Lightness of Being

Best critics of all time are invited to the premier show. No one knows who the director is. No one knows what it is about. Is it musical, comedy or drama? Is it about death or about love? They know nothing yet. That is why they come few hours earlier, they do not even want to miss the conversations before the show.

It is show time now. Everybody sits down, stage is empty, lights faint till it is absolute darkness. Then deep silence. They get excited, hold their breath and widen their eyes. Still darkness and silence, darkness and silence, darkness and silence, darkness and silence, darkness and silence. Thrilled or terrified, excited or exhausted, curious or furious, calm or warm, confident or insecure; nobody is unresponsive. CLIMAX! They are floating; no seat, no weight. Darkness, silence and lightness. It continues for a while and the show suddenly ends.
They are back to their seats. They stare at the empty stage, hours pass and still nobody has moved a muscle, no word, even not a single pulse in brain.

Tomorrow newspapers are covered with reviews and photos. Everybody has an opinion, some positive, some negative. But nobody dares to leave the first page blank. Nobody titles lightness of being.

Quick Note

For those of you who read my last post "Last Time I Cried", Ramin Jahanbegloo was released on bail a few hours ago.

I wonder if my dream was real (him telling me that he was going to be just alright).

I will erase this note soon.

Johnathan, leave.

hauling his freedom, she catwalks away.

two years have now passed and he calls it past. more years will go by and he knows it'll last. hatred and anger, love thy will be done, bling, belong, blast. premiers tuesday, 10pm central, on fox thirteen.

Johnathan is high. Throwing the remote away, he kills the tv. I lied. Johnathan's not high, just barely drunk, he's staring at the tv, holding on to the remote, defeating gravity.

Johnathan's happy. I lied, he's not, he's just not sad. He's leaving soon, a long awaited leave. He's happy, he's not, Johnathan's not sure.

Johnathan's got himself a line. He's going to go fishing, but he doesn't know how. Johnathan's lying. I am going fishing, and I've got no lines, not that I would care.

Johnathan's deranged, deprived, demotivated. Johnathan's lying, he's too excited. I lied, he's not, Johnathan's just dead. Lies, lies, everthing's a lie, Johnathan's not dead, Johnathan, johnny, can you hear me? I am not lying, Johnathan, you don't need a line, you've got what you need, Johnathan, just go. Johnathan, just leave.

leave it all behind.

Drink wine as much as you can

After a few days, I broke my vows and tuned my internet radio at work to a serious news channel. It is like always, talking about war, war and war. The reporter was saying what happened in the recent war are against laws of war and some cases should be considered as war crime. This is not a usual war, it is Barbarian war.

Oh, hold on a second, I am used to these terms but “Barbarian war”! Are you mugging me? Do I look stupid? I thought any war is barbarian. Do we have something like civilized war? Artistic war? Literally cultural war? If you are trying to make me laugh, you are genius.

Escaping from daily thought, I looked for something different among channels and there it was; Wine and Dine!
The guest speaker was saying global warming is not good for earth, because some types of grapes may lose their taste and quality. Some wine brands may be rare in future. Now we are talking. This is a serious problem.

He won't step on earth anymore

They are standing next to the wall. They have done so many crazy things together. But this time is not like any other. Xavi is sitting on the curb away from others. He hasn’t spoken since last time they were standing at the same point.
It was 37 days ago. Xavi said he wanted to practice on his jumping. He said he would jump one meter higher than what he could.
They said it is not possible. No one can do that. They ridiculed him that he cannot even jump 20cm higher. Xavi said, “I will be back the first day of summer, at noon.”
They asked how they could know he is improved. But, he was already waking away.
Xavi hasn’t talked since then.
It is now 11:53, they look at each other and frequently turn an eye toward Xavi. He is so calm, he keeps his head up and looks directly to the sun.
They know he is not like anybody else, but they still do not believe he can make it.
It is now 11:59, Xavi stands up, walk toward the wall, stares at his friends’ eyes one by one. Then he keeps his eyes fixed at sun, gets a deep breath, bends on his knees and jump up. They are shocked, he goes higher and higher. He is FALLING UP.

no title#3

After her death Anna used to come back a lot. She would just sit on the old sofa for hours, looking at the house or outside the window, several hours without a blink, or she would walk in the balcony in front of the house, back and forth , looking at the deserted road. Nothing had changed since her death 3 months ago, everything was in the same place, even the dirty plates where still in the kitchen. The candle had burnt till it had reached the candle stick, it took two and a half days for it to burn out. Pablo stayed home for those two and a half days. He sat on the old sofa, staring at the burning candle. The house was silent. Anna was on the bed, dead. It was an expected death, after a long coarse of illness. Anna had accepted its ever approaching presence, Pablo had not. It was a late Monday evening, Pablo put the plates on the table, lit up the candle, it was the last candle he found in the cabinet, he put it in the candle stick and threw the box away. Pablo called Anna. Anna came into the room, with light steps, wearing her turquoise blue dress. She looked like a fake picture in the silent house, a pretty fake picture. They sat behind the table. Anna did not eat much. Later the only thing Pablo did was to throw the food left in Anna’s plate away. He knew the smell would be unbearable. Pablo sat there on the old Sofa for two and a half days. From there he could see Anna lying on the bed. The house smelled of Anna’s perfume, before lying on the bed, she had stumbled over, and the perfume had fallen on the ground; it was broken. Pablo did not notice it then, he was humming a song about blue birds flying over never ending roads. After the candle burned out, Pablo stood up, he went into the balcony, he walked in the balcony, back and forth for four and a half days. In the middle of the fifth day, he went behind the bedroom’s window and gazed into the empty room; nothing had changed, the room was as tidy as always. Pablo looked at the road, the empty road. He came down the steps and stepped on the road…his figure getting smaller and smaller. Anna stared at Pablo’s vanishing figure from the old sofa ,it took a month for Pablo to get completely out of Anna’s sight, then Anna stood up and came to the balcony.

لیلی

خدا گفت: ليلي يك ماجراست، ماجرائي آكنده از من، ماجرائي كه بايد بسازيش
شيطان گفت: يك اتفاق است بنشين تا بيفتد
آنها كه حرف شيطان را باور كردند نشستند، و ليلي هيچ گاه اتفاق نيفتاد.مجنون اما بلند شد رفت تا ليلي را بسازد
خدا گفت: ليلي درد است، درد زادني نو
شيطان گفت: آسودگي است، خيالي است خوش
خدا گفت: ليلي رفتن است، عبور است و رد شدن
شيطان گفت: ماندن است و فرو رفتن در خود
خدا گفت: ليلي جستجوست، ليلي نرسيدن است، نداشتن و بخشيدن است
شيطان گفت: خواستن است، گرفتن و تملك
خدا گفت: ليلي سخت است، دير است و دور از دست
شيطان گفت: ساده است، همين جائي دم دست
و دنيا پر شد از ليلي ها زود، ليلي هاي ساده ي اين جائي، ليلي هاي نزديك ولحظه اي
خدا گفت: ليلي زندگي است، زيستني از نوع ديگر
ليلي جاوداني شد و شيطان ديگر نبود.مجنون زيستن را از نوعي ديگر برگزيد و مي دانست ليلي تا ابد طول مي كشد

از يك وبلاگ

What DO I want?

… You know what was wrong that resulted in unacceptable consequences? “I knew what I didn’t want, but I didn’t know what I wanted!”
I thought it couldn’t be worse. I thought any changes would make it better.

I see this pattern in my life every now and then. I can even find many outstanding events in the history of my country that follow the same rule. Few years ago, you may recall the election results that surprised every body? A friend of mine had a good explanation for that, which over time made more sense to me;
“از بغض معاويه، نه از حب على”
(people supported the elected president because they hated his opponent.)
It seems a long story is hidden behind this pattern!

I am gonna break the pattern. I will make a new model for my personal life. When something bothers me, I should figure out what about it is not right. Does the other way address the issue? What is the trade-off?
I do not complain or criticize anymore, unless I propose an alternative, a suggestion.

