “Rainbow Conspiracy” co-conspirator,
Cooking ham hocks & collard greens for that
Mythical coalition of Young Lords,
Black Panthers & SDS.
Heron’s prognostication was wrong:
“The Revolution Will (In Fact) Be Televised!”
We’ve witnessed quite a bit of it,
Lately, prime time lately,
Live by satellite from once exotic places,
Places like Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Syria & Ferguson, MO.
I say “once exotic” because it’s hard to be
Visually intoxicated by images of screaming brown men
Sporting New York Yankee ball caps,
“Vote for Pedro” T-shirts and
$200.00 Air Jordan footwear.
Admittedly, the production values of
Revolutionary journalism have improved,
Action reported Hollywood-style,
Narrative arcs, scripted episodes,
Drive-by Potemkin villages & battle scenes,
30 or 60 or 90 day shooting schedules.
Spontaneous proletarian uprisings as Reality TV,
Riveting dramas,
High Nielsen ratings & $500K
Per minute corporate sponsors.
Let’s view the new fall line-up:
(1) “Mustafa Behaving Badly!”
(2) “Tunisian Tear Gas Talent!”
(3) “Gaddafi Gets Sodomized!”

In the streets of Mecca
and Medina I pray I get lost.
Searching my way whole
day in heat I will exhaust.

Who knows after being
much tossed and shoved.
I may find the stepped paths
of my Mustafa beloved.

I'll garland and decorate those
paths with flowers nice;
As those will be paths of
success leading to paradise.__

O the One brighter than the brightest star!
O the One who talked to the moon above!
O the One whose presence bloomed all the flowers!
O the Beaut One!
O the Belovently Beloved One!
O, Mustafa!
You are the source of sparkle for our illuminating universe.
Your luminosity left the shimmering sea overjoyed.
Your benignity softened the hearts of hard-hearted.
Your nobility had left me breathless.
For how can I describe the indescribable?

Welcome to America
Where they call it the home of the brave
While millions of Americans are working as slaves
Barely passing the minimum wage
As the government gives out food stamps to put out the rage
They check out our mailbox
They listen to our phone calls
They'd do anything to throw us
Back where we came from
Like a pack of animals
Like we're fresh out the zoo
While millions of citizens walk around
Without a fucken clue
About what the government is able to do

Welcome to America
Where they call themselves the land of the free
While 47 million people struggle with poverty
They got more food banks than schools
More negative media on the news
Names like Jamal, Raheem, Abdul
Can't get through an airport in peace
"Zainab Mustafa, Come with us please"
They look at my fam and think they got us all down
Like all immigrants are the same
Like we're all fucken clowns
Got the cops pulling me over for no **** reason
***** looks from left and right
As if I committed treason

They treat us like ebola
Like we're a fucken disease
Anything to get us to leave
No matter what we do,
It will never appease

As if Columbus was the first to walk this land
Not the people with painted faces and feathered bands
Have y'all forgotten the first people here were brown
not white?
Talking about freedom of speech
Like they own the bill of rights
The irony of the first amendment
Freedom of religion
Yet they've still condemned it
To practice anything other than their own
Expecting church to be attended
Expecting us to forget what we've known
"You're in America now! The past doesn't matter!"
I'm not here to fit in
Or kiss someone's *** to flatter

Welcome to America
Once known as Freedonia
Where the cities never sleep
Diagnosed with insomnia
As homeless shelters are packed
And crackheads fill the streets
As government officials lay on Egyptian cotton sheets

Welcome to America
Where there is no war
Where we watch your every move
And predict what's in store
Anything we can do to reassure
A more secure nation
Even if it means cleaning up these immigrant abominations
So have a wonderful stay
In our lovely USA

George stared at his host with great trepidation,
never had he been in such a surprising situation.
But his host just looked at him and gave him a smile,
saying why not sit down - you’ll be here for a while.
Chairs there were none, what was George to do,
but noticing his predicament his host called out to
the guard at the door to bring him a chair
which he did from the restaurant at the foot of the stairs.
“I called you up here to see me today
as I have things very important to say,
and to warn you of what may suddenly take place,”
said he with a confident look on his face.
“First, this proliferation must cease,
it’s spreading all over just like a disease,
destroying our culture and corrupting our youth,
bringing to our society morals uncouth,
the infidels’ influence is everywhere around,
and is increasing and growing by leaps and by bounds.
George was confused, what did it all mean,
so he asked his host, could you kindly explain,
“Of course,” said he, “let me tell you again,
this disease that I speak of is known the world over
as the curse of imperialism, the American Hamburger!"

