17.
Rain is touching the window
Like the angle's finger
Drop, drop
String, string
Memories are falling
47.
The sun, and the farm
The morning breeze
Will blow us like a seed
In the darkside of the ground
81.
"And at night
You will look up at stars
Where I live
Everything is so small
I cannot show you where
My star is to be found.
It is better like that.
My star will just be
one of the stars,
So you will love
To watch all the stars
in the sky...
They will be all your friends..."
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Last coffee with Katy
I just know that now is spring and I am still young. Being young in the spring is not just a phrase; it is a state full of passion.
It was another spring and I was young, actually younger. I was writing a paper days and nights and drinking coffee. Although I had a very clear mind about working and sacrificing because of my future, I was very board. I was even jealous to cats in the park nearby. I could hear them making love. All of a sudden I stopped writing and looked at my desk. Such a time I had on that desk the spring before. I was even younger and spring was more spring or if you want springer. But time passed. She was a nice girl and we were together just 4 weeks. But it was enough to remember her the spring after and I really mean it.
I called her and it was answering machine: "Please leave your message after the tone"... But who puts a message in spring. Spring is the time for momentary passion not putting the message.
My parents were at home. I hadn't seen them for 2 days. I was all the time in my room. My brother was coming to my room, but my parents not. They knew me and they knew that I prefer to be alone. They were so understanding and they are still, although they are older now and of course I'm with more responsibility, if I realize.
I took a shower. I couldn't stand the room anymore. I should go out but where. To that friend? no. To that place? no. I was only thinking about one concept: Katy.
Katy on that time was a student in political science, but we never ever talked about politics. Actually it was only one time that we talked properly and it was the first day that we met. I was in a friend's house having a small gathering and she was there as well. We talked about movies and music and then I got her number.
I don't know actually why I remember this story now. Maybe because my housemate received an unexpected call 2 days ago or maybe because I didn't have a cigarette for the last 3 hours, or maybe because I really want a coffee and I mean it.
I went out without saying anything to my parents. Her house was in walking distance from my parents house. It was in the afternoon and still the mountains was full of snow. I went to her door and did the bravest stuff in my life. I rang the bell.
I heard that somebody is coming down from the stairs. By each step, my heart was falling into my stomach and again coming back to its place somewhere on the left hand side of my body. I was like a yo yo. Moving between spring before somewhere on my desk and the door. Someone open the door. It was her. She couldn't believe that; I as well.
- Hi
- Hi, what are you doing here?
- I was just passing from your door and I wanted to say hello....Happy new year by the way.
- Oh, after a month!? but thanks.
- What are you doing?
- Nothing, my parents are in vacation. I am home alone.
That was the thing I wanted to hear. All of a sudden I felt that something moving under neat of my under wear. Apparently, the monster woke up after his winter hibernation. She was much better than before.
It was a massive silence for 30 seconds. I thought that "Ali, you have to make a move" and all of a sudden a word came to my brain: Coffee.
- Would you like to have a coffee?
- I had mine just 5 minutes ago, but well, you can come in and have a coffee. The stuffs are on the table.
I jumped in as I conquered the most inaccessible land of the world. I was following her through stairs. She was in a skirt and I could see absolutely everything. Jesus Christ man, this girl is even better than 30 seconds ago.
When we were in the kitchen, the monster was completely awake and looking for a pride.
- How is your life going?
- I didn't know that you are interested in my life.
- Come on Katy, of course I am.
- OK, I've got a new boyfriend. What about you?
Well, what about me? Very good question. After that coffee, which was the last time I met you, I had another coffee and another coffees. But nothing changed Katy. I am still typing a fucking paper, not in Iran but in UK. I am still struggling with myself and my surroundings. Do you remember? you told me you are not gonna be satisfied in your life, because you are always looking up to the sky. I remember clearly you and that night now. We were smoking near the window in your parents house and of course I was looking up to the sky and I was tiered of your lab lab labs.
I don't know what are you doing now. I heard that you graduated a year after the last coffee and you were thinking to go abroad to your brother in Austria. Are you there now?
My desk is not the same desk, my computer as well, my cloths as well. Nothing is the same but I am still the same, in love with the sky and the bullshits over there. I still love the sky Katy, although I got hurt for it a lot but I've enjoyed it as well, quite a lot. I know you didn't love me, and I didn't love you. That's why it has been finished. But I miss you, because it is spring and I am still young and moreover, I really want to have a coffee with you and tell many things to you about the sky and the things that I found there and the things that I lost there, although most probably, you are not interested to hear them. Your are down, on the earth, as you were. That's why I didn't remember you up to now that I really want to have a coffee.
I think I deserve to have at least a coffee with you in this spring and talk about movies and music. Like the first night. I think you also agree with me, don't you? But the problem is that I don't know your address, email, mobile number, nothing. Maybe you are on the other side of Atlantic, or in Iran or even in walking distance again. Does it make any difference? Of course not.
On that day I didn't tell you that I missed you and why I came to your door, because I hadn't missed you. You thought that I was a good one that you know with an innocent concern of saying hello. But now I am mature enough to tell you that I miss you a lot, maybe because I wrote about you. Potentially, last night I could have looked into my magic box, the one that you liked but never touched, and I might have found the first or even the last words that you wrote for me. Most probably you don't remember, I am as well. It was full of complain about me and my irregularities. At the end, you wrote me:
I hope I see you one day coming back to the earth, not for me but for yourself.
Your nobody,
Katayon Nobari
I didn't, because I didn't want to have coffee last night and there is also not such a line. You never wrote to me, and I didn't as well. But I've got the message.
It was another spring and I was young, actually younger. I was writing a paper days and nights and drinking coffee. Although I had a very clear mind about working and sacrificing because of my future, I was very board. I was even jealous to cats in the park nearby. I could hear them making love. All of a sudden I stopped writing and looked at my desk. Such a time I had on that desk the spring before. I was even younger and spring was more spring or if you want springer. But time passed. She was a nice girl and we were together just 4 weeks. But it was enough to remember her the spring after and I really mean it.
I called her and it was answering machine: "Please leave your message after the tone"... But who puts a message in spring. Spring is the time for momentary passion not putting the message.
My parents were at home. I hadn't seen them for 2 days. I was all the time in my room. My brother was coming to my room, but my parents not. They knew me and they knew that I prefer to be alone. They were so understanding and they are still, although they are older now and of course I'm with more responsibility, if I realize.
I took a shower. I couldn't stand the room anymore. I should go out but where. To that friend? no. To that place? no. I was only thinking about one concept: Katy.
Katy on that time was a student in political science, but we never ever talked about politics. Actually it was only one time that we talked properly and it was the first day that we met. I was in a friend's house having a small gathering and she was there as well. We talked about movies and music and then I got her number.
I don't know actually why I remember this story now. Maybe because my housemate received an unexpected call 2 days ago or maybe because I didn't have a cigarette for the last 3 hours, or maybe because I really want a coffee and I mean it.
I went out without saying anything to my parents. Her house was in walking distance from my parents house. It was in the afternoon and still the mountains was full of snow. I went to her door and did the bravest stuff in my life. I rang the bell.
I heard that somebody is coming down from the stairs. By each step, my heart was falling into my stomach and again coming back to its place somewhere on the left hand side of my body. I was like a yo yo. Moving between spring before somewhere on my desk and the door. Someone open the door. It was her. She couldn't believe that; I as well.
- Hi
- Hi, what are you doing here?
- I was just passing from your door and I wanted to say hello....Happy new year by the way.
- Oh, after a month!? but thanks.
- What are you doing?
- Nothing, my parents are in vacation. I am home alone.
That was the thing I wanted to hear. All of a sudden I felt that something moving under neat of my under wear. Apparently, the monster woke up after his winter hibernation. She was much better than before.
It was a massive silence for 30 seconds. I thought that "Ali, you have to make a move" and all of a sudden a word came to my brain: Coffee.
- Would you like to have a coffee?
- I had mine just 5 minutes ago, but well, you can come in and have a coffee. The stuffs are on the table.