Introducing Nour Ensemble

In my last trip to Tehran I went to my favorite store "Beethoven" which is now in mirdamad Ave. and bought couple of CDs. Here I want to tell a little about one of them "Alba" from Nour Ensemble.
"Nour Ensemble was founded in 2000 practically for the performance of the piece entitled "Alba",a new experience in combining Persian and European music." The music is a combination of Gregorian music, "Cantigas de Santa Maria"( written during reign of Alfonso X el Sabio -1221,1284-, who was known for fostering interaction between Christian, Muslim and Jewish intellectuals), The "Llibre Vernell de Montserrati"(Red Book of Montserrat, another source of spanish religious songs, written at the end of 14th century and a mixture of popular and mystic inspirations) and Persian and Kurdish Music! (The persian poems are from Baba Taher, Rumi and Hafez and the Kurdish from Nali, Mowlavi Kurd, Vafaie ghassem Moayedzadeh and folklore texts.).
I have always loved Gregorian music( though I don't understand what they say, I just appreciate their voice as a musical instrument)and kurdish music. To me what they did is not only very meaningfull , but is also very brave!
It's interesting to know that they recorded the whole work in Ardeshir Babakan's Castle,which is 1800 year old. "What is interesting about the archtiecture is that it can neither be categorized as a Parthian nor a Sassanid style. The core of Nour Ensemble music belongs to the eastern and western traditions of the middle ages. Realizing those textures in today's world, pictures Nour as an edifice standing out among its surrounding architecture."
It is made up of nine tracks:(Alleluia, Santa Maria Amar, Villancio,Alba, Cunctissimus Concantes,Uterus, Lullaby Miragres Fremosos, Novus annus or ستایش، مریم مقدس، پایکوبی، سحر،سماع، تولد، لالایی، معجزه زیبا و فصل نو)
I really liked the music. To finish this introduction I'll quote what Hossein Alizadeh wrote after hearing this work:
!امروز نور راشنیدم
پس می توان
.سایه ها و رنگ ها را هم شنید
می توان حتی عطر گلها، شکوه درختان
.و طعم تک تک میوه ها را هم شنید
،می توان چهره، نگاه، عشق انسانها را شنید
.می توان صلح را دید
،هرکس با صدای خود چیزی را ترسیم می کند
که گویی
،آنرا قبل از تولد شنیده است
.همه همصدا می شوند، هرکس با زبان خود
.مقصد یکی است
.دنیا کوچک است و پرواز پرندگان بزرگ
تو کیستی؟ از کدام دیاری؟
.من صدای نورم، پرده یی از آرزوهای دیرین
!کاشتم عشق است به تو. تو هم بکار
،منهم کاشته م با تو
در زمین، در زمین تو
،نیایش
.و ستایش
.نه از من، نه از تو
.از او....
(I listened to Nour today,Therefore it's possible to listen to shadows and colors as well, And to listen to the splendor of the trees,and to savor of each and every fruit. You can listen to faces,looks and human love, You can see peace. Man inscribes something with his voice, as if, He had heard it before coming to this world, All voices become one, each in his own language, All reach to one. Small is the world. Yet so grand is the bird's soar. Who are you?Where do you come from? "Iam the sound of light, an act of old dreams.I sow love for you. You sow too!" So I have sown with you, In my land, in yours, Prayer and Praise, Not of me, Not of you,...of Him.)
-Translations are not from me

هر شب

پیرمرد به هیچ چیز و هیچ کس فکر نمی کند.ساعت دیواری جلوی در،عقربه هایش ثابت و بی حرکت مانده است.پیرمرد،تنها ، کنار در خانه ایستاده و به تنهایی اش فکر نمی کند. در را می بندد و وارد کوچه می شود. کوچه، خالی و تاریک و ساکت است.تنها صدا، اگر پیرمرد گوشهایش را تیز کند، خش خش آرام جاروی رفتگر است روی آسفالت سفت خیابان اصلی و صدای نفسهای پیرمرد که حالا دستش را به دیوار گرفته است و به آرامی کوچه باریک ِ بلندِ تاریک را قدم می زند.پیرمرد به تاریکی کوچه فکر نمی کند.نفس عمیق می کشد.قدمهایش محکم و آرام است.نفسهایش به سختی بالا می آید.با خس و خس سینه و احساس مداوم خفگی.پیرمرد به خفگی فکر نمی کند.
کلاه پهلوی روی سرش، یادگار قدیم است.آن روزها که کارمند اداره داریی بوده.شبیه همان کلاهی است که توی عکس سیاه و سفید عروسی به سر دارد.عروسی که سالها ، همین کوچه باریکِ بلند را ، سحر، آفتاب نزده، طی می کرده تا سنگکی سرخیابان.عروسی که برای پیرمرد عروس بود تا همین پارسال که رفت.پیرمرد حالا به عروس فکر نمی کند.به اداره دارایی و کلاه فکر نمی کند.پیرمرد به هیچ چیز و هیچ کس فکر نمی کند.
پیرمرد حالا در خیابان اصلی ، کمی پائین تر از کوچهء باریکِ بلندِ تاریک، کنار نانوایی سنگکی ایستاده است.با چراغهای خاموش و قفلهای بسته.
تک و توک چراغ روشن خیابان، کمی از تاریکی شبانه را گرفته اند.خط کشیهای سفید روی کف آسفالت خیابان، در خلوت و سکوت ، به نظاره رفتگر و پیرمرد نشسته اند. منتظر. تا آفتاب دوباره طلوع کند و باز پشتشان با سنگینی ماشینهای بزرگ و کوچکی خم شود که حامل همه بار سنگین زندگی های درهم مردم شهرند.پیرمرد ، به ماشینها فکر نمی کند و به زندگی های سنگینِ در هم و به خیابانهای شلوغِ پر ترافیک شهر.
حالا دارد به ساعت مچی اش نگاه می کند .عقربه ها ثابت و بی حرکتند.روبروی در بسته سنگکی ایستاده و با خس و خس سینه نفسهای عمیق می کشد و به عقربه ها نگاه می کند . رفتگر، جارو به دوش، به طرف پیرمرد می آید.لباسهای نارنجی اش چروک و کثیف است ولی لبخند صورتش را پوشانده است. از دور دستش را برای پیرمرد در هوا تکان می دهد.پیرمرد به دست رفتگر فکر نمی کند و به نانوایی سنگکی بسته.نفس عمیق می کشد.برمی گردد و دوباره وارد کوچه تاریکِ بلند می شود.رفتگر می ایستد.جاروش را به زمین تکیه می دهد و به آرامی سرش را به دو طرف تکان می دهد و می خندد.
پیرمرد دست به دیوار کوچهء تاریکِ خالیِ ساکت را بر می گردد.در خانه را باز می کند.روی مبل قدیمی کنار در می نشیند و کلاهش را روی پاهایش می گذارد.نفس عمیق می کشد ومنتظر، به عقربه های ثابت ساعت دیواری روبرو نگاه می کند.پیرمرد به انتظار،به تاریکی ، به عقربه ها، به تنهایی و به نفس کشیدن فکر نمی کند.رفتگر، اما، به پیرمرد فکر می کند.

Land of virtues

Although it was our first visit, he welcomed me into his office quite warmly. He left his leather chair quickly, walked toward me, shook my hand firmly, put his left palm behind my right arm, and directed me to a beautiful armed chair in front of a big mahogany desk and immidiately poured two cups of flavored tea.
He was about 45 year olds, 175-cm tall, bald in front and with neat short hair cut on the sides. His bright complexion, mild smile and trimmed beard had relaxing influence on me. As I had just heard, he was a charismatic person. He spoke distinctly, quoting often from noble men and holy books.
We talked about politics, culture, new technologies, business, history, books and nature. But apparently nothing interested him more than family values and social affairs.
Around noon, he excused me that he had to leave me alone for half an hour to pick up his daughter from school.
I was naughtily curious about him. First I checked his professional licenses, awards and recognition plates on the wall. Then a huge book on his desk took my attention. It was an encyclopaedia. It didn’t look much used. Just few pages were really worn out! It was the human anatomy section. He had highlighted all FUCK and SEX words!

