Sleep while awake

Here, on the stone

On my back, massive

Lemony landscape

And in front, sea

Is calling me

I look quite absent

Even though sharply aware:

I am coming, I am going

And at the end, I'll realize

Everything was similar

And at the same time

Was not

The sky was brightly blue

And now it is cloudy gray:

I used to wear white with

Dark hair, and today

I am in dark with

White head

I am coming, I am going
I doubt that I was sleeping

Wondering if I was dreaming

Sleeping, dreaming

Dreaming, sleeping

The smell of lemon leaves

Taste like the bitter

Spirit of condom

And in front, sea

Is calling me

I doubt that I was sleeping
Wondering if I was dreaming
Sleeping, dreaming
Dreaming, sleeping

But everything is similar

And at the same time

Is not

Farhad Mehrad

Delicate sound of silence

Silence is an infinity
An ocean with a sandy
Yellow bright coast
Carring on all the horizon
With no end up to sky

Silence is like a bath
In which pain and relief
Sadness and happiness
Make love, so passionate
With no condom whatsoever
Pure, wild, wet, loud
And then going to bed
Quite peacefully devastated

Silence is like a lyric
A potential song
Which never played
Can be an elegy, ode
Quartet, Sonata
But at the end
It is noting than a stage
And a group of shapeless
Colorful instruments

Silence is my voice,
Silence is your words
When you are noting
Or something even less
When I am everything
Or sometimes even more

Silence is mine
Silence is yours
It is my heart beat
Your breath
While we are both
Smiling to death

Late hibernation in the last days of winter

No inspiration,
No time,
No progress,
No temptation,
No enlightment.

I am gonna go through my Karma diet. No writing for a while. Just listening to my silence and assessing my numbers.

This blog will be switched off for a little while.

A reason for writing

(To my mom)

My life appears to me as unnatural, uncertain and incredible as the shape of this surface that my numbers have just created. It seems that the numbers have been a painter, perhaps so perfectionist, to make this fine fine detail of chaos. Now that I look at this artistic design of fake virtual plateau of life, it seems so familiar; perhaps it is because of this design that I write or maybe this design makes me write.

You know your son very well and I know my numbers, my feelings very well. There is no reason for your tears although they are the most beautiful birds in my life. Make them free in a real nice shiny sky, not a day like tonight.

Life is all game as you reminded me. Linguistically, mathematically or psychologically. I am still willing to play, to be winner or a loser.

I love you.

Fire festival of chahar shanbe souri

Flaming cycle of forms never ends. It is evolving with the movement toward the truth, because the truth is reforming with changes of concepts that create all forms in our mind.

There is no form outside. Forms are just a crashing unstable bridge of mind linking mankind to the mother earth, father sky; a noisy, uncertain medium between internal and external butterflies. We smell the reality by our mind. We mine it by our mind, filter it by our mind and choose just a bit of it by our mind.

Fire is untouchable. An uncatchable nostalgic image of heaven that we can just stare to its transforming shadows from far far away and wonder with wide open eyes knocked out by mighty echoes of flaming punches.

Life is an endless motion. Truth is an unexpected momentary lightening of gray emotions resulted by our motion. When you identify yourself in the messy bunch of colorful forms around. When the scary debate of concepts stops with the cracking sound of silence and suddenly you find yourself floating weightless in the infinite horizon of noting; no form, no shape, full of emptiness. Just the soft crystalline breeze of awareness smiles at you and invites you passionately to dance with her in the eternal moonlight, naked, pure, animal.

I am sick of doubt.

Let's fly and fade in this starless dawn. I want to make love with two angels in the sky. One is blond, the other is dark.

Come on, I show you good time. Give me your burning hand of red shine and I give you the yellow kiss of my blue thoughts. We can be a coral song, a united whisper in a black hopeless night.

Let's drown in the ocean of time. Let's go down and down to be eaten by the green submarine of our ego child.

Come on...

Waiting for the Godo

I was waiting for him 24 hours ago. I did everything but nothing came instead of him. It was Sunday and his reason was understandable.

Today he came, not him actually but his parcel. Some minutes ago while I was replying to that email from friend of mine in the sky. I read his email several times while I was sleeping. He was somehow upset with me. I was reading his email and he was in the corner of my room standing in his usual way. He could never ever give a shit to anything.

"Ali, you are so bloody conservative !!" His eyes was full of hate and comedy.

I opened the parcel from Godo. Inside were a dark blue card and a mirror. Card was empty full of nothing and the mirror was full of me. I looked beautiful there. With shinny deep eyes and a fade smile. It was after a long long time.

Certain amount of pain makes us more beautiful. I remembered the last phone chat with Godo:

"Never wait for me...I am coming."