I jumped in as I conquered the most inaccessible land of the world. I was following her through stairs. She was in a skirt and I could see absolutely everything. Jesus Christ man, this girl is even better than 30 seconds ago.
When we were in the kitchen, the monster was completely awake and looking for a pride.
- How is your life going?
- I didn't know that you are interested in my life.
- Come on Katy, of course I am.
- OK, I've got a new boyfriend. What about you?
Well, what about me? Very good question. After that coffee, which was the last time I met you, I had another coffee and another coffees. But nothing changed Katy. I am still typing a fucking paper, not in Iran but in UK. I am still struggling with myself and my surroundings. Do you remember? you told me you are not gonna be satisfied in your life, because you are always looking up to the sky. I remember clearly you and that night now. We were smoking near the window in your parents house and of course I was looking up to the sky and I was tiered of your lab lab labs.
I don't know what are you doing now. I heard that you graduated a year after the last coffee and you were thinking to go abroad to your brother in Austria. Are you there now?
My desk is not the same desk, my computer as well, my cloths as well. Nothing is the same but I am still the same, in love with the sky and the bullshits over there. I still love the sky Katy, although I got hurt for it a lot but I've enjoyed it as well, quite a lot. I know you didn't love me, and I didn't love you. That's why it has been finished. But I miss you, because it is spring and I am still young and moreover, I really want to have a coffee with you and tell many things to you about the sky and the things that I found there and the things that I lost there, although most probably, you are not interested to hear them. Your are down, on the earth, as you were. That's why I didn't remember you up to now that I really want to have a coffee.
I think I deserve to have at least a coffee with you in this spring and talk about movies and music. Like the first night. I think you also agree with me, don't you? But the problem is that I don't know your address, email, mobile number, nothing. Maybe you are on the other side of Atlantic, or in Iran or even in walking distance again. Does it make any difference? Of course not.
On that day I didn't tell you that I missed you and why I came to your door, because I hadn't missed you. You thought that I was a good one that you know with an innocent concern of saying hello. But now I am mature enough to tell you that I miss you a lot, maybe because I wrote about you. Potentially, last night I could have looked into my magic box, the one that you liked but never touched, and I might have found the first or even the last words that you wrote for me. Most probably you don't remember, I am as well. It was full of complain about me and my irregularities. At the end, you wrote me:
I hope I see you one day coming back to the earth, not for me but for yourself.
Your nobody,
Katayon Nobari
I didn't, because I didn't want to have coffee last night and there is also not such a line. You never wrote to me, and I didn't as well. But I've got the message.
Monday, May 28, 2007
A foreward on nowadays plastic bag farming
There are several ways to start a story and I think you have no way but starting a story at some points. Millions of people have tried millions of them. Someone by love, someone by war, but I am sure no one start a story from Isfahan-Tehran highway at 2:00 PM. It was a plastic bag near the highway and I had such a stomach ache that I have no way except fulling the bag with the stuff that I had eaten last night. My parents were in their car waiting for me. My brother was 4 years old and he was trying to see what I am doing. When I came back, my parents didn't tell me anything but it was my brother who argued that I have to be ashamed for throwing the plastic bag in the farm nearby, because in his point of view it wouldn't be possible to grow any plastic bag tree in a farm. Regardless to the color or size of the plastic bag.
Years after he went to school of agricultural engineering in University of Tehran and he understood that his brother was not that wrong. He realized that I've started a story there.
Many stories can start from a same point, in space, time or even both. I have a grandma who was driving alone between Tehran to Isfahan with a Mercedes Benz during 1970s. This is the same start as the story of plastic bag in space but not in time. On that time, I might be just a banana tree in Africa. I was not even existing in the world of ideas. But she was a very stylish middle-age woman with tones of proud and make up. Because she was so unique (Of course. who was driving such a car on that time and space alone? Full of lorry drivers with horny mustache, neither Sofia Loren nor Tall Pari(1) couldn't have done that) she could have had an idea about everything from cooking rice to the war between Arabs and Judds. She was also a fan of western music. Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams, Elton John. Although she didn't know English at all, she could understand that these are proper music because proper people listen to that when she had been abroad. She was an experienced woman. Loads of restaurant and traveling abroad. She was not only eating in restaurant, she was also learning culture and class. A proper one, which suits with her shoes and car.
On that time, it was a shame for my parents to listen to those crap. Especially my dad, although I found those signs of status years after in his old tapes and discs.
Years passed and one day her son had a terrible accident with the Mercedes Benz and that was the time. All of a sudden she understood that she is getting old and the days are not similar to the past. Her rice cooking skill was not as NUMBER ONE as before. Politics as well. In 1979 revolution happened and it made such a thunder that the business of my grandpa collapsed from the roof of the country. Her grandson also, I mean me, had a terrible diary in Italy. It was so terrible that my grandma smelled it in Tehran and on such days, bloods and bullets, flew to Italy to bring a plastic bag for me, but she couldn't manage to bring the highway. Never mind, highways can be found every where. But Italy was not the same as before, because the price of Dollar for my granny was not as before. She should have stayed in my parents house instead of a 5 star hotel. Such a shame.
I said all of that to just start a story. This story now has Alzheimer and is looking at the TV screen, all night sometimes, to make sure that thieves are not coming into her place from TV. Don't think that she is getting crazy, not at all. In Christmas when I went back she told me:
- Safa, I think I will not see your wedding although I am sure you are not virgin. That makes me happy.
She was always very right and wise. I was thinking such a hard time this old wisdom has passed during these years after that tragic accident. One day she was praying and I was listening. She was singing Feeling of Andy Williams instead of the true pray. She knew the lyrics by heart. I didn't tell that to my mom because I liked the song, it reminded me the first morning that I wasn't virgin anymore. On that time, my parents and brother were in the Tehran-Isfahan highway without me and any plastic bag. I was drunk driving all the highway down from the city of her black eyes to small lovely village of her toes. The highway was passing from mountains and jungles. In the middle of one of the jungles just some minutes after the vast abyss of her stomach, it was a lake that I stopped to have a swim there. Beside the lake was a pack of small plastic bags.
"In such a condition, you should expect everything from your patient"
Her Doctor said to my mom yesterday at the same time but not space. Yesterday, I was 6000 KM away, on my bed and trying to show her how you can send thieves in to the computer screen. She couldn't believe that I could monitor the location of people who are coming to my blog. Yes, I can as my grandma can monitor the clouds in her ocean of thoughts. I am the only bird there who is bringing bread and Notella for his kid laying down on the sofa. Chick Chick Chick.
This story hasn't been finished as well, although many stories have started, grown, and vanished from a plastic bag or into a plastic bag or even both.
(1) Tall Pari was a very famous prostitute during late 1960s and 1970s in Iran who was hanged after the revolution.
Years after he went to school of agricultural engineering in University of Tehran and he understood that his brother was not that wrong. He realized that I've started a story there.
Many stories can start from a same point, in space, time or even both. I have a grandma who was driving alone between Tehran to Isfahan with a Mercedes Benz during 1970s. This is the same start as the story of plastic bag in space but not in time. On that time, I might be just a banana tree in Africa. I was not even existing in the world of ideas. But she was a very stylish middle-age woman with tones of proud and make up. Because she was so unique (Of course. who was driving such a car on that time and space alone? Full of lorry drivers with horny mustache, neither Sofia Loren nor Tall Pari(1) couldn't have done that) she could have had an idea about everything from cooking rice to the war between Arabs and Judds. She was also a fan of western music. Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams, Elton John. Although she didn't know English at all, she could understand that these are proper music because proper people listen to that when she had been abroad. She was an experienced woman. Loads of restaurant and traveling abroad. She was not only eating in restaurant, she was also learning culture and class. A proper one, which suits with her shoes and car.
On that time, it was a shame for my parents to listen to those crap. Especially my dad, although I found those signs of status years after in his old tapes and discs.
