there’s a sort of terminal between timelines, and two time-travellers’ paths cross- both of whom repeat and redo and trap themselves in a hell of their own choosing in order to bring happiness to their beloved.
and when their god is in their heaven, everything is all right in the world.
Who is the most attractive US president of all time?
It’s not the gorgeous Barack Obama or the zesty Bill Clinton or the tragically beautiful John F. Kennedy or either of the Roosevelts or even Baberaham Lincoln
THAT’S RIGHT FRIENDS
IT’S RUTHERFORD B. HAYES
Kevin Rudd’s Instagram account is a national fucking treasure
‘They tell me it is something to do with milkshakes’
omfg what a great man
tomfelton-andthe-cumber-cocks:
“they won’t let me eat,wont let me sleep..”
“who?”
“…..them.”
Oh.
I AM CRYING
I remember reading about how EA was trying to sell the rights to make The Sims into a movie and everyone was like “…how?”
Now I get it
It’s a horror movie
People wake up one day to find themselves transformed into puppets of an invisible malicious trickster god
First the bizarre happenings start:
someone becomes obsessed with stealing lawn gnomes
another person has a compulsion to stick their head into a strange device and emerges obsessed by grilled cheese sandwiches
people pee themselves despite being next to a bathroom because some mysterious unseen force makes them study cleaning
people find themselves stuck in rooms because they can’t step over common household objects
a young man doing some nighttime stargazing mysteriously vanishes
then their god turns sadistic
pool ladders mysteriously vanish, leading to several drownings
doors vanish just as a house fire begins
an elevator plummets several stories as a couple starts to get it on
a Murphy Bed gruesomely folds up, crushing the people inside
and that man who vanished while stargazing returns…but with something growing inside of him…and vague memories of a grotesque creature named Pollination Technician
the horror has begun
YESYESYESYES
This makes me uncomfortable…
Before stepping into the circle
of tightly packed men in Ihram reflecting the Sun
women in black shrouding their sensuality,
I wept.
If He hadn’t have forgiven me
why would He let me into His home?
perhaps I wasn’t such a disappointment
after all—
careful golden calligraphy gleamed
high over my head, entitled
we all squinted through the tears
to read His own words
and whisper our sincerest thank yous
I paid no heed to the warnings
of aggressive inclinations in the Masjid:
“They’ll steal your shoes,
shove you out of their way,
step on your head
while you’re prostrating”
and as I had expected,
no one was violent
no one was selfish,
too fixated on what was resting
over their left shoulder
to be anything
but peaceful, patient
and kind.The men they said would grope me
apologized profusely for grazing
against my arm while the crowds shifted
making way for sallow women in wheelchairs
trying to fulfill the second requirement
of walking with millions of people
from towns
they have never heard of
I have traveled too many times to count,
yet never felt equality
until I had my trembling hands on the Kaaba
weeping next to an elderly woman
from Jakarta
and a young man
from Albania,
each of us praying
in the same breath
I had never felt small
until I looked up to estimate
the height of what Abraham built
I had never felt privileged
until I pulled a sister
to take my place and rest her head
on the musk-scented inscriptions
I had never felt the extent of my neglect
until I watched a father shake,
heaving repentances towards the Qiblah
in my own Arabic tongue
I can only speak two languages
but I understood every word whispered
into the cupped hands
of those I walked with,
they were all asking
for the same thing I sought,
they were all weak
and human
just like me,
I have moved too many times to count,
yet I had never felt
so at home.
During the seven times,
I never saw His face or heard His voice,
but I had never been so sure
of His existence,
I was certain—
in the breaths of the infant
sleeping in her mother’s chest
despite the millions chanting His name
in the knees
of the 90 year old Turkish woman
who walked for hours
just to visit Him
in the tears of my father
who never broke
for anyone in his life
between the crowds
that suddenly parted
so I could touch my forehead
to the Kaaba
He was there
and I felt him
I’m certain.—
naira badawi