Nick Cave was singing just for me. I closed the big smile of my remembrance. I put the mirror on my heart-shaped box and the card as well. I didn't lock it. It was not necessary. Nobody has the access to it. It is just me who knows where exactly I should look for it, although everybody can see it. When you see something regularly you never look for it properly. You just live with it and that's it.

Norouz is coming in few days. New days, new ways but it is the first time that I am not waiting for it. That's why she is coming so nice and gently toward me.

Thanks for the parcel Godo and thanks for your email Amir, my earliest bud who is playing with angels in the sky.

I opened the ancient door of my tribe and jumped in the bright road of nothing but my image in the mirror.

Let's see...

Metaxa is speaking

Tonight we understood that:

1- The future of the world is something that can be so tragic. (After that she went to sleep; I think she scared of our deconstructive conversation from the beginning. Very wise of her actually)
2- We are not the people who take apart in this tragedy. we are just gonna be the observers.
3- We are all bullshitting, although we might not be aware of it.
3- We are all cheating. Why? Because we are bullshitting. In order to bullshit, you have to cheat.
4- We ( I mean me and him up to some extent) are not cheating in very emotional level. The game have some rules indeed.
5- As far as we are winner in our game (in other word in our cheating) we are happy.
6- People are cheating in different ways.
7- People might not aware of cheating. But all people are doing it.
8- Death is gonna happen either when you are not expecting it or you are ready for it.
9- I am not ready for it.
10- I want to sleep...
11- good night buddy, see you tomorrow.
12- I am alone again.
13- is not a lucky number.
14- I have to work on my SO WHAT philosophy.
15- I am driven by my feelings. My logic is the tool to justify them.
.
.
.
n- I don't remember it.

Nothing symphony in three movements

Sundays are so tough recently....For me, sundays become the visual meaning of nothing....Nothing is every where, in the sky, in the way to uni, in the office and in mine. Nothing, nothing, nothing and at the end nothing. Such a massive world of feelings is the space defined by nothing, with no dimension, no axis, no origin. Geometrically nothing, Mathematically nothing, physically nothing, philosophically nothing.

I feel nothing, a huge zero in myself. Now I can understand why zero multiply everything gives zero even when it is sitting next to infinity. Positive or minus doesn't make any difference. Nothing is a black-hole of everything. Drains everything inside, fades all the characteristics and gives another identity which is nothing. You become part of it.... So mysterious state of mind it is. Being part of something although it is nothing.

Today I am nothing, absolutely nothing; A 66 Kg mass of zero, a lost worthless particle spinning around the spiral of nothing.

In this terrible mess of nothing, Nothing divide by nothing, gives infinity. The strange infinity out of nothing makes the computers work days and nights; memories save millions of nulls, numerical genome of nothing, which at the end build a wonderful infinity....A black canvas with millions even billions of hot colourful dots. A boiling space of infinity out of nothing. A tiny bit, an interval, an oasis of immortality in the middle of no where. The room that god stays and does nothing. A paradoxical solaris. A cubic bubble that you can see but it is nothing cause its origin is nothing. A glourious visable representation of nothing. Nothing's illusion, that's infinity.

Nothing can build up an infinity, a big bang, the foundation for existance although for nothing.

I exist so I am nothing or I am nothing so I exist? That's another issue beyond my numbers. I just know that I can be existing even for nothing.

Indeed sundays are tough for me. The reason is nothing and nothing else is the reason.

Friday night out

Birmingham raises
On the green gloomy
Main land of an island.
Colorful, smokey, working
Class oriented, wet, windy
Red brick sort of houses
Buildings full of chavs
and chubby women

I am living in one
Used to be my
Source of pain
Nostalgia, dreams
Of my ego child
Recently sacrifice,
An exercise to
Forget without smile.

Cry, terrible cry
Shout, loud shouts
The story of inside
Outside dead flower
Waits for drops of
Fake love with no clouds
Lost in thoughts
Sounds of past
Pure illusion somehow
And so so dark
Oh, my god
that's the reason
For any why.

I am bored, alone
Trip to the town
I know that's not
Right but never mind
Broad street comes out
of the gutter, shallow flirts
Boobs in limelight

Fuck,
that's our modern life

Money, trend,
girls, madness
Change my mood
from great to sadness.

Money, trend,
girls, madness
Change my mood
From great to sadness.

Happy woman day

Before starting my day, I want to emphasize my great sympathy with women back home who are in in Evin jail now for just asking their rights in an absolutely democratic way. They are in hunger strike now, hunger of food and rights.

I want to send all my regards to women who suffered for their soul, for their love and their child. To my mom, to my all female friends and the one who was not OK when I left the house.

