rc. 19. second year journalism student. toronto born and bred but currently living and learning in ottawa. forever on the quest for knowledge, but it appears the more I learn the less I know.

“Do not be people without minds of your own, saying that if others treat you well you will treat them well and that if they do wrong you will do wrong. But (instead) accustom yourselves to do good if people do good and not to do wrong if they do evil.” - Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him)

passionatorr:

analyticalmuslim:

The Pursuit of Happyness

One of the most powerful movies ever.

My mom’s favorite scene.
My favorite movie.

You’re gutless. It’s how you were made. And that’s not such a bad thing because your saving grace is that you’ve never lied to yourself about it. Not about that. Nothing wrong with cowardice as long as it comes with prudence. But when a coward stops remembering who he is… God help him.
Form Follows Function
  • ARTIST: Lupe Fiasco
  • album: Food And Liquor II-The Great American Rap Album Part 1
  • 90 plays
  • default album art

     And once you’re in, you’re in for life, right?

    VIA - ©

    30 days of poetry: day 5

    old men, he said, are meant to be wise
    wept quietly in his unsteady hands
    old, frail, wrinkled with tears of pain
    "I have nothing to give to you," he said slowly
    between sobs, he wept his years away

    "I have nothing to give to you"

    that is quite untrue, old man
    I’m afraid I cannot accept that premise
    there are far too many roads untraveled
    far too many melodies I’ve yet to learn
    tears catch in graying beards, he wept

    and truthfully, Coelho let me down with theories about the universe 
    he pursed his lips, hid away his smile
    and truthfully, good omens mask away behind evil and nothing has conspired to give me what I seek
    and some days I feel weak with the weight of words far too elaborate for a child
    none of this ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ nonsense, I reject that theory outright
    his lips curled slightly, “I thought you might,” he replied

    "you do the best with what you’ve been given," he admitted
    "some men are philosophers, authors, others are merely men
    with thoughts far too profound to voice so eloquently, words mean little to those who are wise
    I despise concepts that belittle the wisdom of children, only the pure don’t tell lies”

    and Aristotle matters more than I, surely, but happiness is not an end
    or a meaning or purpose, what we spend can help purchase
    a means towards salvation, rather than a destination
    we must all strive to arrive at something beyond the surface

    "it’s a means towards survival," he quietly submitted
    "what point is there in a life where joy has been omitted?
    it’s as though God has rewarded us gifts for enduring our burdens with such grace, none of us know for sure the next time happiness will be embraced
    I admit, to that chase I have never fully committed”

    tell me more

    "I have little to say"

    tell me something

    "who you seek to be tomorrow
    can exist today”

    tell me nothing

    "that’s all I have, anyway"

    you are wise, old man
    you are wise.

    sheikhhspeare:

    Details, Alhambra Palace, Granada, Andalucia, Spain. | by Luciphoto

    mediterraneum:

Alhambra window, Spain.

    mediterraneum:

    Alhambra window, Spain.

    Papaoutai
  • ARTIST: Stromae
  • album: Racine Carrée
  • 542 plays
  • default album art
    VIA - ©
    meatheadsux:

Really Important Person #1195: Nas
Buy a print | Buy a shirt | Facebook

    meatheadsux:

    Really Important Person #1195: Nas

    Buy a print | Buy a shirt | Facebook

    30 days of poetry: day 4

    he told me quite frankly one day
    as we sat out by a setting sun
    that i was a disappointment.

    a complete, colossal, catastrophic
    disappointment.

    it caught me off guard
    at first,
    the urgency
    in which he spoke.

    completely serious
    in his approach.

    i glanced at him sideways,
    attempting to decipher whether his eyes
    had that silly gleam that i
    had come to love, there was none.

    just disappointment.

    it was all i could do
    not to roll down that hill
    in laughter

    not to clutch my sides and
    allow for the wave of relief that swelled
    from the pit of my stomach
    to swallow me whole.

    “it took you this long, huh?”
    i asked him plainly, turning
    to face the sun once more.

    this angered him
    my laughter
    my nonchalance
    he expected grief,
    this much i could tell.

    sadness. tears.
    he expected something
    more than what i gave him.
    he always expected something
    more than what i
    could give.

    “none of this means
    anything to you,” he said,
    his voice rising an
    octave higher,
    unsteadiness evident
    in his tone and his hands
    flailing about his face as though
    he were trying to paint this picture of me
    that could fulfill his desire.

    it was all i could do
    not to cry.
    raucous laughter
    and sad smiles.

    i stood,
    angry that i would not be able
    to watch the sun set one last time
    above the hills we had wandered
    for so long.

    a path he set out
    knowing well
    what was to come.

    he never did appreciate the sunsets,

    the idea that days
    are born and die with
    pinks and oranges
    in the sky.

    i left him
    sitting by himself,
    just as he knew
    i would.

    what else could i possibly do?

    i was a disappointment.

    but that’s
    quite alright,

    for so was he.

    30 days of poetry: day 3

    projections
    media cycles meant to colonize minds
    information processing
    circumspect and critical
    to what you are bombarded with first
    close your eyes for a second
    propagate a rule of thirds
    make the tension a point of interest
    might as well, you’re already blind
    by the time you learn to walk
    by the time you learn to talk
    your tongue has been cut out with
    the dull knife of authority
    that fears uprisings from the crib
    in which you lay to rest your
    adolescence