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Exudations of a schizoid mind

You were standing right behind me, I could even see a vague shadow of your silhouette, I could definitely feel you breath, warm and moist. You were standing right behind me, but you did not say a word. You just watched me burning and suffering and you did not say a word. You were anxious, I could feel the flow of sentiments moving through your body. I could smell your disbelief, a thick fume covering you. But nothing, no movement, no word. An anxious observation. You were standing so close, I could feel your body against my body at times, the thin air between us. I screamed and you were there, I bent over, you did not move, I called your name, Did you hear me? Did you hear my voice in your anxious moments? You were paralyzed by them, by their looks, by each movement, by each breath. You were just behind me, when my voice was silenced, when silence drew me,all of me, the last thing I felt was the warm moist of your breath on my skin. All along I knew this would happen, all along you couldn’t believe the end, you were always dissociated from reality, you had always this problem with accepting the reality of this harsh, brutal existence, you were always that little optimistic creature full of dreams and hopes. You were standing right behind me, you could smell iron, nothing was more real than my blood smelling like iron evaporating into the space, and still…
When I fell down, you were there, face to face with them, you were face to face with your illusions, voiceless, motionless, standing there alone, amid all the colorful realities.

از وبلاگ نیلوفر و بودنش

... باز هم

عادت کرده ایم.بیش از ده سال است که عادت کرده ایم. ولی هنوز هم گریه مان می گیرد.هنوز هم بغض می کنیم.غصه می خوریم و آرزو می کنیم همه چیز درست بشود که نمی شود. اولین میهمانی خداحافظی را سال اول دانشگاه رفتم. داشتند وسائلشان را می بستند.همدیگر را بغل کردیم و قول دادیم .بعد که آمدیم بیرون توی ماشین زدیم زیر گریه. بیشترین تعداد مهمانی خداحافظی را بعد از سال آخر دانشگاه رفتیم. آن روزها که پذیرشها می رسید و همه یکی یکی می رفتند.آن روزها که آنقدر تعداد رفتن ها زیاد شده بود که وقتی می گفتیم ما فعلا قصد رفتن نداریم برای همه عجیب بود. چقدر دل کندیم؟ باز دوست شدیم و باز دل کندیم؟ انگار این میهمانیهای خداحافظی تمامی ندارند.هنوز دوستانمان می روند و ما از رو نمی رویم باز دوست می شویم ٬ با هم خاطره درست می کنیم تا بعد این رفتنها باز هم برایمان بغض بیاورد و باز توی ماشین موقع رفتن گریه کنیم. خسته شدیم. مگر قرار نبود همه با هم بزرگ شویم ؟که بچه دار شویم؟که بچه هایمان با هم همبازی شوند؟ که با هم باشیم؟ حالا آلبومهایان پر شده از دوستانی که دیگر نیستند. شاید چند ماهی یک بار ایمیلی بزنیم و یا تلفنی و همین. خسته شدیم از این عادت کردنهایمان به این میهمانی های شب آخر خداحافظی. خسته شدیم از اینهمه خداحافظی. از اینکه آنها که دوستشان می داریم می روند.کانادا و آمریکا و استرالیا و...حتی دوبی. خسته شدیم از اینکه هیچ چیز ماندگار نیست. به دوستان ۳۰ ساله پدر و مادرمان و میهمانیهای ماهیانه شان حسرت می خوریم. فکر میکنیم هرگز ممکن نیست دوباره دور هم جمع شویم. ما آروز داشتیم دوستانمان کنارمان بمانند. ظاهرا آروزی بزرگی بود. دیشب یکی دیگرشان رفت.حالا باز عکسهایمان را گذاشته ایم نگاه می کنیم.شاید بهتر باشد دیگر به کسی دل نبندیم.

سه شنبه، 31 مرداد، 1385 - نیلوفر

30 Year Old Child

It is said the first few years of childhood is so crucial. A newborn infant observes the world just as a camera does, without any sense of self-existence. While survival is the ultimate and the only goal of life, a needy child may die or get permanent damage if she does not receive enough strokes.
In the first few years, neural cells grow connections, feelings and emotions develop, and muscles and bones get strength. Gradually, mutual relationship makes sense and social contacts are made. Basic image of the outer world is understood and this primitive perception of existence guides the little child not even through teen ages but also through the rest of her life.
If not impossible, it is very complicated to renovate low self-esteem and negative self-confidence of a person who was maltreated before the age of three. So almost every grown up needs to reassess her mindset over and over again.

That is funny, but I experienced all of the above at the age of 30! A 30 year-old child! That is what happened to me as an immigrant.
Now I need to revise my last four years over and over again.

johnny, where art thou?

oh sweet portlant, loved your willamette, loved your brewery below that bridge, fields of hillcrest, cute coffee shops, wonderful people. remember that time? when i looked at her in the chilling water of crater lake? oh sweet portland, you're too good for me, too nice, too sweet.

oh my dearest saint of the cities, cutest of all, san francisco. how many evenings on your wicked heights, your grizzly peaks, watching the sunsets... you look so free, you look full of life, under your piers, inside the starbucks on union square, where i spent days watching happy gays smile at the barista when they picked their red cups. you know i love you, but you're too free, you'll never be mine. i'll never be yours, i shall visit soon.

vegas, you're a whore, i could party hard with you, but we could never talk.

you lot love me not, tampa, phoenix, atlanta, highlands, charlotte, houston too. i was raised elsewhere, i can't be you guys. glad we all met, glad you're all set. aurevoir people, auf wiedersehen. some day you will know, or maybe i'll know, till then, tschuss, ciao, peace, out.

my lord, my dream, once my destiny, new york new york. respect. i signed my vow and sealed a pact, you're the beast, the god, the genesis, you're infinity, you're the hell frozen over. i'm not ready yet, one day i will be, one day i shall be. one day i shall come, when i grow up, when i grow cold.

hola diego, yes you, i don't do minors, but i like you too. you're hip, and you know it. stay cool.

one day it's new york, one day chicago. sometimes it's portland, sometimes san fran. it's ugly, it's neat, it's big, it's really big. millionaires driving by, homeless guys all over. there's a gay bar down the street, and there's nothing else. there's a mosque next to the star, there's a dirty lebanese cafe underneath that new starbucks. it's dry and it's by the ocean. it's a big city full of small people. it's me and you and everybody else, it's nobody. noone's alien, noone's welcome, noone's not welcome.
it's just like life, one day it's great, one day horrible. identity is its middle name, its got plenty, a little of bit of each, one piece at a time. don't we all?

i'll live in la, that's where johnny lives.

Los Angles

I just felt that I should write more about Los Angeles. I lived a year in Los Angles and I felt like desribing it a little bit. No oposition to all your ideas about the US and L.A. at all. I just want to write about little things that I enjoyed in L.A.

You might have heard the traffic in L.A. It totally remind me of Tehran. Not only because of the traffic but because you notice people that do not want to exit but they take the right. Remeber in Tehran Freeways the right lane was usually the fastets! :)
However bearing L.A. traffic is much easier. I used to listen my favoriate Radio Station 95.5
Specially in the morning there is a funny talk show. Unlike Tehran I do not remember getting angry in L.A. Traffic! (Oh The last place I was working at before leaving Tehran was in Jomhori and there was a period that my sound system was stollen, I was training my voice (!) in the car all the time! but sometime it was hard to entertain yourself.)

Those of you who travelled/lived in L.A. might not get a chance to go to the downtown (it is not a popular place.) There is cathedral in downtown that has a modern Architecture. There is a wall in the cathedral/church that displays the pictures of missing/killed/raped children. You can light a candle for their memories...

My favorate part of the city is Brentwood (it is a city in west L.A.). There is a coffee shop on the intersection of Barrington and I think sunset. It is a chain but locating in the heart of Brentwood it has a character. and it opens till 12:00 every single night of the week! (may be in your towns it is the same but many places that I lived it is hard to find a live place @ 12:00am)

I used to ride bus in the west L.A. man you all kinds of people there. There was a russian rather old man that I used to see a lot and off course west L.A. is the heart of Iranina community you see a lot Persian speaking people too.

And ... one of the main attraction as you know ;) movie :D
there was a movie rental for 99c ( ;) ) that we used to rent movie. Hey! finally a no-chain! place with an Asian/American owner who had a very special way of organizing the store. Viva Los Angeles!