Years passed and one day her son had a terrible accident with the Mercedes Benz and that was the time. All of a sudden she understood that she is getting old and the days are not similar to the past. Her rice cooking skill was not as NUMBER ONE as before. Politics as well. In 1979 revolution happened and it made such a thunder that the business of my grandpa collapsed from the roof of the country. Her grandson also, I mean me, had a terrible diary in Italy. It was so terrible that my grandma smelled it in Tehran and on such days, bloods and bullets, flew to Italy to bring a plastic bag for me, but she couldn't manage to bring the highway. Never mind, highways can be found every where. But Italy was not the same as before, because the price of Dollar for my granny was not as before. She should have stayed in my parents house instead of a 5 star hotel. Such a shame.
I said all of that to just start a story. This story now has Alzheimer and is looking at the TV screen, all night sometimes, to make sure that thieves are not coming into her place from TV. Don't think that she is getting crazy, not at all. In Christmas when I went back she told me:
- Safa, I think I will not see your wedding although I am sure you are not virgin. That makes me happy.
She was always very right and wise. I was thinking such a hard time this old wisdom has passed during these years after that tragic accident. One day she was praying and I was listening. She was singing Feeling of Andy Williams instead of the true pray. She knew the lyrics by heart. I didn't tell that to my mom because I liked the song, it reminded me the first morning that I wasn't virgin anymore. On that time, my parents and brother were in the Tehran-Isfahan highway without me and any plastic bag. I was drunk driving all the highway down from the city of her black eyes to small lovely village of her toes. The highway was passing from mountains and jungles. In the middle of one of the jungles just some minutes after the vast abyss of her stomach, it was a lake that I stopped to have a swim there. Beside the lake was a pack of small plastic bags.
"In such a condition, you should expect everything from your patient"
Her Doctor said to my mom yesterday at the same time but not space. Yesterday, I was 6000 KM away, on my bed and trying to show her how you can send thieves in to the computer screen. She couldn't believe that I could monitor the location of people who are coming to my blog. Yes, I can as my grandma can monitor the clouds in her ocean of thoughts. I am the only bird there who is bringing bread and Notella for his kid laying down on the sofa. Chick Chick Chick.
This story hasn't been finished as well, although many stories have started, grown, and vanished from a plastic bag or into a plastic bag or even both.
(1) Tall Pari was a very famous prostitute during late 1960s and 1970s in Iran who was hanged after the revolution.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Nails trimming
The place that I am writing now is not comfortable at all. I'm in my bed with a laptop on my legs and I am trying to write with no reason.
One morning, I woke up and I remembered that I should go to London to deliver something. I was like a pizza boy....From: Birmingham, To: London. Thanks god, these days at least pizza business is going well.
I had a backpack full of 1 pound stuffs, 5 books, and 1 bubble sword. It was also some knowledge there. Finite element and these sort of bullshits. It was like a modern painting somehow. Very avaunt-guard. From Allen De Boton to TESCO perfume...
They had something in common though: For all of them you have to pay...
I should have also paid. For instance I paid for the ticket to London. In front of me in the queue was an ass chewing gum and I was thinking if she can make bubbles as well or not. It was a nice pair of ass reading SUN and chewing gum.
When I got to the train, I decided (again with no reason) gaze to the eyes of people like a stubborn donkey. I stopped reading. In front of me was a middle class lady, who didn't like me. maybe because of the nuclear sign on my cap. Also I hit her foot 15.5 times without even moving my leg after each hit. I was like the German army in the beginning of the war; just going forward without compensation.
I started gazing to her eyes. She was trimming her nails. She hit my foot and immediately told me sorry, in her language. In my language it means:
You, fucking foreigner hippie, should have said sorry 15.5 times.
I told to her it's OK in my language. In her language it means:
Fuck you, old bitch...
After 10 seconds gazing at her eyes, I understood that without her nails she is just like a fly without wings. A Blondie fly which you can find everywhere even in Taiwan. She was looking at a magazine full of hair colors, with a Chinese advert.
The nails were telling me, you asshole can't even speak English properly. And I replied back: I know; she is telling me the same.
It was a chav and his slut. I understood that when he told her: You are me love. And she replied back by touching his penis. It was a very nice way of communication actually. It has a universal meaning:
Wait for 2 hours...
A girl came in and sat beside me. It was a tall girl, a horse in my age, with Arab origin. I was reading a book in Persian and she asked me where are you come from? I told her I am from this planet where are you from. She smiled and told me I am from here.
I didn't know that Beirut is in UK. But it is. There are loads of Lebanese tastes in London, from Kebab to girls.
They had something in common though: For all of them you have to pay...
I was in a restaurant although in her eyes.
When I was leaving the train, I was dreaming about a group of blonde flys who are smelling a portion of Chinese rice and Arab lamp kebab from a British restaurant in Tehran and they know that the food is gonna be enough for all.
I looked at my nails and wrote: They need to be cut.
My words as well...
One morning, I woke up and I remembered that I should go to London to deliver something. I was like a pizza boy....From: Birmingham, To: London. Thanks god, these days at least pizza business is going well.
I had a backpack full of 1 pound stuffs, 5 books, and 1 bubble sword. It was also some knowledge there. Finite element and these sort of bullshits. It was like a modern painting somehow. Very avaunt-guard. From Allen De Boton to TESCO perfume...
They had something in common though: For all of them you have to pay...
I should have also paid. For instance I paid for the ticket to London. In front of me in the queue was an ass chewing gum and I was thinking if she can make bubbles as well or not. It was a nice pair of ass reading SUN and chewing gum.
When I got to the train, I decided (again with no reason) gaze to the eyes of people like a stubborn donkey. I stopped reading. In front of me was a middle class lady, who didn't like me. maybe because of the nuclear sign on my cap. Also I hit her foot 15.5 times without even moving my leg after each hit. I was like the German army in the beginning of the war; just going forward without compensation.
I started gazing to her eyes. She was trimming her nails. She hit my foot and immediately told me sorry, in her language. In my language it means:
You, fucking foreigner hippie, should have said sorry 15.5 times.
I told to her it's OK in my language. In her language it means:
Fuck you, old bitch...
After 10 seconds gazing at her eyes, I understood that without her nails she is just like a fly without wings. A Blondie fly which you can find everywhere even in Taiwan. She was looking at a magazine full of hair colors, with a Chinese advert.
The nails were telling me, you asshole can't even speak English properly. And I replied back: I know; she is telling me the same.
It was a chav and his slut. I understood that when he told her: You are me love. And she replied back by touching his penis. It was a very nice way of communication actually. It has a universal meaning:
Wait for 2 hours...
A girl came in and sat beside me. It was a tall girl, a horse in my age, with Arab origin. I was reading a book in Persian and she asked me where are you come from? I told her I am from this planet where are you from. She smiled and told me I am from here.
I didn't know that Beirut is in UK. But it is. There are loads of Lebanese tastes in London, from Kebab to girls.
They had something in common though: For all of them you have to pay...
I was in a restaurant although in her eyes.
When I was leaving the train, I was dreaming about a group of blonde flys who are smelling a portion of Chinese rice and Arab lamp kebab from a British restaurant in Tehran and they know that the food is gonna be enough for all.
I looked at my nails and wrote: They need to be cut.
My words as well...
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
10:45 Birmingham, 1:15 Evin
"Iran is the only country in which a peaceful philosopher can be labeled as a spy and a human-right activist can be introduced as a traitor" Shirin Ebadi
When I heard that Haleh Esfandiari has been arrested, I immediately remembered my late friend Amir Esfandiari. He had a big belly, a web blog and a profile in orkut. But non of them exist anymore. They expired like his bones.
We have to be optimistic. She is still alive. There are tones of stuff about her in Internet, TV, papers, here and there. But what about him? The difference is just a first name: Amir, Haleh...Surname is the same: Esfandiari
(I remember the last email that he sent to me. A document was attached titled: Joining_Iran_to_WTO.pdf....It was written by him)
There is an ancient Persian belief saying good people die early...He was a good guy. But Haleh is also a good one.
This is a paradox, a logical paradox...