Little girl,
I just wanna
Make you sure
By my eyes
And my soul:
Air is that light
Light stuff
Around your head
And whenever you smile
Gets lighter

I hope for better days and continuous smile for all people; good ones, worthy ones....Happy woman day.

On screen now

(Right now, with no reason I killed 2,000,000 evolving codes on my office PC. Shift+Del; Quite an easy job!!)

Once in an old old time
Death was a hunter.
He was strong, young
Wild, sharp, inherently Wise
Like a sword made in sky

Now he is a director
A real Avaunt-guard
Slim, tall, hunch backed
With bright blue eyes
Taking you through
Stairs of sounds, images
dark gray blur light
Perceptions and smiles.

When you reach to the top
You are wondering
That was the job?
Whole an accidental
Cycle of laugh and cry,
Thunders in green yellow
Red purple rarely white
Which was a random
Reflectional function
Of A filter, a tragic
Black-box Called life.

Buy 1 get 1 free

Fear, sometimes
invites you to
Watch a movie.

He hands you a paper
Asking for an address
Which nobody knows
In the film that
You are watching
Or even the one of
The next ones
that you're gonna see.

He comes with
Black long suit
Quite trendy fake
Second hand charity
And a black Orange
Mobile phone
Just to make sure
That the tickets are
Gonna be cheap.

He invites you
Just on Wednesdays
2 tickets for price of 1
Buy 1 get 1 free
That's his philosophy.

So in his calender
Everyday is today
And of course
Today is Wednesday
Although for you
It is Tuesday
Maybe Thursday
Or even no day.

If you ignore his generosity
he waits just in the corner
Even closer than your ears
And farts all the time
Like my bored colleague
You should ask him kindly
(Actually both)
To eat more veggies
For the next time
He is coming .

He never answers
If you ask him
Why me? why me?
All smell, Silence
And mystery
Just like
The Dark side
Of Miss Shiny
Moon After
Falling in stinky mire.

Greenman gents room

And we were together again
On both sides of the table
Waiting for our Sunday lunch
The distance was just
One hand and something

But we are far far now

(Cause I am pissing in
Greenman gents room.
You did the same
couple of minutes ago
Not in the same room though
As a result, Oh,
It seems that I am
Writing a report)

You are drowning in your dreams
And me in my being
So the distance between me and you
Is as far as pissing and dreaming

But when you are not with me
The shitty smell of not-being
(Piff, The smell of next
toilet is awful)
Destroys my dreams
That's why we are both
Being, Waiting and
Dreaming

Bad boy in the sunday cell

Today, I think,
I am fed up of living

I woke up
After an unpleasant dream
Then I went to kitchen to
See another tragedy.

I even went out of myself
To see the sun
But it was pissing

I stepped in to office
And what do you expect
Of course
Whole 10 days work
Went to shit
I came back home
It was pissing
We took the bus
It was pissing
We got off in a
Wrong stop and
It was pissing
She was pissed off
Although it was pissing
And I'm in this cell
It is still pissing

I am wondering
Among this 7,000,000,000
talkative mammals in this planet
Who is not pissing at me

Today I am fed up of living
And continuous cycle of pissing
I am soaked
Like the word
"Piss"

Just a break

I haven't moved out yet. Swimming was crap. Work was relatively good. I didn't go to Yoga. Chinese dinner was divine and a girl in cafe-shop after 5 minutes chat told us she is ready for everything. Jesus Christ!!! Such an ordinary day was today.

I read two short stories, which wasn't that bad and an article about the relationship between creativity and mental dis-orders. Apparently 70% of all American writers after world war-II have suffered from kind of mental dis-orders. What the fuck man.

I met that Spanish girl in GYM at train station. She was with her boyfriend. I think she likes him. He likes her as well. She recognized me promptly and well, we had some eyes contact. Why did I write that? Aha, I wanted to say SO WHAT...

We were talking about belief, possibility and probability with Miklos and Bowei and that Chinese director (what was her name? This Chinese language is wow) in lunch time and he told me about Murphy rules. He knows what makes him happy. Piano...

I still don't know.

I also listened to Ballet 1 to 4 of Klaus Shultz. This guy is good but repeating himself a lot. But that's the thing, I think. Beethoven did the same as well as Bach and Vivaldi. So yeah, I enjoyed Ballet 1-4.

I want to work hard again. I feel it somehow. Music, office, being alone, work, and some thoughts in the background. I want them back all together.

Tomorrow is gonna be a busy day. Some business in the morning then teaching and in the night partying in former Aiora's house. I miss this girl.

I hope she's gonna be better till Easter. Let see...