Seema story(1)

It seems so distant now. She was standing by the pool in her white gown. She looked back and for a moment just enjoyed the fine needlepoint lace of her gown. It was thoroughly her night. Among the guests there were more than fifty people that she loved by heart and it was wonderful to have all those dear ones around her. There was nothing that could ruin the night. She could see Saeed on another table not too far making remarks that raised a laugh from the group of his friends. No doubt that he was social but on that night anybody would laugh at his remarks to make him happy.

It seems so distant now. Saeed was holding her hand when they were dancing to his favorite song: “Do you remember the night we were passing the forests? Do you remember the night we were writing our memories on tree trunks?” She had heard a lot about a wedding night but she did not think that it could be as special as hers. Was it the best night of her life? It was hard for her to answer this question but sure it was one of the bests. Saeed was singing the song himself he had a soft voice. Does he still have it? She could not remember the last time that she heard him singing. She could not believe how things changed. Now the wedding night seems like a far away history, as if somebody else was acting it, as if it was a movie that she watched once!

Saeed just left home after a fight and Seema was thinking of not letting him in again. “I can not bear him now,” She was thinking, ”if he comes in I will kill myself. I do not have anywhere to go. He has his friends that he can stay with. He has to give me a break at least.”

to be cnt ...

P.S. about the web log : I like to be able to search the posts. is that possible?
and about L.A. sorry but I love L.A. however the good news is that not more than San Diego ;) :)

a comment by Baran: "Avadhuta Gita"

The Avadhuta Gita is a text of Vedanta representing extreme Advaita or Nondualism. It is ascribed to Dattatreya, who is looked upon as an Incarnation of God. Unfortunately we possess no historical data concerning when or where he was born, how long he lived, or how he arrived at the knowledge disclosed in the text.

Avadhuta means a liberated soul, one who has "passed away from" or "shaken off" all worldly attachments and cares and has attained a spiritual state equivalent to the existence of God. Though avadhuta naturally implies renunciation, it includes an additional and yet higher state which is neither attachment nor detachment but beyond both. An avadhuta feels no need of observing any rules, either secular or religious. He seeks nothing, avoids nothing. He has neither knowledge nor ignorance. Having realized that he is the infinite Self, he lives in that vivid realization."They say this text belongs to 2000-3000years ago.

I found an interesting english link :
http://www.starwon.com.au/~soham/avadhuta/chap01.htm

(it's the english version)I have the persian translation from "nashre Saless"

I'll have a new post soon!

"One thing that I will never do is to repeat myself on anything so the new ones are rarely as popular- People always want a story like the last one."

To Maxwell Perkins, 1932
Selected Letters, p. 377
"Ernest Hemingway on Writing"

How may I lose something I have never had?

Among so many good things I've ever dreamed of, I dared to follow few.
I lost all those things I could have, but I never persued.

It's a sad day when you find out that it's not accident or time or
fortune, but just yourself that kept things from you.
Lillian Hellman

Childless (4)

The surprisingly thick glasses cover almost half of her face. Her zoomed eyes are slightly squint, but still bright and curious. She is now showing something to her bigger brother out there from the window. You wonder what it is. They are both so excited. Next moment she is doing some acrobatic movements when the bus makes a sudden stop. She almost falls before her father catches her and asks her to sit straight. She is looking around, still having the naughty but innocent look on her face. For few seconds she seems to be staring at you. You smile, and feel out of breath. Her mother is now hugging her brother affectionately.

He presses his ears on her bumped stomach, caressing it, kissing it and making noises with his mouth on it, as if he is communicating with a deaf-blind, through a balloon. For how long have I been dreaming of this! Putting ears on your stomach, and listening to the tiny creature whose seed I've planted there. In the womb of my beloved woman shall grow the most beautiful creature, because we made love and pleaded to have it. Her hand petting his hair is enough to make him the happiest man on the entire planet.

The room is dark. It's a long time since the sun has set. You are sitting there alone, embracing your knees, gazing at the empty space.

Johnny needs a fast car

johnny's got a big fat belly and a big bald head. johnny's got no money but he ain't poor either. johnny's come a long long way, somewhere along which johnny's lost a dream. johnny's got a mission : johnny drives trucks, big old noisy ones, he crosses the land, the deserts and the fields, seeking his dream. johnny ain't no fool, johnny's got a gun.

johnny likes it big. johnny's got the heart of a lion, eyes of an eagle and fists of a bear. johnny never cries, johnny rarely sighs. johnny's got it all.

johnny's got a secret, a big old dark one, johnny doesn't like : johnny's not himself.

Johnathan is tall. He's got soft palms. He's a barista in this coffee shop around the corner, he makes espressos. Johanathan is gay, but he doesn't know. Jonathan's not shy, but he seldom talks. He worries too much, johnny's in his head.

I am here by choice, not by force

Having come back from Iran after a two-week trip, Buddy was as fascinated as Archimedes, crying “Eureka! Eureka!”
Buddy couldn’t wait to share his new discovery with me. Finally, he had found the answer to his old dilemma.

“I did never understand what MAAM-e-MIHAN means, till yesterday. It is the best you can call your home country,” he opened the conversation. “Your home country is like your mom. You know she has many weaknesses and faults, but you love her. You never think of changing your mom!”

Few months later, I moved to U.S. and he moved back to Iran. Four years passed then and I have never doubted Buddy’s brainy statement. I love my home country and I will, forever, though I didn’t choose it.

Now I live far from MAAM-e-MIHAN. I wanna be here by choice, not by force.

Last Time I cried

I waited for you, for very long. And last night you came.

I hugged you and you held me tight in your strong arms. I cried.

You looked young and happy. You looked whole and I cried.

Last night I cried.

The last time I cried, I could see the people
Long ago in the rain,
Waiting as the soldiers put them all on a train,
And the hands on the bars, the eyes full of tears,
And the word is the same, for a thousand years

Last night I cried when I woke up and couldn't see your face.

Last night I cried, in my dreams, when you came to tell me, it will all be ok.

Last night I cried because theyhave put you away and nothing is ever ok.

گذران روز

هنری جاناتان اینگریم حدود ساعت یازده وارد رستورانی شد. در خیابان نفسکی، تا چیزمختصری بخورد و از احساس گرسنگی که کم کم داشت به سراغش می آمد جلوگیری کند.بهترین راه اینه که آدم فورا تکلیف این حالت رو معلوم کنه و اون وقت تکلیفش با روزی که درپیش داره معلومه.نیم ساعت بعد خودش رو تقویت کرده بود و از ر ستوران آمد بیرون.به چند فروشگاه سرزد . چیزهایی هم پیدا کرد که ارزش خریدن داشت.ساعت که دوازده و نیم شد، رفت به رستورانی در خیابان نفسکی، چون خدا می دونه که آدم بتونه به این سرعت این دور و برها به رستوران پیدا کنه.خودش هم تعجب می کند که فقط کناره های شنیتسل را بریده بود و گفت که صورت حساب را بیاورند.بعد دوباره یاد رستوران اولی افتاد.هنوز یک عالم از روز را پیش رو داشت.

اثر اینگو شولتسه Ingo Schulze

نویسنده معاصر آلمانی -اهل آلمان شرقی

از مجموعه داستان 33 لحظه خوشبختی

ترجمه محمود حسینی زاد

Prelude

brace yourselves.

what blog? what words? what bland sequence of letters is going to help anyone feel any better? words are cheap, action speaks louder. i made a promise, but it broke.

what action? what feeling? what the hell, of all the people i shall choke.

Jonathan, it's time.

Interview with Bahar (Radio Farda)

Listen here
I think what you are doing is great Bahar!Good luck!

Bahar's interview brought back some uncomfortable thoughts I was trying to avoid for a long time:

Am I really a citizen of this country? I’m using its resources, paying taxes and obeying its laws. Yet, I refuse to put any energy or thought into improving my environment. And even the smallest notion of that kind makes me feel that I am being unloyal to my home country. I wonder if I’m denying my own existence this way. Maybe that’s the curse of immigrants…

If you had controling parents!

Mixed messages, two-faced behavior, dysfunctional communication, outright denial, emotional dumping, intimidation, scapegoating, emotional strings, infantilization, parentification, erratic behavior, projection, triangulation, martyrdom, food control, thought control, depriving, confusing and manipulation are just some of the terms I learned from “If You Had Controlling Parents”, a very fruitful book by Neuharth, Ph.D.