I've discovered that our surrounding is full of paradox. For instance this bloody time which has been sleeping for ages here in this boring office. Time here went to bed at 10:45 (AM or PM, I haven't got a clue) and then immediately froze in the clock. Even a single movement in the bed, nothing. The clock is like a quantum freezer which can take the time temperature down to -273.15 Centigrade, the zero of Kelvin
I was walking to university and constantly complaining about her shoes. Poor girl. It was a very nice weather and I had my "Trout Fishing in America". So it was double sin to go to the office directly. After a while, I jumped on the grass and started reading a short story about a trout who became a terrorist and another one who had a bookshop and the other one who was alcoholic and the one who didn't have condom. I really felt sorry for the last one, actually.
That's why I carry condom as a soldier carry his riffle. There is one always with me. You never know what's gonna happen...Last night I gave one to the moon to have a quickie with a lake. I went for a walk at 1:15 and I saw them in a park nearby hugging each other, touching each other, kissing each other, and well...
- Sorry sir, have you got a condom? She asked me like she was looking for a lighter.
- Yes, Yes. Here you go. I lighted it up for her.
- Are you smoking as well?
- Yes, sometimes.
When I was in late 17 or early 18, three things changed my life. The Doors of Perception, Pinkfloyd and a prostitute called angel-moon; in English, I mean. We were in my friend's house. My friend told me that her vagina is like a lake full of trouts although I was reading about trouts today at 10:45, in Persian though...
This is another paradox, a linguistic paradox...
When I saw the god-damn prostitute, I was a high school kid smelling a naked desire laying down on his friend's bed. Shameless whore had one leg horizontal and the other one up, like 10:45 or 1:15. I knew that I was not comfortable with this position especially for a holy job like fishing. Anyway I had never been that near to a lake in my life. Fishes were jumping out of the lake and my boat were getting bigger and bigger. At the end I understood that the best thing for me (and for lake as well) was just swimming. I took out my cloths and asked her if it is possible to jump in the lake. She told me: "I should never say NO". When I jumped in the lake I could manage to take some fish as well, because I was not stupid.
This is another paradox, a sexual paradox...
Through this time, I mean from a kid to a system freak, I swam in many lakes from all over the world. After I drawn in one, I realized that I should never ever say NO to three things: Having fun, a nice wine or a rolled-up and the truth in any from of existence, if there is any.
This is another paradox, a philosophic paradox...
It was 10:45 in my office and in the whole university. We were still sitting on the grass and she was telling me about that teacher in Basque country which I personally don't know him, (Simply, because I haven't been there in my life) but he was the reason that I met Aiora and Aiora was the reason that I met her and meeting her was the reason that I was sitting with her on the grass at 10:45 Birmingham time. So he is a very important person in my life; very influential.
This is another paradox, a modern paradox...
She went to her office. I spent more time to make sure that going to the office is not a sin anymore and of course I went to my office. The first person who said hello was a dirty bitch called 10:45. I still don't know her surname. AM or PM?
A simple arithmetic made me sure that Haleh should know this cheap old witch as 1:15, now that she is in Evin jail, Tehran. But she doesn't know her surname as well, I mean 10:45 of me and 1:15 of her.
This is another paradox, a perceptional paradox...
"I don't think that you need to know the surname of a prostitute if you want to make a business with her. You just need a number, some money and a horny hard penis"
Such a wise statement. Was it 10:45 or 1:15 when Amir told me that? He was still breathing on that time. He grabbed the phone and dialled an unknown number... The number was not answering...
This is another paradox, an existential paradox...
When I heard that Haleh Esfandiari has been arrested, I immediately remembered my late friend Amir Esfandiari. He had a big belly, a web blog and a profile in orkut. But non of them exist anymore. They expired like his bones.
We have to be optimistic. She is still alive. There are tones of stuff about her in Internet, TV, papers, here and there. But what about him? The difference is just a first name: Amir, Haleh...Surname is the same: Esfandiari
(I remember the last email that he sent to me. A document was attached titled: Joining_Iran_to_WTO.pdf....It was written by him)
There is an ancient Persian belief saying good people die early...He was a good guy. But Haleh is also a good one.
This is a paradox, a logical paradox...
I've discovered that our surrounding is full of paradox. For instance this bloody time which has been sleeping for ages here in this boring office. Time here went to bed at 10:45 (AM or PM, I haven't got a clue) and then immediately froze in the clock. Even a single movement in the bed, nothing. The clock is like a quantum freezer which can take the time temperature down to -273.15 Centigrade, the zero of Kelvin
I was walking to university and constantly complaining about her shoes. Poor girl. It was a very nice weather and I had my "Trout Fishing in America". So it was double sin to go to the office directly. After a while, I jumped on the grass and started reading a short story about a trout who became a terrorist and another one who had a bookshop and the other one who was alcoholic and the one who didn't have condom. I really felt sorry for the last one, actually.
That's why I carry condom as a soldier carry his riffle. There is one always with me. You never know what's gonna happen...Last night I gave one to the moon to have a quickie with a lake. I went for a walk at 1:15 and I saw them in a park nearby hugging each other, touching each other, kissing each other, and well...
- Sorry sir, have you got a condom? She asked me like she was looking for a lighter.
- Yes, Yes. Here you go. I lighted it up for her.
- Are you smoking as well?
- Yes, sometimes.
When I was in late 17 or early 18, three things changed my life. The Doors of Perception, Pinkfloyd and a prostitute called angel-moon; in English, I mean. We were in my friend's house. My friend told me that her vagina is like a lake full of trouts although I was reading about trouts today at 10:45, in Persian though...
This is another paradox, a linguistic paradox...
When I saw the god-damn prostitute, I was a high school kid smelling a naked desire laying down on his friend's bed. Shameless whore had one leg horizontal and the other one up, like 10:45 or 1:15. I knew that I was not comfortable with this position especially for a holy job like fishing. Anyway I had never been that near to a lake in my life. Fishes were jumping out of the lake and my boat were getting bigger and bigger. At the end I understood that the best thing for me (and for lake as well) was just swimming. I took out my cloths and asked her if it is possible to jump in the lake. She told me: "I should never say NO". When I jumped in the lake I could manage to take some fish as well, because I was not stupid.
This is another paradox, a sexual paradox...
Through this time, I mean from a kid to a system freak, I swam in many lakes from all over the world. After I drawn in one, I realized that I should never ever say NO to three things: Having fun, a nice wine or a rolled-up and the truth in any from of existence, if there is any.
This is another paradox, a philosophic paradox...
It was 10:45 in my office and in the whole university. We were still sitting on the grass and she was telling me about that teacher in Basque country which I personally don't know him, (Simply, because I haven't been there in my life) but he was the reason that I met Aiora and Aiora was the reason that I met her and meeting her was the reason that I was sitting with her on the grass at 10:45 Birmingham time. So he is a very important person in my life; very influential.
This is another paradox, a modern paradox...
She went to her office. I spent more time to make sure that going to the office is not a sin anymore and of course I went to my office. The first person who said hello was a dirty bitch called 10:45. I still don't know her surname. AM or PM?
A simple arithmetic made me sure that Haleh should know this cheap old witch as 1:15, now that she is in Evin jail, Tehran. But she doesn't know her surname as well, I mean 10:45 of me and 1:15 of her.
This is another paradox, a perceptional paradox...
"I don't think that you need to know the surname of a prostitute if you want to make a business with her. You just need a number, some money and a horny hard penis"
Such a wise statement. Was it 10:45 or 1:15 when Amir told me that? He was still breathing on that time. He grabbed the phone and dialled an unknown number... The number was not answering...
This is another paradox, an existential paradox...
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Into remembrance
Why I can't remember?
"Being" is not only being together
You promised to bring a bunch of dark purple
Roses from the bright land of your falling tears
Do you remember?
I was in a boat going down all the way
To your chin.
You don't remember, do you?
There are always some trips
Before the journey
"Being" is not only being together
You promised to bring a bunch of dark purple
Roses from the bright land of your falling tears
Do you remember?
I was in a boat going down all the way
To your chin.
You don't remember, do you?
There are always some trips
Before the journey
A short essay in love
(To Amir Ghaforian)
Once upon a time, it was a little red penis who loved a hairy black ass. But because the black ass was so hairy, the little red penis could have never ever managed to kiss hairy black ass's lips. Years and years passed and the red penis is still little and the black ass is still hairy.