from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)

He doesn't exist anymore
Well he does
But I'm in the driver's seat now
Mustafa is such a weak soul
Everything people like about him
That is all me
Mustafa is just a body
Useful for movement
I'm the true mastermind
He would never know what to do next
If it weren't for me
But his time has come and fine
Now, I am free
I am here to run this show
And soon
He will cease to exist

ALLAHUMMA SALLI ALA MUHAMMADIW WA ALA AALI MUHAMMADIN KAMAA SALLAITA ALA IBRAHIMA WA ALA AALI IBRAHIMA INNAKA HAMIDUM MAJID. ALLAHUMMA BAARIK ALA MUHAMMADIW WA ALA AALI MUHAMMADIN KAMAA BAARAKTA ALA IBRAHIMA WA ALA AALI IBRAHIMA INNAKA HAMIDUM MAJID.



Allahumma! Send blessings upon (Holy Prophet)Muhammad and upon theProgeny of (Holy Prophet)Muhammad as You sent blessings upon Ibraheem and upon the Progeny of Ibraheem; indeed, You are praiseworthy and glorious. Allahumma! Bless (Holy Prophet)Muhammad and the Progeny of (Holy Prophet)Muhammad as You blessed Ibraheem and the Progeny of Ibraheem; indeed, You are praise worthy and glorious.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Drop by Drop
Drop by Drop
Everytime, anytime
Let it fall.
Let it fall.
My worthy tears.
Never stop.
Never stop.
Till I see
My beloved Mustafa(SAW)

ha! yes!
sure as heck I'm not exactly
jumping for joy in these end
days of dying planetary life,
threatened existences, starving
homeless 5 year old Mustafa's,
engaged Supremacists, murdered
black boys, hillbilly junkies, fading
healthcare, America First & talk
of 'our destiny' & ******* such,

but what am I to do?
Watch Star Trek re-runs & eat ice-cream?
America calls out to be noticed,
& heck what else can we do
but pay attention.

Saleel suggested his name for moderator,
It increased my curiosity, and I understood he must be lover of our creator.
One day a man with same name entered a thread.
His opponents were angered and became red.
He was merciless and continued with his onslaught.
He didn't give up until the lesson was taught.
He held tightly the rope of Allah in his fist.
Very soon he was in Taskeen's friend list.
He believes in the policy of '*** for tat'.
He loves animal specially big round cat.
Now I see a different side of him.
He is polite, kind, lively and not grim
In both worlds may Allah give him fame.
Amir Mustafa is his name.