How many of them look familiar to you? If you think only few of them, I confess I used to think so, but a short description of each term in the whole concept reveals the opposite. I have experienced all.

The title of the book is odd enough to blow anybody who I recommend the book. Most find me even irritating. Parent in general is not our natural parent by birth. As the author states it is an adult who exerted the most significant control over our childhood. And I believe in the culture I was raised this includes not only many people, but also many beliefs and upbringing condition.

Next time you are checking some books in your local bookstore, find this book and check few pages. On pages 100-102, parallels between destructive cults and controlling families are compared, which I just bring some lines about controlling families;
1. Manipulating of Feelings
- Parents give approval when pleased but withhold affections when displeased
- Parents ridicule or forbid children’s “unacceptable” emotions such as anger, sadness, or fear while exhorting children to be “proper”
2. Manipulating of Behavior
- Parents control children’s sleep, diet, privacy, dress, access to information, activities, and relationships
- Excessive chores, lectures, repetitive clichés or family rituals keep children preoccupied
- Parents scapegoat and play children off against each other
- Parents stress compliance to rules and rituals that, no matter how mundane or odd, must be followed to the letter
- Parents silence disagreements by labelling dissent as a “sin”
3. Manipulating of Thinking
- Parents foster “Truth Abuse” by denying their destructive actions and being unwilling to discuss them even years later
- Parental needs, morals or relationships are seen as all-important
- Parents have little tolerance for the grey areas in life
- Parents confuse their children with mixed messages or simply answer, “Because I say so”
4. Manipulating of Relationships
- Parents violate children’s privacy by searching rooms, opening doors without warning, or eavesdropping
- Families tend to be socially isolated, jealously guard “family secrets,” and harshly judge “different” types of people
- Parents feel they own their children and can treat them as they like
- Parents rarely admit their mistakes
- Parents treat their children as second-class citizens
- Parents see children’s desire for independence as a rejection of parents
5. Manipulating of Identity and Sense of Self
- Families are organized to protect and serve the parents, not to optimise individual growth
- Children feel disloyal when acting or feeling different than parents
- Parents criticize their children’s character or nature, rather than their actions

Now, you tell me whether you have experienced any of them in school, on TV, in your family, or anywhere else. Check all your great historical back ground.

تا سال هفت -2 - پایان

ساعت 7 شب است و علی هنوز نیامده است . من داخل انباری تاریکمان را ازلای در نیمه بازش نگاه مبکنم . لامپ 100 وات راهرو نیمی از داخل انباری را روشن کرده است . رختخوابهای روی هم چیده شده کنار دیوار نیمی از فضای داخل انباری را گرفته است . چراغ خوراک پزی گوشه ی دیوار است، درست بغل موتورخانه .با کتری و قوری رویش که در این تاریکی معلوم نیست.لباسهای تو را کنار رختخوابها در ساک کوچک هدیه عروسی ام گذاشته ام که میدانم چقدر دوستش داری. و چقدر خوشحالی که از جمع سه نفری ما تنها تویی که لباسهایت را با خودت به انباری آورده ای . من به دنبال تلفن انباری کوچک و تاریکمان را نگاه میکنم که روی تل رختخوابهاست .ساکت و تاریک . من به تو هیچ نمیگویم که ته دلم چفدر میخواهد که این دستگاه ساکت و تاریک زنگ بزند .و تو هم نمیدانی که چرا زنگ نمیزند. روزی که علی تصمیم گرفت ما به انباری بیاییم تو مثل همیشه بالا و پائین پریدی و ذوق کردی.اول فقط شبها بود ولی نوکه خودت علی را میشناسی با نقل مکان کردن آقای جلیلی، علی هم تصمیم گرفت ما ، روزهایمان را هم وقتی کار ضروری بالا نداریم پایین بگذرانیم. تو زندگی در انباری به دور از مدرسه را خیلی دوست داشتی . من گریه میکردم . و من خوشحالم که تو نفهمیدی من چرا گریه میکردم . رفتی و به علی گفتی که من دلم برای مادربزرگ تنگ میشود. من با همه ی بغض گلویم گفته بودم که دلم برای مادربزرگ تنگ میشود .علی لبهایش را گزیده بود . انباری و خانه که با هم فرقی نداشتند. هردوشان به یک اندازه از مادربزرگ در شمال دور بود و تو در چواب علی که گفته بود: " مادربزرگت اگه خیلی دلش به حال دخترش میسوخت میذاشت شماها برین شمال پیشش ." در چشمهایت اشک جمع شده بود و گفته بودی:" انباری تلفن نداره که مامان بتونه با مامان بزرگ حرف بزنه." اینها را علی برایم گفت . و تو نمیدانی که اشک چشمهایت با علی چه میکند . بلند ترین سیم دنیا را میخرد و برای انباری ما تلفن میکشد. و حالا درست ساعت 7 شب تلفن ساکت و تاریک به من نگاه میکند و سایه ی چرخیدن تو از مقابل نور لامپ آن را روشن و خاموش میکند. در این 2 هفته که ما ساکن انباری شده ایم تو هر روز خندیده ای . تو عاشق زندگی انباری هستی . تو عاشق صبحانه خوردن های دسته جمعی با همسایه ها و شستن ظرفها در کنار هم هستی . و حاضر نیستی حتی برای حمام کردن از انباری خارج شوی . من و فریبا هر روز برایت توضیح میدهیم که بعد از هر بار که آژیر سفید زدند بهترین موقع است برای اینکه ما برویم بالا و حمام کنیم و وسائل مورد نیازمان را برداریم . ولی تو دوست داری همین جا در انباری حمام کنی چون اینجا هیج شیشه ای ندارد. میدانم چقدر از پنجره ها میترسی، وقتی با هر موشکی که به زمین میخورد تکان میخورند. میدانم شیشه های کلاس مدرسه تان 3 هفته پیش شکست. ولی تو که آنجا نبودی.تو صحیح و سالم در پناهگاه مدرسه بودی و فقط کیف مدرسه ات پاره شد . من میدانم که چقدر کیف کلاس اولت را دوست داشتی . من و علی قول داده ایم وقتی دوباره مدرسه ها باز شد برایت عین همان کیف را بخریم . همانطور که قول داده ایم علی امشب قبل از ساعت 7 بیاید . و تلفن ساکت هم خبر میدهد که او خواهد آمد. علی در راه است . ما رادیو را روشن نمیکنیم . دلیلی ندارد. من به هیچ کدام از همسایه های ساکن انباری اجازه نمیدهم رادیو را روشن کنند . ما بدون اینکه بی خودی نگران این باشیم که آخرین موشک امروز به کجا خورده است در راهرو به انتظار علی ایستاده ایم . همه از انباری های کوچک و نم کشیده شان بیرون آمده اند و جلوی در ایستاده اند و در سکوت تو را نگاه میکنند. خودت همه شان را دعوت کردی . در اتاق همه شان را زدی با دندانهای افتاده جلویت به شان لبخند زدی و دعوتشان کردی . و هر کدامشان که خندید و به تو تبریک گفت تو از خوشحالی از در انباری او تا ته راهرو ،کنار در موتورخانه ،دویدی و هورا کشیدی. تو با مداد رنگی های قرمز و صورتی و زردت روی کاغذهای دفتر نقاشی ات گلهای رنگی کشیدی و همه آنها را به دیوار راهروی انباری ها چسباندی و همه اهل انباری ها را خنداندی . تو، تنها ساکن خوشحال انباریها هستی . و همه با خوشحالی تو میخندند. حتی همین فریبا خانم حاضر شد 3 ساعت تمام، امروز صبح بالا برود و برای تو با فرآَشپزخانه اش کیک درست کند.کیک تولد تو بدون حتی یک آژیر قرمز پف کرد . طلایی شد . و ما حالا کیک را گذاشته ایم روی چهارپایه کنار در موتورخانه و خودمان به در انباریهایمان تکیه داده ایم و به تو نگاه میکنیم که در سکوت راهروی انباریها در بین عکس گلهای رنگی دیوار دور خودت میچرخی و می رقصی و خوشحالی و برای بریدن کیکت تنها یه انتظار علی مانده ای . ساعت 7 شب است .من برایت دست میزنم .فریبا هم دست میزند و خانم ترابی هم و بعدش آقای جلیلی و به دنبال او همه ساکنین انباریها برای تولد تو دست میزنند.7 سال پیش درست ساعت 7 شب .تو قشنگ ترین و کوچکترین موجود روی زمین بودی .درست ساعت 7 شب . اینکه به خاطر بمباران هوایی دکتر نیامده بود اصلا مهم نبود . پرستارها بودند و علی بود . با لباس سربازی و موهای کوتاه شده اش . و تو چقدر شبیه علی بودی... با وجودی که برق بیمارستان هم رفته بود و صدای ضد هوایی از هر چیزی بلند تر بود من تو و علی را میدیدم که شبیه هم بودید و با هم گریه میکردید . تو از ته دلت جیغ میکشیدی و علی از ته دلش هق هق میکرد و من خوشبخت ترین زن دنیا بودم.علی آمده بود .علی سرباز بود و از جبهه آمده بود. هیچ وقت نفهمیدم چطور شد که آمد . این 7 سال همیشه میگفت که به من و تو قول داده که برای تولدت می آید و آمده است . او 7 سال است ساعت 7 شب برای تولدت می آید. تو میدانی که وقتی جایی را موشک میزنند اطرافش چقدر شلوغ میشود . من میدانم علی در شلوغی جایی در بین راه گیر افتاده است . تو نیازی نیست نگران پنجره ها باشی. تو برقص. تو با صدای دست زدن ما اهالی انباری ها که در تولد 7 سالگی ات شرکت کرده ایم برقص و خوشحال باش .همه ی ساختمانها مثل مدرسه شما اینقدر پنجره ندارد .و علی هرجا که باشد حتما میتواند یک پناهگاه پیدا کند .پناهگاههایی که درست مثل همین انباری ما هیچ پنجره ای ندارد. بعد از رفتن علی ،من هر روز صبح برایت توضیح میدهم که چرا ما باید در انباری بمانیم و علی هر روزصبح باید برود . تو صبحها بد اخلاق میشوی و به حرفهای من گوش نمیکنی . ولی الان روز تولد تو است پس بد اخلاق نباش و برقص . ما برای بریدن کیک تولدت تا آمدن علی صبر میکنیم . حتی اگر ساعت از 7 گذشته باشد.