I've been told that you've stopped reading recently. You also have gone for that crappy life which has been followed for years and years; everybody, everywhere, here and there. I am still free man, I think I still haven't stepped into the shit but I'm not much better. I mean happier. But you know bloody son-of-a-bitch, at least I don't have an hairy black ass. Actually, I have no ass.
Maybe if you start reading again, the dark tropical jungle around your ass is going to burn. So my little red penis can kiss your nice flat ass lips. Who knows?
(We were on that dusty boiling office when you shouted "Long live impossibility"...)
Miss you buddy and take a very good care of your loneliness surrounded by people
Once upon a time, it was a little red penis who loved a hairy black ass. But because the black ass was so hairy, the little red penis could have never ever managed to kiss hairy black ass's lips. Years and years passed and the red penis is still little and the black ass is still hairy.
I've been told that you've stopped reading recently. You also have gone for that crappy life which has been followed for years and years; everybody, everywhere, here and there. I am still free man, I think I still haven't stepped into the shit but I'm not much better. I mean happier. But you know bloody son-of-a-bitch, at least I don't have an hairy black ass. Actually, I have no ass.
Maybe if you start reading again, the dark tropical jungle around your ass is going to burn. So my little red penis can kiss your nice flat ass lips. Who knows?
(We were on that dusty boiling office when you shouted "Long live impossibility"...)
Miss you buddy and take a very good care of your loneliness surrounded by people
Draws of 92, 93, 94
92.
It is so nice to wake up
In the morning and fart
Without having some one
Who doesn't like the sound
93.
I went up and up in the stream
And down and down in myself
I realized the difference between
You and the others is just a name
94.
The man is lonely here
Under neat of a tree
Which its shadow
Flows up to infinity
Shall I drink more wine tonight?
It is so nice to wake up
In the morning and fart
Without having some one
Who doesn't like the sound
93.
I went up and up in the stream
And down and down in myself
I realized the difference between
You and the others is just a name
94.
The man is lonely here
Under neat of a tree
Which its shadow
Flows up to infinity
Shall I drink more wine tonight?
Friday, May 18, 2007
Hypothesis (After 60,000,000 function evaluations)
1- Modern world in an infinite scale, infinite agent, dynamic phenomenon.
2- Every agents in the universal modern world can be conceptually described by a system.
3- Systems can be definite, probabilistic, stochastic, fuzzy, gray, or even chaotic.
4- There are some agents in the universal modern world that can be formulated quantitatively.
5- The relationships among agents is a massive connectional system.
6- Each connection by itself is a system.
7- There are some connectional systems that can be described quantitatively.
8- Mathematics is the framework of systems.
9- Mathematics is an element in our knowledge
10- Our knowledge is a layer.
11- Knowledge can be described as multi-dimensional system.
12- There are infinite number of surfaces in this system. The union of these surfaces called universal knowledge.
13- The whole universal modern world CAN NOT described by a systematic knowledge although different modules and connections can be described by a system.
* Personal conclusion regarding to PhD: There is a long way home.
* Personal conclusion regarding to my country: I have to start reading about Franco period in Spain.
* Personal conclusion regarding to my sexual life: It can not be described by a system of knowledge.
(Introduction to complex knowledge: Maybe the universal modern world can be described by a complex infinite scale, infinite agent, dynamic mathematical framework called complex knowledge system in which some properties of systematic knowledge get relaxed: x+iy+jz+.... But this is also another layer, for sure)
* Personal quote of the day: "I've made poetry for 7 years in order to learn how to make a sentence because I really like to write. I think before knowing how to make a sentence, you can't write (Richard Brautigan)''
* Personal philosophy: There is no philosophy. It is all about a certain group of linguistic systems
* Personal state:
No entry.
I Just wrote
a Haiku for you...
* Personal path: . . .
2- Every agents in the universal modern world can be conceptually described by a system.
3- Systems can be definite, probabilistic, stochastic, fuzzy, gray, or even chaotic.
4- There are some agents in the universal modern world that can be formulated quantitatively.
5- The relationships among agents is a massive connectional system.
6- Each connection by itself is a system.
7- There are some connectional systems that can be described quantitatively.
8- Mathematics is the framework of systems.
9- Mathematics is an element in our knowledge
10- Our knowledge is a layer.
11- Knowledge can be described as multi-dimensional system.
12- There are infinite number of surfaces in this system. The union of these surfaces called universal knowledge.
13- The whole universal modern world CAN NOT described by a systematic knowledge although different modules and connections can be described by a system.
* Personal conclusion regarding to PhD: There is a long way home.
* Personal conclusion regarding to my country: I have to start reading about Franco period in Spain.
* Personal conclusion regarding to my sexual life: It can not be described by a system of knowledge.
(Introduction to complex knowledge: Maybe the universal modern world can be described by a complex infinite scale, infinite agent, dynamic mathematical framework called complex knowledge system in which some properties of systematic knowledge get relaxed: x+iy+jz+.... But this is also another layer, for sure)
* Personal quote of the day: "I've made poetry for 7 years in order to learn how to make a sentence because I really like to write. I think before knowing how to make a sentence, you can't write (Richard Brautigan)''
* Personal philosophy: There is no philosophy. It is all about a certain group of linguistic systems
* Personal state:
No entry.
I Just wrote
a Haiku for you...
* Personal path: . . .
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Prophet in the bar
I saw him. The same person as before...I should say Mr. X was very nice guy. His name was hope....
We talked alot. He wants to leave the country as well. I am happy for him, but what about the country?
- We have nothing for the modern world, nothing.
- Maybe post modernism can help us to survive, just maybe.
- 10,000 years of history shouldn't be vanished
He brought me a book, the same book that I was reading 2 months ago: "Trouth fishing in America". I bought him the same book in English.
We were in the bar when I was telling him:
"I like to think
(and the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.
I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers as if
they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.
I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace."
We talked alot. He wants to leave the country as well. I am happy for him, but what about the country?
- We have nothing for the modern world, nothing.
- Maybe post modernism can help us to survive, just maybe.
- 10,000 years of history shouldn't be vanished
He brought me a book, the same book that I was reading 2 months ago: "Trouth fishing in America". I bought him the same book in English.
We were in the bar when I was telling him:
"I like to think
(and the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.
I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers as if
they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.
I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace."
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
The prophet and Mr. X are getting here...
I'm in the office, all in black. I've had another trip in the last 48 hours, not that bad. Anyway, I am sure it is gonna come back again. Bad, or good? doesn't make any difference. It is coming.
I was just some steps far from the former house of Ayatollah Khomeini. The steep narrow allays which is typical for north of Tehran....Alborz mountains and the breeze of 7 PM in 16th of May 2004...I was talking with a girl on the phone. Around was full with the voice of Koran. She was in Dubai and I was going to be there the day after.
- Tell my mom to put my swimming suite in the stuff that you are bringing
- OK, So see you tomorrow.
- Why so early? Again you are period?
- No, I am just tired and I am fucking paying the international phone call by my mobile...I see you tomorrow anyway, why you are upset?
- Bye
- Bye
I was tired of her. It was not going well with her, because of that old bitch. I loved her, but she was not my girl. I knew that and I accepted that. She was beautiful, kind and very sexy. Type of girls that being with them give you satisfaction. You admire yourself. But it was a problem (and still is). We were too different in the way of thinking, and that old bitch, I mean her mom.
2 months after that, we broke up. I did miss her badly 5 months after, during XMAS time when I was in England, alone for a month. Such a nightmare it was. No supervisor, no research, all my dreams went to shit, and I was alone. I even cried one night for her. Anyway...
I hanged up the phone. In front of me was a group of 18, 19 years old Bassij militia. Non of them met Khomeini but he was their legend.
They didn't like me. I was sure. I didn't like them as well. I remember several times that we were bitten up by them. It was the era of reform in Iran. Khatami project, talking about democracy, Che, Bob Dylan, right of women, philosophy, poetry, quick loves, and hot discussions and hope. Hope for better days.
It was the last days of that tragic era. We had already lost the game. We had 3 choices. Leave the country, go to jail or shut up. I'd decided to leave. I wanted to see more, more, more...