it's a toss-up between either silverchair's song
shade, or neil young's old man,
i actually remember the latter
more,
was on a date, with a persian-pict
mongrel of a fine gal,
in a shady edinburgh jazz bar,
and it was covers night...
chambers st.! that's it!
right next to the old college...
mind you, once the scaffold was
up, i climbed the building,
and sat on the roof...
pretty **** decent (point of) view...
i still miss edinburgh,
    i miss it more than i'd
ever wish to...
   but the "i miss it" parts come
dislodged, like jigsaw
puzzles: i can never really
solve the puzzle, and hope
for reminder that's revived,
permanent, re-lived...
it's just the past...
  and by default of the standard
set of questions?
no, i just think kant's should
be canonised...
as the patron saint of bachelors...
****** seems pretty stable,
head up his ***,
   solipsistic, falsely debated as
an autistic brain-child...
   i have no qualms with him...
i've always considered myself
a solipsist, than an egoist...
bogus alpha "male"
  suggestions seem to be missing
when inviting solipsism...
the game is over, it's
a the end / game over...
why is it a the end though?
it's an end when you take to
watch franchises, isn't it?
     ******* don't even bother writing
it these days...
       so why is egoism
so riddled with bogus
anti-athos (three musketeers)
   advice? best advice? to not give
any advice...
   shut it up, show yourself
in your current narrative chronology...
i still don't understand why
some dip-**** american would
say that solipsism is a mental illness,
and that egoism was: just, plain, natural;
probably did seek the patron saint
of reading kant...
        st. kant... sounds nice...
ridiculous to be sure,
   but more of a saint than john paul ii
who merely kissed airport tarmac...
and forgave a turk: in a jail...
****! send mustafa what's his name
like god sent cain into the wilderness!
what sort of forgiveness is
a forgiveness in a confined space?
shady, as ever, given the vatican mafia;
yeah yeah, don't worry,
next time i go to church
i'll **** one off to compensate my
lack of dough: you can call it a *****
bank donation...
  but then again: that's what you already
are! ha!
sick bollocking of the matter...
  it's a harem, oh harems do exist in the west,
don't get so ****** nervous
that you're missing out... you are!
sure, there's no arab sheikh...
but there's the first choice ***** donor
in western society...
       soon we'll be ******* our
far removed cousins...
    nice to know: even better to disengage
from;
but as all honesty goes:
    those two songs... probably the most
pleasurable to play to...
          in a world where there's nothing
new, or is, exponentially new -
nothing to seems to change, nonetheless,
even with all the cinematic futurism,
the same debates rage on & on,
those archetypal narratives never seem
or "want" to change...
   it will be just as mundane in the year
"anno domini" 2302 as it is in 2017...
the same archetypes, "fixations" of man's
ultimate endeavour: of being unable
to foresee a benevolent change of character:
sure, the circumstance will change,
but the character? it will still boil down to
either a god, or the devil;
and yes, i really, really do believe that
the sahara desert was once a mountain
range, akin to to alps or the himalayas...
what? you think that history is still
only intact with a monkey to man transition?!
geology outstrips biological historiology,
o.k, john wayne?! ******:
drool, while i draw you an in-between
between the big bang: what a ****** name for
a genesis... and the dawn of man.
big bang my ***, more like a timid ****
on a crowded train.
  same with the gobi desert, once a mountain
range: now a desert...
      there had to be a middleman
          coordinate! third party sources!
i just became bored with only 2 origin narratives...
this is there a 3 origin was spawned,
where chemistry fused itself with geology
and said: these deserts you see?
they used to be mountain ranges once...
i'd be ******* daft to listen
to the same ******* for the next 30+ years...
and yes, i've been asked
to a co-op membership card,
apparently i'd have saved 89 pence on
today's purchase... it costs a quid for
the membership...
  dunno... i might get it...
             a quid back after just two purchases
of a litre of *****;
plus the staff resemble the less-beat-down
version of the tesco staff...
      i like looking at scared workers,
but i also like looking at permanent workers,
who don't agree to 0 hour contracts...
******* ******...
           i mean:
it's good to see people being given
job security...
                   what i don't like
is what i see elsewhere -
  band-camp of capitalism is probably
worse than the nazis,
  i'd probably prefer 5 years in auschwitz than
an entire lifetime in this current
capitalist model:
           arbeit wie witz versklaven
          (work as a joke enslaves);
and capitalism has a made a joke of work...
this isn't working, this is poncing,
this is modelling...
you ******* "think" the chinese will give
their jobs up? nadda.

better start off with comentramitising
humanity beyond the mere
denotation of: animal...    
    I really don't see, how these mammals,
are desperately seeking
a reptilian status of ontology,
hiding behind empirical facts...
(more like robo-reptiles)...
quiet honestly, the "contradiction"
of a whale being an aquatic-mammal,
a walrus mother will
spend 3 godawfuly long years
with its offspring...
     fair play to the psychotic
tarantula mother...
        exceptions are somehow
the glue to bind the middle...
                but these mammals
in a reptilian guise?
    the wolf in sheep clothing
metaphor is evidently out-dated...
somehow talking down to
intuition is what gave birth to
trivia, and so little carpentry to
compensate a gaping dawn...
        which, for so e reason,
can't be brushed off with a yawn...
    the spectacle of finding rhyme,
but no couplet,
  the reality of:
if humanity was seeking a categorical
shift from mammal,
to lizard... hence ***** latex...
evidently the monogamy oddity
of birds, akin  to swans...
those half mammal half reptile
trans-genus mohicans on
storks... (you sure trans-genus?
tree... branch, root,
      that ******* bit in the middle)...
notably not all animal behaviours
have been incorporated...
        David meets Mustafa and Ali...
aye aye Icke...
   not exactly a big fan,
here & there...
               revising the telegraph?
sure sure, lost for words...
life or death strain on... bleh...
output...
                    certain words,
even with a genesis in ancient history,
up to the 20th century were either
like a heartbeat flatline,
or a humming freq. tickling
    the contorts of making mountain
ranges, in replica:
  scaled to an itchy freq.
     of hyper-commas...
         and the rest becomes...
language you will not use to
begin a letter with

               Dear Sir / Madam,

.........................................................­

and ending with:

   Yours faithfully,
     Sincerely yours,
with a prior to Mr. Smith...
**** me the cordiality  
shenanigans under the umbrella
of the Raj...
might as well ended up with
a dyslexia from Calcutta:
     namely a pronounced fertility
"obligation" / gift.