تا سال هفت-1

ساعت 7 شب است .تو روبروی من ایستاده ای و میخندی .دستهای کوچکت را در هوا تکان میدهی و دور خودت میچرخی .من برایت دست میزنم و تو میخندی . هوا دم کرده است و بوی نا میدهد . ما ، همگی در راهروی انباری ها جمع شده ایم . نور لامپ 100 وات وسط راه رو، تنها روشنایی ماست ولی برای دیدن تو که میخندی کافی است . انتهای راهرو در موتور خانه ساختمان است .صدای بلند پمپ آب و بوی خفیف دود که در فضا پیچیده گواه حضور دیگهای آب و روشن بودن مشعل موتور خانه است . همه ی ما ،به غیر از علی در راه رو جلوی در انباری هایمان جمع شده ایم. علی به تو قول داده و زیر قولش نمیزند . من مطمدنم که زیر قولش نمیزند 7 سال است که مطمئنم.علی می آید .ساعت 7 شب است و علی می آید . او همیشه ساعت 7 شب می آبد . 7 سال پیش هم آمد . به من قول داده بود که می آید به تو هم قول داده بود .گرچه میدانم حرفهایش را به خاطر نداری . تو نمی شنیدی ولی من به جایت شنیدم . لباس سربازی اش را پوشیده بود .عکسش را دیده ای .همان عکسی که دوست داریم ،علی با لباس سربازی و کلاه . تو نمیشنیدی .علی میخواست که بشنوی بلند گفت سرش را پائین آورد وسعی کرد گوش ات را پیدا کند . کتابهای پزشکی میگفت سرت پائین پائین است .بعد بلند گفت که میآید . قول داد. و 7 سال پیش ساعت 7 شب دیگر خودت بودی که ببینی آمد . گرچه یادت نمیآید .مهم نیست که دیر کرده است .به هر حال تو که خودت میدانی اوضاع خیابانها چطور است .
ساعت 7 شب است . تو می رقصی . تو به تنهایی در راهروی انباری ها میرقصی و دامن چین دار صورتی ات با هر بار چرخیدنت بالا میرود و رانهای باریک و کوجکت و زانوهای خاکی ات را به همه نشان میدهد.فریبا خانم کنار من جلوی در انباری ما ایستاده و لبش را به دندان میگیرد و آهسته زیر گوش من میگوید:
" قباحت داره .درسته هنوز به سن تکلیف نرسیده ولی ماشاالله درشته . برو لباسش رو عوض کن"
من به حرفهای فریبا خانم عادت دارم . تو هیچ قصه نخور.بچرخ و دامن صورتی ای را که دوست داری بپوش. تو بچرخ و دستهایت را بالا ببر حتی اگر هیچ صدایی نباشد .حتی اگر همه ی ما ساکت، کنار در انباریمان ایستاده باشیم و تنها صدایی که سکوتمان را بشکند صدای پمپ آب موتورخانه باشد .این پمپها آب گرم را در لوله هایی که از بالای سرما میگذرد تا پره های شوفاژ های داخل خانه ها میبرد تا خانه های خالی ما را گرم کند . و برای حمام های خالی مان آب گرم ببرد . لوله های آب درست از بالای سر ما از سقف راهروی انباری ها رد شده است . گچ های نم کشیده و زرد شده سقف زیرزمین گواه وجود لوله هاست . لوله های گرمی که در این زمستان سرد فضای زیر زمین را بدون وجود پره های شوفاژ برای همه ما گرم کرده است. و تو میتوانی به راحتی دامن صورتی ات را بپوشی و از خوشحالی برقصی .ساعت 7 شب است و علی هنوز نیامده است .....ادامه دارد

from a BOAT (5)

1300 hrs Saturday 12th:
Outside is pretty gloomy and wet and I’m writing from the comfort of my cabin here. There’s something about the colour grey that I find difficult to describe. It feels somehow dreary and cold; yet it’s very real.
I don’t know if you have ever experienced this, but when I come across all the bright and lively colours of red and orange, all the bubbly things, the excitements and amusements, all the happiness and joy that matters; there I sense an element of being momentary and untrue withinside, the feeling of something being deceivingly fabricated to briefly distract me from all the unpleasant reality woven into the very fabric of the existence – like a cheap and trivial conspiracy. Do other people think like that or it’s only me having this phobia for all the earthly pleasures? Is it the result of pessimism and cultural submissiveness that I have accumulated in myself from my people’s heritage of hundreds of years? Is it because I belong in a desert where everybody’s been waiting for the rain (and the light) that never came? Is that why I lost faith?