I was on the door.
- Where are you going?
- I want to see Mr. Prophet
He looked to me for the second times, from bottom to the top. He told to his colleague
- Call Dr. Prophet
And he looked at me again.
- Second floor, room 54
- Thanks
I was in a small empty room. It was a bed, a desk and some books. Nonlinear finite elements, Koran and the images of Bertolucci. Very simple decoration, almost nothing. He was praying. I looked at him. He was not there. I swear that he was not there
- Nice to see you Mr. Nazemi. Sorry for the wait.
- No problem brother. I hope it is accepted.
- I hope god accepts
I was so stressed. He was the only one that I could talk to him. Non of my friends, no one among 12,000,000 samples in Tehran except him.
- Tomorrow I am going to Dubai. I want to apply for US visa.
- I hope the best happens
- You know, last night again the guy said something. It is for the second time. Do you remember the time that I applied for that conference?
- Don't worry Mr. Nazemi. You will reach the point. I know. What about England?
- I don't even think about it. I have no funding from there. After this, I will apply for Canada.
- Enshallah
I looked at his eyes, full of calm. Simple, simple man. Unknown soul for most of the people. Most of them hate him. You know why? Because he looks like a Bassiji. A bad guy. An ass hole. But he is not. He is the best person I have ever met. The most beautiful mind in math, a genius in classic Persian poetry, a good man.
He was my only escape on that day. The only only only one.
All the credit for his belief. Marx said that religion is the opium of mass. Let's agree on that. Is anyone going to ask why Dali used drug, or Winston Churchill used opium when he was 15?
We have to look at the feedback. Religion makes this guy pure. OK, it is not my way. Actually, what is my way? Math, music, bugs, darkness, love, suicide, going to a remote place back home as a teacher, bookshop, PhD, blogging, being rich, writing, what?
I don't know...I don't really know
- OK, thanks for your company. It was a nice walk.
- Don't forget the god in your interview, and I am sure the best is gonna happen. I think you should consider the Birmingham chance as well.
- I hope Colorado and then if not Edmonton. I want to be in Fort Collins. I want.
- Don't fight with your destiny Mr. Nazemi.
We shacked hands. I got a taxi and he was whispering something with himself. He was praying.
After 3 years, and exactly 3 years, he is coming today to Birmingham along with Mr. X. I will see him in 90 minutes. I should admit I am a bit worry about Mr. X. I have to talk with him, the prophet.
Let see...
I was just some steps far from the former house of Ayatollah Khomeini. The steep narrow allays which is typical for north of Tehran....Alborz mountains and the breeze of 7 PM in 16th of May 2004...I was talking with a girl on the phone. Around was full with the voice of Koran. She was in Dubai and I was going to be there the day after.
- Tell my mom to put my swimming suite in the stuff that you are bringing
- OK, So see you tomorrow.
- Why so early? Again you are period?
- No, I am just tired and I am fucking paying the international phone call by my mobile...I see you tomorrow anyway, why you are upset?
- Bye
- Bye
I was tired of her. It was not going well with her, because of that old bitch. I loved her, but she was not my girl. I knew that and I accepted that. She was beautiful, kind and very sexy. Type of girls that being with them give you satisfaction. You admire yourself. But it was a problem (and still is). We were too different in the way of thinking, and that old bitch, I mean her mom.
2 months after that, we broke up. I did miss her badly 5 months after, during XMAS time when I was in England, alone for a month. Such a nightmare it was. No supervisor, no research, all my dreams went to shit, and I was alone. I even cried one night for her. Anyway...
I hanged up the phone. In front of me was a group of 18, 19 years old Bassij militia. Non of them met Khomeini but he was their legend.
They didn't like me. I was sure. I didn't like them as well. I remember several times that we were bitten up by them. It was the era of reform in Iran. Khatami project, talking about democracy, Che, Bob Dylan, right of women, philosophy, poetry, quick loves, and hot discussions and hope. Hope for better days.
It was the last days of that tragic era. We had already lost the game. We had 3 choices. Leave the country, go to jail or shut up. I'd decided to leave. I wanted to see more, more, more...
I was on the door.
- Where are you going?
- I want to see Mr. Prophet
He looked to me for the second times, from bottom to the top. He told to his colleague
- Call Dr. Prophet
And he looked at me again.
- Second floor, room 54
- Thanks
I was in a small empty room. It was a bed, a desk and some books. Nonlinear finite elements, Koran and the images of Bertolucci. Very simple decoration, almost nothing. He was praying. I looked at him. He was not there. I swear that he was not there
- Nice to see you Mr. Nazemi. Sorry for the wait.
- No problem brother. I hope it is accepted.
- I hope god accepts
I was so stressed. He was the only one that I could talk to him. Non of my friends, no one among 12,000,000 samples in Tehran except him.
- Tomorrow I am going to Dubai. I want to apply for US visa.
- I hope the best happens
- You know, last night again the guy said something. It is for the second time. Do you remember the time that I applied for that conference?
- Don't worry Mr. Nazemi. You will reach the point. I know. What about England?
- I don't even think about it. I have no funding from there. After this, I will apply for Canada.
- Enshallah
I looked at his eyes, full of calm. Simple, simple man. Unknown soul for most of the people. Most of them hate him. You know why? Because he looks like a Bassiji. A bad guy. An ass hole. But he is not. He is the best person I have ever met. The most beautiful mind in math, a genius in classic Persian poetry, a good man.
He was my only escape on that day. The only only only one.
All the credit for his belief. Marx said that religion is the opium of mass. Let's agree on that. Is anyone going to ask why Dali used drug, or Winston Churchill used opium when he was 15?
We have to look at the feedback. Religion makes this guy pure. OK, it is not my way. Actually, what is my way? Math, music, bugs, darkness, love, suicide, going to a remote place back home as a teacher, bookshop, PhD, blogging, being rich, writing, what?
I don't know...I don't really know
- OK, thanks for your company. It was a nice walk.
- Don't forget the god in your interview, and I am sure the best is gonna happen. I think you should consider the Birmingham chance as well.
- I hope Colorado and then if not Edmonton. I want to be in Fort Collins. I want.
- Don't fight with your destiny Mr. Nazemi.
We shacked hands. I got a taxi and he was whispering something with himself. He was praying.
After 3 years, and exactly 3 years, he is coming today to Birmingham along with Mr. X. I will see him in 90 minutes. I should admit I am a bit worry about Mr. X. I have to talk with him, the prophet.
Let see...
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Draws of 89, 90, 91
89.
I am, yes, I am
Doing what I can
I am going
keep on growing.
Wait and let
What we'll see
90.
Black, black, black
I'm passing darkness
To reach nothing
Good days and bad
ones are the same;
Absolutely the same
91.
Is it another message from my past?
Are you still there?
Waiting, waiting, waiting
One track of Pearl Jam
At least 100 times today.
I am not kidding...
Working, working, working...
"1, 2, 1, 2, 3
Know a man, his face seems pulled and tense
Like he is riding on a motorbike in the strongest winds
So I approach with tact, suggest that he should relax
But he is always moving much too fast..."
I am, yes, I am
Doing what I can
I am going
keep on growing.
Wait and let
What we'll see
90.
Black, black, black
I'm passing darkness
To reach nothing
Good days and bad
ones are the same;
Absolutely the same
91.
Is it another message from my past?
Are you still there?
Waiting, waiting, waiting
One track of Pearl Jam
At least 100 times today.
I am not kidding...
Working, working, working...
"1, 2, 1, 2, 3
Know a man, his face seems pulled and tense
Like he is riding on a motorbike in the strongest winds
So I approach with tact, suggest that he should relax
But he is always moving much too fast..."
Monday, May 14, 2007
Draws of 86, 87, 88
86.
There is an office, some lights,
A head and bunch of thoughts
"I am still alive"
87.
3 hours from sun dawn
My soul started to fly
Hoping to keep sun from clouds
From the city down to the cave
Such a master, such a slave
3 hours from London, my mind is free
Taking the boat down to the sea
Such a story never begins
3 hours to sleep, not wanting to be
3 hours to wonder, 3 hours to death
3 hours, 3 days, 3 months, 3 years
And again another 3 hours...