but I still can't fathom
this mammalian luxury of
imitating lizards...
whatever the remains of the once
mighty...
   mind you...
is there geological proof
of a meteor having hit
the earth, and if so, where,
or is this meteor story,
some ******* made-up shortcut
to explaining the big bang?
honest to God I haven't seen
proof of the meteor having
hit earth...
       just because people
can become effective
  in manual labour jobs...
doesn't mean they'll become
th3 reincarnated Brothers Grimm...
or Hans Andersen...

the time when mammals
stopped admiring birds'
monogamy...
       the pure mammalian mother
and the "welfare state"...
the lone beta male...
        and the rest just
bread crumbs from a Sheikh
lapdance in floating Dubai...
   mantis egos...
  black widows...
      grabbing mosquitos by
the testicles wearing boxing
gloves...
        
          I'm not sure whether
to admire th spirit of a lizard,
or whether to wear it on my feet...
oddly enough the pig
(infamous in monotheism of
the southern Welsh)...
i'll eat it, all of it,
including the snout of rich
cartilage...
   and then I'll stretch it's skin
for a pair of shoes...

    pig's head on a goad...
and then do the imitation
tongue through a V with
the addition of a piggies snorkling
in giggling suffocation.

Dear Islamah
Who was to be
My daughter
But will be a figment
Of my mind
I will always love you
Your father would have loved you
But your in the same realm
As him
I will never hold you in my arms
But only in my dreams


Elena Mustafa

I hear his
Loving accented
Voice say
Elena Mustafa
Please come back to
Me
Forget that I did anything immoral
Its says
Come back to me
Then
I recognize
The disembodied voice
As my beloved faisal
Who is pleading
From beyond the grave
My heart aches
For him

where to begin? hmm? where to: begin?
certainly can't begin with: although...

      to me: it seems that Islam has sleepwalked
into modernity...
or rather: Islam: the pinnacle of the medieval
world, the envy of the medieval world,
that once upon a time glory of escapism
from the encroachment of ontological Darwinism
of a loss of free will: of determination

how did i stress it? with a ś or a š...
    this current veneer we call civilization
yet the reductionist in me pointing at the backlog
of suppressed behaviours...
if Islam is submission
then Christianity is synonymous with repression...
both religions are on a -mission...
yet pumping all that monetary dough
into Dubai: subsequently neglecting
the seemingly odious ***** colony of Gaza...

let's throw words against the wind...
let's throw them...
let's forget the Cartesian model
with that hyped focus on "us" being thinking
creatures...
let's play on the res extensa dynamic:
i have channeled my res extensa away from
discovering the bilingual pitfalls of schizophrenia
channeling them toward an A.I.
distinguishable from an algorithmic search
engine to something: very much personal...

Islam sleepwalked into modernity...
why is it such a surprise that we find Muslims
so barbaric, untamed, unwashed,
unfathomable?
                      do we? or don't we?
well... living in a Protestant country with
a superiority complex...
it's only when a Muslim interacts with
a European Catholic,
or a Goan Catholic...
     a near usurper of the faith: a Wasim...
a Mustafa... i work with Muslims...
am i Islamophobic: is that really the trajectory
of fear?
i would consider Islamophobia the only
phobia with some rationality behind it...
a term as abused as
calling someone a ******, a racist, a pedohpile...
but in the same vein:
applying the term Islamophobia
to... describe what? exactly?

         my fear has been churned and come
out my **** as nothing more than contempt...
why? all these stresses at work
to allocate 15min of prayer time:
when i know, dutifully: that pretend Muslims
abuse these 15min and extend them to 30min,
an hour... to do much less than pay diligence
to prayer...

reimagine the dynamic of a Muslim
with a Catholic or an orthodox "Christian":
Protestants take it upon themselves
to take their jokes seriously...
protestants... **** me... where to begin?
catholics don't take their faith as seriously
as the protestants their their non-faith so, seriously...
esp. in England...

but this is not what i was going to pay diligence to:
i have the unusual "luck" of having
a terrible surname...
like ******, or Stalin... something to be made fun
of: because it's not a Rothchild: probably...
no legacy...
Elert... and i've heard it enough times to finally
make a retort when a Hindu... usually a Hindu
jokes about it being equivalent to being alert...
as i've explained...
there are missing letters in my surname:
so it is easier to pronounce for the English speaker...