some facts

In my opinion in this era still our attitude towards people with psychological and mental disorders is full of flaws. Indeed we are far away from brutality of the past towards these people, but we still consider them most of the time "bad" or even "guilty" or "weak" or...Our view is still judgmental in many aspects, even though we may not confess to it. What I am trying to say is that we don't look at these people as patients, like a diabetic patient or people with disorders in which their own role has been far less than what we think.
Let me make myself clear with a few examples:
exe1: Studies have shown that the rate of concordance in monozygotic twins for Bipolar disease is nearly 0.8 but for dizygotic twins it is nearly 0.2. Ok :) let me explain that , first of all monozygotic twins means they have the same genetic pool, dizygotic means they genetically differ like other siblings, but it is more likely that they have been in the same environment, because they were the same age and in same situations and...Now bipolar disease is when a person has phases of depression and mania, and finally the concordance rate here means simply: if a a person has bipolar disease 80% of the times his/her monozygotic twin also has the disease compared to 20% in dizygotic twins; hence the importance of genetics.
The same thing is true for depression( the numbers are a bit different) or schizophrenia or many other disorders.
Ex2: If you take the child of an alcoholic parent at time of birth and give the child to a very normal well behaved healthy family, the chances of him/her becoming an alcoholic is much higher than other children in that family.
A very important fact is that it is well proven that a lot of what goes on in our lives is related to our childhood experiences, even some say the first year of the life is the most important in determining how you'll be in rest of your life, and it's not that hard to acknowledge you have little control on what you'll go through as a child. Then as adults we act out our defense mechanisms which come from our unconscious part.( you can only call an action defense mechanism if it's done unconsciously; and believe me those mechanisms are so complicated and they are too many, we are constantly using them in our everyday life.)
What I am trying to say is that in many cases the person's role in his/her condition is much less thant what we think ( of course it's not zero, but is a diabetics role in his/her disease progression zero? I know that here we face another matter, the harm that can be done to society and people but let's not get into it...)
Another very important thing in my opinion is not to forget that psychology is also a science, so it's not always that easy to make judgments and conclusions about what we see, i.e its not really that easy to say that some pattern is a normal or an abnormal behavior. Here comes another example, well consider this: a 40 year old very successful businessman who has a perfect relationship with his wife and children in all aspects and I want to say that again , in "all" aspects, now you find out that the man does masturbation really often, too many times a week, is he normal or abnormal? Well my first reaction was of course something is wrong with him, there should be a problem, he should do something about it...But masturbation is considered completely normal, with no age limits( yes "no" age limits!From an infant to an old person) unless it is causing some harm or problem in person's life or relationships, if it's not altering anything, it's normal, no matter how often the person does it.
One last point: A few years ago a research was done, comparing schizophrenics in the states and as far as I remember in a very simple village in India. Well it turned out that the schizophrenics in that poor area were in much better situation regarding their disease. The researchers didn't believe their results. Something had to be wrong!!So they studied all the aspects of their research looking for possible bias, and they repeated the research last year, of course they got the same results. And now they know why: back there in that village schizophrenics are still a part of society, they are not isolated, they may not have access to all these new medications but they work, they attend parties, ceremonies and social events , they even get married to people in their own level...And hence they don't deteriorate as fast ,they even get better in many cases.

The future of the past

I am obsessively organized. I think of anything in advance and anticipate any possible situations. Rarely does something surprise me. And it has been like that since I recall.
Everything in my life was planned and my life is still the same; many short-term plans, a few mid-term plans and a couple of long-term plans.

But I have never lived at the present moment. Today is “the future of my past”. What I am doing now is what I decided to do long time ago.

Many other things hold me off being free; run-away thoughts, unfinished past experiences, good or bad memories, culture and family connections, social bonds, the values and beliefs I was raised with, works I have to do next week, mortgage, …

I am preoccupied. It can be good, it can be bad.

no title #2

B always forgets everything easily. She has only one aim “to always be happy, satisfied and energetic.” Even if there is nothing to be happy about, or if her life is full of worrisome problems and knots. B leaves the town after 3 years, she was already calling town A home, but after so many unsuccessful events, she left town A to look for her luck in town B. Two weeks after she came to town B, she told M how happy and blessed she is, how depressed she had been in town A for the past few months and how she has begun to reach peace of mind here in town B. M only said:” I am so happy for you.” Four months later B goes back to town A, her visa is limited. She had one more big bad news before leaving. A few hours after she has reached “home” in town A , she calls M to tell her how happy she is to be there, and how much she loves there, M is silent, so B thinks maybe that’s rude and adds that everything is wonderful except that she misses M and H. The next day as if she doubts M’s comprehension she calls again just to tell M that she misses M and H but Oh dear God how much she loves town A and even though she hasn’t gone outside but she doesn’t want to leave town A any more. M says:”I am so happy for you.”
M clearly remembers what B had said after receiving the last bad news, half an hour after hearing the news, B took a shower and came out laughing and announcing that she’s going back “home”. When H mentioned her bad luck and asked her what she was going to do, B said:”Oh I’ve already forgotten about it. You know after all, the distance between my consciousness and unconsciousness is so narrow that I dumped it into my unconsciousness while taking shower.”

from a BOAT (4)

1600 hrs Thursday 10th:
Ah, today’s a typical boring day. There’s nothing particular about it to tell. Just the routine daily duties and other subsistence essentials. I’ve also started to make arrangements to leave the boat in a few days. Quite possibly, I’ll have to wait for a chopper to come and pick me up or otherwise take the crew-change boat which is meant to come around sometime next week. You see, when you’re on the sea, the notion of time is a wee bit different from shore. Let’s see what the weather would be like and where will we be then.

However, let me go back to last night. Looking out over the sea from one of the highest walkways, upon the very first glance, there was something that hooked up my eyes for a good one or two minute. Watching from the starboard side, there was THE MOST AMAZING sight you might imagine. It was so simple, and yet so grand; utterly breathtaking!
T’was the reflection of the full moon lighting up the water surface with an unconceivable brightness and majesty; through which went countless little ripples up-and-down, up-and-down, as if an enormous mirror had fallen off, shattered into a thousand pieces, and floating on the water, in a stone-throw distance over there!

from a BOAT (3)

1300 hrs Wednesday 9th:
Good day folks! Today’s all cheery and jolly. You know why? The sea is calm. You see, only 4 days on the sea and I already know who the master is. The crew tell me that I looked quite pale and ill for a middle eastern; almost looking like a Scotsman (is there any irony here?). Keeping on telling you about the crew and what they say, it appears to me that they have certain qualities that you’d expect to see in pagan people of 4 millennia before. It’s as if men of sea have all been well isolated from waves of intellect flourishing on the land. While we, the people living in non-floating houses, have been going through all varieties of beliefs, religions, philosophy, art, ideologies and politics, cherished them, suffered from them, and abandoned them all; seamen have been immune. As if they still think much like the old Phoenician sailors on the little wooden boats taking merchandise through the city-states of ancient Mediterranean and Aegean, as if they’re still praying to the God of the Sea and take sacrifices to please sea-monsters, they keep telling you: “It can only get better!”

no title #1

It's early in the morning, K is in a haste to catch the subway on time, on the way he grabs a copy of subway's free newsletter and as he is looking at the topics he passes his card , passes by the guards that are getting more and more these days and rushes down the stairs, looks up at the tableau and sighs, a sigh of relief, he's still got a minute…" more than 25 dead in yesterday's attack, more than a half kids"…here comes the train, the roaring sound and the lights fill up the place, K is still looking at the picture of the ruins of what seemed to be once a modern building….Train stops and the doors open, people get off, K absent mindedly gets on the train and sits on the first vacant place he sees, a young man, all in white sits next to him, K notices that his face is very serious and blunt…K starts reading again, " in yesterday's attacks which covered areas in south and south east of Beirut…" The man turns and looks at his newsletter, and then as if angry he says: "All they can talk about are these numbers." K is startled, these numbers? He shakes his head and mumbles:" well it's horrible." The man once again says angrily:" what's horrible sir? The numbers? Do you honestly think about these numbers? Well if you do then let me give your brain even more food: yesterday there was much more than this, to be accurate 412 kids died in Africa alone…"K looks the man into the eyes, the whiteness of his eyes is extraordinarily white, or is it because the pupils are very black? He's all dressed in white and he seems really annoyed by something, the man continues" and 50 in Iraq, half of whom were women , if you're really interested to know…" K says:" Sir, sorry, You really seem to be upset about it, but…" the man cuts his sentence:" are you really sorry? Really? And why shouldn't I be upset? " K says :"Well but these are the usual stuff they write in news papers." And immediately he knows he has made a mistake by saying that…The man doesn't say anything for a second, he just looks at K with his unbearably enigmatic presence and then he turns his head and as if talking to himself, he says:" That's how you are, all of you, these are just numbers for you, toys for you to play with while getting to work or while trying to sleep, and it's simple, you've been told that these are important, and further you don't have anything else to keep yourself busy with, all you have are these numbers , numbers from all around the world, so you've got used to them…" K doesn't know what to do, or what to say…He is not comfortable with this man. The man turns to face K again :'But you know these numbers mean a lot to me, I've tried for each and every one of them, I've cried while doing some of them, I've been thrilled by the ways you've made me do it, from long ago I only asked for control over this, and through out this long and exhausting time you've never let me do it my way or with my pace…It is painful." K is scared and haunted with his words, the deep voice and the pupils which are getting darker and darker against the whiteness around them. The man says:" It is painful. Doing this your way is really painful and exhausting. " The train suddenly stops, it is the main transfer station, full of people like always, the man stands up and without any other words gets off the train and in a second he is lost in the crowd. K looks at the newsletter, " …a bus and its twenty…".