88.
Have you seen the land
Sitting by the breeze?
Have you seen the light
Under neat of trees?
Tell me what have you found
Show me what you have to show
I am still here
Waiting like a blind
When the day is gone
Along with everything
Lost in mine
It is midnight...
There is an office, some lights,
A head and bunch of thoughts
"I am still alive"
87.
3 hours from sun dawn
My soul started to fly
Hoping to keep sun from clouds
From the city down to the cave
Such a master, such a slave
3 hours from London, my mind is free
Taking the boat down to the sea
Such a story never begins
3 hours to sleep, not wanting to be
3 hours to wonder, 3 hours to death
3 hours, 3 days, 3 months, 3 years
And again another 3 hours...
88.
Have you seen the land
Sitting by the breeze?
Have you seen the light
Under neat of trees?
Tell me what have you found
Show me what you have to show
I am still here
Waiting like a blind
When the day is gone
Along with everything
Lost in mine
It is midnight...
Sunday, May 13, 2007
4:48 Psycosis
….
But you have friends,
What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?
What do you offer?
100, 91, 84, 81, 72, 69, 58, 44, 37, 38, 42, 21, 28, 12, 7
Hatch opens
Stark light
The television talks Full of eyes
The spirits of sight
And now I am so afraid
I'm seeing things
I'm hearing things
.....
Tongue out
Thought stalled
The piecemeal crumple of my mind
Where do I start?
Where do I stop?
How do I stop?
At 4:48
When sanity visits
For one hour and twelve minutes
I am in my right mind
When it has passed
I shall be gone again
Remember the light and believe the light
Nothing matters more
Hatch opens
Stark light
A table, two chairs and no window
Here I am
And there is my body
Dancing on glass
In accident time where there are no accidents
You have no choice
The choice comes after
....
At 4:48
I shall sleep.
What do you offer?
Hatch opens
Stark light
And Nothing
Nothing
See - Nothing
Still black water
As deep as forever
As cold as the sky
As still as my heart
When your voice is gone
I shall freeze in hell
At 4:48
The happy hour
When clarity visits
Warm darkness
Which soaks my eyes
.....
Tindersticks
But you have friends,
What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?
What do you offer?
100, 91, 84, 81, 72, 69, 58, 44, 37, 38, 42, 21, 28, 12, 7
Hatch opens
Stark light
The television talks Full of eyes
The spirits of sight
And now I am so afraid
I'm seeing things
I'm hearing things
.....
Tongue out
Thought stalled
The piecemeal crumple of my mind
Where do I start?
Where do I stop?
How do I stop?
At 4:48
When sanity visits
For one hour and twelve minutes
I am in my right mind
When it has passed
I shall be gone again
Remember the light and believe the light
Nothing matters more
Hatch opens
Stark light
A table, two chairs and no window
Here I am
And there is my body
Dancing on glass
In accident time where there are no accidents
You have no choice
The choice comes after
....
At 4:48
I shall sleep.
What do you offer?
Hatch opens
Stark light
And Nothing
Nothing
See - Nothing
Still black water
As deep as forever
As cold as the sky
As still as my heart
When your voice is gone
I shall freeze in hell
At 4:48
The happy hour
When clarity visits
Warm darkness
Which soaks my eyes
.....
Tindersticks
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Draws of 14, 32, 99
(For Fabian, Andy, Miki, Margie and Yanni. For accepting me in this period. Now I have nine housemates and two houses... Lucky me!!)
14.
"Here is dark, so dark"
The spirit of dead fishes
cried in AN old picture
of a pond.
It was Yanni's house,
Behind the wall was
The moment
that I should meet
"Bastards, I am free"
32.
Multi-cultural ceremony
A guy from army, Tom Waits
Philosopher, mama, and me
Miki was sleeping.
We were laughing
in a language for all distant myths
99.
What remains
When traitors are
Running your country?
All the money that you've made
Is not gonna save your soul
Are you painting me in black?
14.
"Here is dark, so dark"
The spirit of dead fishes
cried in AN old picture
of a pond.
It was Yanni's house,
Behind the wall was
The moment
that I should meet
"Bastards, I am free"
32.
Multi-cultural ceremony
A guy from army, Tom Waits
Philosopher, mama, and me
Miki was sleeping.
We were laughing
in a language for all distant myths
99.
What remains
When traitors are
Running your country?
All the money that you've made
Is not gonna save your soul
Are you painting me in black?
Friday, May 11, 2007
Easy money, hard rain
(It was just a dream nine months ago. Then my life was all following the signs of the dream. I did all the stuff...Making love for 10 pence, paying the bills of someone else, searching for the bank, going down to the basement of universe, missing the way back, melting the rose and raining....I saw the last part in the midnight when I was smoking alone in the garden...Now I know what was all about....The chubby girl, the girl in dark, the stairs, the indoor market, the old Persian security, my friends, the old English mentor, the dead town, the empty garden, the concrete table and the rose...Last night it was raining in Birmingham and still is...)
It's difficult, It's very tough.
I said to the man who'd been sleeping rough
To sit within a fragrant breeze
All among the nodding trees
That hang heavy with the stuff
He threw his arms around my neck
He brushed the tear from my cheek
And held my soft white hand
He was an understanding man
He did not even barely hardly speak
Easy money
Rain it down on the wife and the kids
Rain it down on the house where we live
Rain until you got nothing left to give
And rain that ever-loving stuff down on me
All the things for which my heart yearns
Gives joy in diminishing returns
He kissed me on the mouth
His hands they headed south
And my cheek it burned
Money, man, it is a bitch
The poor, they spoil it for the rich
With my face pressed in the clover
I wondered when this would be over
And at home we are all so guilty-sad
Easy money
Pour it down the open drain
Pour it all through my veins
Pour it down, yeah, let it rain
And pour that ever-loving stuff down on me
Now, I'm sitting pretty down on the bank
Life shuffles past at a low interest rate
In the money-coloured meadows
And all the interesting shadows
They leap up, then dissipate
Nick cave
It's difficult, It's very tough.
I said to the man who'd been sleeping rough
To sit within a fragrant breeze
All among the nodding trees
That hang heavy with the stuff
He threw his arms around my neck
He brushed the tear from my cheek
And held my soft white hand
He was an understanding man
He did not even barely hardly speak
Easy money
Rain it down on the wife and the kids
Rain it down on the house where we live
Rain until you got nothing left to give
And rain that ever-loving stuff down on me
All the things for which my heart yearns
Gives joy in diminishing returns
He kissed me on the mouth
His hands they headed south
And my cheek it burned
Money, man, it is a bitch
The poor, they spoil it for the rich
With my face pressed in the clover
I wondered when this would be over
And at home we are all so guilty-sad
Easy money
Pour it down the open drain
Pour it all through my veins
Pour it down, yeah, let it rain
And pour that ever-loving stuff down on me
Now, I'm sitting pretty down on the bank
Life shuffles past at a low interest rate
In the money-coloured meadows
And all the interesting shadows
They leap up, then dissipate
Nick cave
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Fluid particle at 5 O' clock in the morning
It is almost 5 AM and I just got home from the office. My dairy says that the previous time was the last days of November....same story, I mean. Assuming myself as a fluid particle, this period as the time sequence of the process and looking through the process from Navier-Stokes point of view, something is quite obvious: A big change at least in terms of location that I bumped in at 5 AM. I don't really know if it is because of external source or my internal tensor. Is it actually important? Of course not, As a fluid particle who doesn't give a shit to the phyisics of process and just live the last moment, I am much happier now.
its our little penthouse,
we call it our own,
it's got lots of features,
a gold plated phone
and it's all that we've got
to lower the tone at
five o'clock in the morning.
it's cock up and shut up,
it's right and it's wrong,
it's see you tomorrow,
be weak or be strong,
it's hit or be hit,
you know I don't care,
it's five o'clock in the morning.
the red ,white and blue,
it's such a bore,
but it's better than being poor
and it's better than being ignored
at five o'clock in the morning.
so vomit your guts out on the floor,
you know you will be a pawn even though
we are the ones that you adore
at five o'clock in the morning.
