Sunday, June 17, 2007

From Birmingham to Ethanol 96%

Drunk and in love…Drunk and not in love…Not drunk and in love…Not drunk and not in love…Whatever…

My mobile says it is 5:30 AM, although here is 8:30 AM…This is also one of the wired things that we’ve got used to it. When we used to something, we will spoil it for sure…Like time, space, nature and chances that come into our life.

I’m in Dubai international airport trying to write something:

Drops of rain
All over the garden
Like humans,
Meet randomly
And fade away

Maybe it was a reason behind it or even wisdom. Or maybe it is just one of the eastern belief, although I think all the major stuffs in our life happens quite randomly, at least from our point of view if we want to just stick to the sensible information.

But I like Spinoza crappy bullshits. It is almost 10 years that I have been trying to find the evidences to prove there is something beyond our sensible information. Up to some extent I was successful. But I am still not sure, especially if I want to stick to the last pairs in my information time series

“Maybe you were just a breath far from the truth, but you couldn’t stand it”. Yannis told me the other day.

After each major earthquake, there are several minor ones. Last one happened in the Birmingham airport. I was in the pub and a little bit drunk. Two couples and a single guy around 60 were playing boring pub quiz. They were British but not from Birmingham. So what the fuck they were doing there? I never understood and I will never understand. Maybe just to make an earthquake…

- Who was the inventor of colt?

None of them could answer. I was beside them. Without any control I said:

- Samuel Colt, American inventor, 1814-1862

This word was like a tunnel brought me back to my 8th years of age, when I was struggling with my grandpa’s encyclopedia. Odipos, Sophokolos, Machiavelli, Gagarin, De Vinci, Neil Armstrong, Ben Sina and many other names…But on that particular time I was just thinking about Ernest Hemingway. A sudden enlightening told me why. Why he was ended by a bullet. He was in front of me drinking his last drops of whisky. Thanks god that Samuel was not around. He was just an answer in the quiz.

A theoretical physicist told me that my major earthquake was at least around 9 Richter… 9 Richter in a box…If it happened in Tehran, minimum 6 million people would die. But I’m still alive. Should I be happy for that?

It is 9:30 here and I am in the middle of dream and reality. In my dream, I’m telling my future daughter her favorite story…How I traveled into a stone…

- Daddy, tell me the story of your travel into the stone.

I cover her with the blanket, like clouds cover the sun.

- Once upon a time daddy saw a stone, which seemed to be so comfortable to live. So daddy went inside and cleaned all the room. Then daddy brought some smaller stoned as table and chairs…

Her shinny questioning eyes was locked on my mouth.

- And what happened next?
- Then daddy cooked a delicious meal with wild flowers, a real rebellious dish.

That was the end of the story. It has been always important for her to hear the last part of the story, always. I think for her this story was like a Columbus gate to his father’s new world.

When I opened my eyes, my head was full of numb feelings and some memories which should be expressed by a broken leg not words. I was analyzing the smashed parts of mine, the particles which are all related to a period with no shape, no form…A series of events that happened like a broken wings.

In the reality, I am trying to find something for a girl back home. At the end, I am sure I am not going to buy anything because I don’t feel.

Maybe her words remember me…

Two Arabs are passing by with at least 6 times more weight than me, but 6 times less than the weight of the names in my brain.

When I got to Tehran, it was my brother and only my brother. I hugged him and he smiled. He took my stuff. I wanted to smoke. He took the car and we drove in the highway to home.

I saw my ancient land for another time. Tinder sticks and my brother and a poem in my head:

These expensive trips
To the gate of being
To one, dying of another one
Doesn’t make any difference

Sometimes, my heart is clapping for me
It is taking me by hand
And kicking me by legs
Logic with rotten brain
Has no way to be back

When Pegout 206 is in the highway
When the poverty and crack is on the table
My heart is flying in the desert

When there are chains and locks
When the door of jail is open
The one who is escaping
Is a real wonker

Everything is laughing at us, Nima
Everything is ruining with us, Nima
Everything is burning with us, Nima

When the pray is finishing
When the peace is ending
When the honesty is shivering
It is the time to take a shower

Wow, if it rains
If it rains

When they put your head in the gutter
Write your biography on the water
When they take your hand from behind
Just write on the surface of bubble
Write for love, wine, flowers
But don’t forget the darkness

Wow, when your history is finishing
When the words are ending
When others are kidding with your honesty

I just want to cut
I just want to cut
I just want to cut

This is the story of my tribe.

Reza and Niki came together. He stole the new book that I was reading, big bustard. When it is coming to books he is a real son-of-a-bitch.

I was talking with my mom about translation and she gave me some stuff from one of her students:

Stood on your feet
Like a human being
Not like an animal
Like a tree, oak
Raised and died”

(The tragic sense of life in men and nations, Miguel de Unamuno)

Why this one? I looked at her, and she looked back. In between was a flooding river of unspoken words.

Apparently, it is flooding in Birmingham as well.

I went out with my brothers friends. I think Persian beauty is a real fact not an illusion. Maryam is a Persian girl, with American passport, carrying an amazing hidden beauty not only in her face but also in her soul. We went together to Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art.

It was 35 Maryams there with Iranian passport.

I have been trying to post in Blogger for the last 2 hours. The only thing that coming on the screen is this message:

“This page can not be displayed”

Even the Blogger website is filtered in this country.

However, we know how to deal with restrictions. We’ve got used to it. I called a friend and he is going to send me an EXE file to break the wall….Nothing can stop us… Nothing…


Guadalquivir said...

Are the comments blocked as well? I liked your post very much. I am reading the ''Histories'' of Herodotus right now and there are so many references to your ancient land. Cyrus, Kambyses who got mad and killed his own brother, Darius, Xerxes. These kings were so arrogant and absolute and barbarian, they could kill for nothing and at the same time so wise, so generous and humble. They could save life for nothing. An other eastern paradox I guess...

I hope you are fine in your mum's and motherland's hands.

Take Care

Anonymous said...

this place and your words are a balm. I also liked your post very much. I found a wonderful image of Tehran and I try to picture you there. I wonder where the differences are, how do the space and time categories apply, where is the alpha and the omega.
I wish you days full of fire and light. It is good to be close to the fountain. :)