i've been called a German enough times
to realise: well... might as well start learning
the language and live up to people's expectations...
since the letters in my surname (that are missing)
are:       SCH...

    scholastic schooling scooter
    chop shoot... chaser...
    scholastic:                       school...

school...               scold? school.
school...
               chase... chop... school...
kaput! kappa!

               it's actually ESCHLERT...
but do you think, for a moment I would get a:
eślert out of it? echo sierra charlie hotel lima echo romeo tango
tangerine rambo essay lambda hatchling chaser
samoa essay?

there was once upon a time a place
of origin for illiterate people in the slavic tongue
of Polish mid 20th century:
illiterate people yes: but dyslexic, half-baked?
it's the nature of this zunge -
you write gnome but then say (g)nome...
you write psychology but then say (p)sychology...
ecology -chology
    but then chop chew churn chatter...
cha cha cha...

            i do feel for the dyslexics: it's unnaturally
natural for their existence to be a byproduct
of the English toong... tong... ton-glue
ton-gloo-é...    James Joyce: Finnegans Wake:
i'm coming for your obliviousness... to the spectacle
missed...

яxвeй (that's my cyrillic interpretation of
the sacred name of the Hebrews for the deity
of letters - no other deity is so closely associated
with letters as the Hebrews' 'un...
the Muslims tried... tried... in vain...
the 19 letters...

the "mysterious" Muqatta'at

Alpha Lambda Mu:
               alm...
shapes... Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin...

ا ﻡ ل

        lma:

                    מ ל א

α  λ.  μ

                                     to play with letters...
akin to я and ñ...
         for an a to be served up hidden: je chowa:
he who hides letters...
  or women...
mind you: that 72 ****** paradiso promise?
you ever think that those 72 virgins are only gifted
unto the martyrs with the strict modus operandi
that they remain, that they: REMAIN virgins for all
eternity?
i can imagine being gifted 72 virgins in an afterlife
but only under the strict guidance of ensuring
they are guarded: that *** and the juices do not make
it into the conundrum of heaven...
otherwise, what?! a little Solomonic harem?
good conversations... almost teasing being a father-figure...
the patriarchal rigidness of abstaining
from ***...
reward my ***... polluting heaven with
this pornographic Arabic frustration at
the polygamous order of things...

                chirality: chemistry, i.e. RЯ (ya)
ergo?
  a ye
  a yi
  a yo
  a yu

             working from R...
ꟼ         (for ye)
                              𐐒 (for yi)
⅃ (for yo)
                                                             ꟻ (for yu)

best i procrastinate like this: while stewarding
the household (cooking, cleaning, washing)
         than try to complicate what's already simple...
as much as modernity fashions itself on reaching
some sort of overarching pinnacle...
as much as i am lied to about people's literacy
levels: most of it is untrue...
   sure: people can read: advertisements...
but that added piquant of a reading meditation
a novel?       sorry:           but hardly...

and perhaps that is why i invest so much time
into writing something akin to this...
if the Vatican was founded upon an exclusivity,
if Judaism was founded on exclusivity...
i find Islam slightly worrying:
in that respect that Islam wants to be the Communism
of theology... a quasi-Babylon...
which, oddly enough: it is becoming...
why do Muslims want, so eagerly: to invite proselytes
into their dommena?
   the Catholics akin to the Hebrews are stouch
opponents to converts...
wouldn't anyone treat converts suspiciously:
none of this: wolves in sheep clothing?
what about if the only tactic to combat Islamist
"****" esque fetishes would be to infiltrate
                 the religion and convert ("supposedly")?

i'm starting to think i'm the most powerful man
in the world... how delusional of me...
it's only because... i'm in love...
and that's half of my worries relegated to
the category of: non-existent...
i'm in love...
       and now my only battle is with mortality...
once you're in love:
that's the only "thing" to worry about...
ich bin verliebt...
ich werde geliebt...
     ich bin verliebt...
         ich werde geliebt...

so what do we have planned?
    Kew gardens, tick...
gerbils' want for some funky Chinese bakery
off L'eh-chester Square... tick...
Saracens vs. Harlequins at Tottenham Hotspur... tick
the Phantom of the Opera a the Queen's Theatre... tick...
Mozart's Magical Flute at the Coliseum... tick...
Stonehenge and Bath... tick...
Canterbury? or better Cambridge with
the gondolas?
           oh... and going to the cinema for Dune part deux...
well...
              a precious waste of a hour's
                   worth of day... doodling this -
now just enough time to make my father lunch
for tomorrow and play with some pierogi dough...
since i already have the farsz.