Tiger Lillies
its our little penthouse,
we call it our own,
it's got lots of features,
a gold plated phone
and it's all that we've got
to lower the tone at
five o'clock in the morning.
it's cock up and shut up,
it's right and it's wrong,
it's see you tomorrow,
be weak or be strong,
it's hit or be hit,
you know I don't care,
it's five o'clock in the morning.
the red ,white and blue,
it's such a bore,
but it's better than being poor
and it's better than being ignored
at five o'clock in the morning.
so vomit your guts out on the floor,
you know you will be a pawn even though
we are the ones that you adore
at five o'clock in the morning.
Tiger Lillies
Draws of 66,67,68
66
Life, space, time
Three coins,
Me, me, and me
The one that you know
The one that I know
The one that nobody knows
I (the one in Mud Cafe)
Threw them 6 times.
Is it mutually Independent?
67
Life, space, time
Three coins,
Me, me, and me
The one that you know
The one that I know
The one that nobody knows
I (the one in Mud Cafe)
Threw them 6 times.
Is it mutually Independent?
67
The sky
Is a suspended blue ocean.
The stars are the fish
That swim.
The planets are the white whales
I sometimes hitch a ride on,
And the sun and all light
Have forever fused themselves
Into my heart.
There is only one rule
On this wild playground,
"Survive"
68.
Fire behind thunder
Wind through heaven:
I live as all spices
Of human being
to find reality, misery
suffer.
There is no immortality
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Today
Today after a long long time, I looked at my right toe and I smiled. Big bastard. Although it has changed a lot. It is definitely older.
By the way, my words are written. Yes, I wrote them. Wind is waiting for my sentence. My long flight is finished. Trip is done. Although I am not sure where I am gonna land. Doesn't matter, somewhere around. At least in this planet.
Wind should be there, waiting for me. I'm gonna have his lift. I miss him. I am pretty sure that he has carried on playing freaky threesome chess and smoking. What about the old guy? Is he drunk or dead? Never mind, I am not thinking about it anymore. For me, he is under tones of shit either dead or alive...
Next trip is gonna be soon...Very soon...
By the way, my words are written. Yes, I wrote them. Wind is waiting for my sentence. My long flight is finished. Trip is done. Although I am not sure where I am gonna land. Doesn't matter, somewhere around. At least in this planet.
Wind should be there, waiting for me. I'm gonna have his lift. I miss him. I am pretty sure that he has carried on playing freaky threesome chess and smoking. What about the old guy? Is he drunk or dead? Never mind, I am not thinking about it anymore. For me, he is under tones of shit either dead or alive...
Next trip is gonna be soon...Very soon...
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Neverland
(For all Persian girls in Iran, who have been torchered by the regime these days just because of their beauty. Sun will shine soon, bare the night a little bit more)
There is no neverland
Even this narrow river
Is not gonna end here.
It is not getting blind
Here, in this old farm.
It Just needs a moment,
spark, to be in a rose or cry
To sit inside a fruit,
Takes a boat and lands
On the other side of
Our world
How do you know?
Anoshe might take it to sky
It might be next year in Venus:
A naive plant will grow beside a stone
How do you know?
A random sheep there
Might fall in love,
There is no neverland
Even this narrow river
Is not gonna end here.
It is not getting blind
Here, in this old farm.
It Just needs a moment,
spark, to be in a rose or cry
To sit inside a fruit,
Takes a boat and lands
On the other side of
Our world
How do you know?
Anoshe might take it to sky
It might be next year in Venus:
A naive plant will grow beside a stone
How do you know?
A random sheep there
Might fall in love,
and dream our home
And how do you know?
If Persian eyes
were seen by another eye
Named Davinci,
Monalisa might be just a gene
Lost in 7,000,000,000
Human lives.
Neverland is a joke
A hoax for tired ones
Don't worry for bullets
They're gonna be bits of
A poem in my mind.
There is no neverland
Under neat of this thick ice
The body of girls, beauties
Is waiting for the sun.
There is no neverland
Each thought has a route
In another one
Each lie in another lie
And how do you know?
If Persian eyes
were seen by another eye
Named Davinci,
Monalisa might be just a gene
Lost in 7,000,000,000
Human lives.
Neverland is a joke
A hoax for tired ones
Don't worry for bullets
They're gonna be bits of
A poem in my mind.
There is no neverland
Under neat of this thick ice
The body of girls, beauties
Is waiting for the sun.
There is no neverland
Each thought has a route
In another one
Each lie in another lie
Religion in market
Devils in angles
But you are there
Always mine
I wish you realized
That our knowledge
Comes from nothing
And then in another
Nothing makes love
With politics, economy
I wish you knew that
Nothing is so full of us
That there is no place
for dying.
I wish you realized
That our knowledge
Comes from nothing
And then in another
Nothing makes love
With politics, economy
I wish you knew that
Nothing is so full of us
That there is no place
for dying.
I wish...
But, it is a shame
To realize such flowers
Have no name in Persia
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Breakfast diary
Today...A day like everyday...Waking up, gazing to the ceiling for 5 minutes and then looking through the window...A coffee and a cigarette....Shower...Coming out, Yannis should get up by now...Bullshitting, it can be from symbolic reasoning to farts taxonomy...Uni, music, work, and a missing image...Fading.... Struggling to be focus...A couple of emails from friends...Answer? later....maybe better to say never...Surfing on net...Well, again very wide range from news to I-ching and from world science to awful e-jocks...Never mind, we have different sides, don't we?....Cigarette on the door... If with a company, looking around and bullshiting about the stuff passing, sometimes a bit nasty...If not... fuck, bugs are attacking....Again very wide range....From global warming to my research and from shit in my country to the shit that I stepped on.... Anyway, shit is always there....I have been always there...Going back, work work work...Have you got food? No, shall we?...OK....So Woodstock...A mixture of again wide range of music from Jefferson Airplane to Shakira, nice girls and a couple of friends....If possible, why not?...It cost another coffee...Going back to office....Bugs, fuck them....Surfing on blogs...Reading an article on net to warm up....Work, work with bugs I mean....Tool on background....Toilet and pee...Receiving or sending a text....chatting with a friend, again very wide range, from Japan to Vancouver....Yes, I am ok...Brilliant....How are you?....If it is a girl passed over, different....If it is a close friend, different....Brother, different....Mom, different....You, different....At the end, Who am I?....Of course non of them....Hello bugs, how are you doing?.....Work....When do you want to go home?....Half an hour?....OK...Try to get inspired and bullshit on the blog....What the fuck man, Do you think I am repeating myself?....OK, doesn't matter....But I like writing you know?....Vomiting myself on the screen.... That's the escape for me....Different people, different way of escape....Running, eating, shagging, sniffing, drinking, lying, killing....Yes, it can be all of them....Shall we? give me 2 minutes....Home...Cooking?.... What?....Pasta with tomato sauce with a little bit of wine???!!!....Actually I haven't cooked with wine recently....Anyway, eating....A movie or tele....Some shots and cigarettes....If lucky, some one text you and....If not, Internet or a book....Couple of hours later.....What time is it now? Late, bugs are sleepy and they need to rest....OK, let's go to bed...Bugs are sleeping very fast actually....I am looking at the ceiling.... And then entering to the matrix....Well come home, Ali....
I am gonna miss this shit one day...
I am gonna miss this shit one day...
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Draws of 21,41,65
21.
It took a pint
To re-realize
Nothing has changed.
Game is over and
You are still there?
41.
Walls and masks
What's the task
For all these crap?
It is addiction,
Isn't it?
65.
A prophet in the garden
A Buddhist in the jail
He is looking for fishes
She is smiling.
I am running...
Where the fuck
is the loo?
It took a pint
To re-realize
Nothing has changed.
Game is over and
You are still there?
41.
Walls and masks
What's the task
For all these crap?
It is addiction,
Isn't it?
65.
A prophet in the garden
A Buddhist in the jail
He is looking for fishes
She is smiling.
I am running...
Where the fuck
is the loo?
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