Well let me be the first to comment, in a way this story seems childish to myself too:), but I was thinking about it for a few days, somehow like old plays where you have this character of death or satan or angel...and I was thinking well how would he/she/it feel about it? And another important thing is that I was always fascinated by the film "The sky above Berlin" by wim wanders ( I first read its script). This invisible existence that may or may not exist, may have symapathy with us, or envy us or get angry with us, and the indirect way we may feel it...


The sky above Berlin

from a BOAT (2)

0200 hrs Wednesday 09th:
I said I’ll write more often, I know I didn’t. I woke up very early in the morning on Monday 7th and found myself rocking up and down very harshly. It wasn’t only me; the boat was. Managed to get myself to the window of the cabin just to see that, “oh shoot, high waves!”. Turns out maximum predicted wave height is about 3.5m. And if you think that the weather forecast is wrong as usual, or even “what the heck, I’ll go home if the weather was bad”, you’re sadly mistaken. There’s no where to run. So went back upstairs and got my seasickness pills, and although I’ve been taking them so far, I couldn’t muster enough attention to draw me back to my pen & paper and writing. Well until around now that the seastate is significantly lower (I guess around 1m).
I haven’t been talking to a lot of people lately, but I’ve watched some news and all. Something caught my eyes amongst the reports from Edinburgh festival. Something about some young actors that have taken some personal diaries & journals to the stage and performed them and as the journal is being written everyday, the play changes. Frankly, I initially thought it wasn’t something I would have wanted to go and see and would have rather read it myself if I was interested. On a second thought, well why not?!

from a BOAT (1)

I’m afraid folks; the following is not about, sex or politics, violence or death & life; or anything controversial at all. This quite simply is a:

Journal of the Voyage

1800 hrs, Sunday 06th:
My dear reader, you have found this virtual bottle, cast off the window of my cabin with my daily journal inside. I will try to send a bottle for you everyday or otherwise every other day as daily engagements may allow.
I’m board a supply boat with British flag now. We have set sail from the east coast of Scotland heading for Denmark. Fortunately, the sea is calm and the wind is low.
Please, don’t get me wrong folks, I’m no seaman, nor am I seeking adventure or a voyage full of excitements and peculiarities as such. Well to be honest, I thought it’d be interesting as my first real sea voyage, and knowing it is going to take quite a few days, I was expecting, hoping for a lot of or perhaps some new experiences. You know, the type of things that makes people write about their trips. So I decided to write my journal, nothing fancy in it as such, and post it for you good fellas.
Let me tell you about this vessel a bit. It’s not a big boat, about 200 feet long, (more?) and my cabin’s also very nice with a window opening to the back deck and another one to the port side. I met the captain, elderly chap perhaps in his 60s; he greeted me warmly and took me to the bridge and showed me everything, the compass, and all. The view of the sea from the bridge is breathtaking, specially when you turn your head and you see distancing from the shore.
I was expecting to get seasick and all, so I went to the first officer for medicine. He laughed at me and said I’ll be fine. I thought he was waiting to see me get sick and make a fool of myself, but amazingly, I’m good. I confess I had a “funny feeling” at some point, but I’m getting used to it. One of the crew saw me eating in the galley and mentioned that I must be alright if I could eat.
Talking about the crew, they appear to be somewhat weird. I don’t know what makes a man give up land and go to sea. Why should someone choose a life of not having a home? What is it out there that draws their souls? I suspect it’s like a deficiency or the lack of ability to perform in normal condition that makes sailors retreat to the solitude of the endless waters and horror of the abyss. They really make me wonder! They appear to be polite and helpful at times, yet there’s still a strange quality in their manners. One might think they have evolved and adapted to the sea; part of the sea.
I was having a conversation with a gentleman on board a while ago. He wasn’t a sailor either and shared some of my views, though he’d been around boats a bit more and things appear to not surprise him any longer, as such.

Summer of Love

This link is suggested by Mohammad:

Summer of Love
After the Intro click on the Start Galery.

I've looked at Iran so far and it is very nice.

Freedom and Choice

Making decision often causes stress and anxiety. Freedom always involves some uncertainty, which may provokes insecurity. I am free to choose, but each decision eliminates other options. And I simply can never know with certainty whether I am making a right decision. A possibility of a wrong choice brings the burden of responsibility, which can paralyze decision-making.
I have learned many ways to avoid this situation; procrastination lets the time kill some choices and unimportant secondary issues outweigh few others. Neither looking for excuses nor shifting attention to other stuff introduces a solution. Nevertheless, they are all futile.
I am responsible for my own decisions and I am grateful of that.

Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapon of reasons which today arm you against the present.
- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

Taken from an article about Existential Anxiety

A post from Niloofar's Persian weblog

تضادهای دنیای ما

مدتهاست برای کوتاه کردن موهای سرم پیش یک آقای آرایشگر مسن می روم. از حدود سه سال پیش که با دیدن موهای بسیار خوب کوتاه شده دوستم آدرس آرایشگرش را گرفتم ٬ پایم به خانه این آقا باز شد.مرد مهربانی است که سالها در آلمان آرایشگاه داشته و با همسر آلمانی اش زندگی می کرده ولی ظاهرا کمی که پیر شده است همسر آلمانی ولش کرده و او به همراه دخترش آمده اند ایران و چون همه کار و تخصصش موهای زنانه است مجبور شده مخفیانه توی خانه اش کار کند. او و دخترش که هم سن و سال من است آرایشگاه کوچکشان را بسیار خوب و منظم اداره می کنند. برعکس همه این آرایشگاههای زنانه که هرچقدر هم وقت بگیری مجبوری مدتها توی صف به انتظار بمانی٬ در خانه آنها همیشه همه چیز سر وقت و مرتب است و هیچ کس حتی لحظه ای معطل نمی شود. او کارش را خیلی خوب بلد است و دستهایش چنان با مهارت لای موهای تو تکان می خورد که به سرعت بهترین مدل موها یت را در آینه می بینی.ولی عجیب ترین چیزی که در این آرایشگاه کاملا غیرقانونی و خلاف تمام مواضع شرعی و عرفی و اسلامی می شود دید مذهبی بودن شدید آقای آرایشگر است!.او وقتی قیچی اش را روی موهای من می گذارد قبل از اینکه کارش را شروع کند٬ همیشه به حق پنج تن برایم دعا می کنند! و معتقد است چون دستش خوب است وقتی برای کسی به حق پنج تن قبل از زدن اولین قیچی دعا کند٬ او به هر آرزویی که داشته باشد می رسد! دختر آقای ارایشگر هیچ دوست نداد آلمان پیش مادرش زندگی کند چرا که عاشق ایران است .همین ۲ سال پیش با پدرش رفتند مکه. و از اینکه شرایط برای رفتن به کربلا خطرناک است بسیار ناراحتند. هر دو. بسیاری از زنانی که از مشتریان این آقای آرایشگرند خیلی به این دعاهای او اعتقاد دارند و می‌گویند اگر کسی غیر از او به سرشان دست بزند برایشان شگون ندارد. چون از نظر آنها این آقای آرایشگر خیلی با خداست.مخصوصا آن دعای خاص به حق پنج تنش که نصیب هر کسی نمی شود!‌ حالا چطور است که اینهمه آدم با خدا به حق همان پنج تن هم که شده حاضر می شوند مهمترین قوانین اسلام را زیر پا بگذارند و موهایشان را بدهند دستهای یک مرد کوتاه کند یا برایشان هایلایت و مش و فر کند من مانده ام!.

جامعه ما پر از این چنین تضادهای عجیب و غریب است. و چنان در فرهنگ ما ریشه دوانده اند که گاهی واقعا نمی فهمی معنی مذهبی بودن یا ایرانی بودن دقیقا چیست. اینها همگی بیش از آنکه به واقعیتهای جامعه شبیه باشند ٬ شبیه فیلمهای کمدی است .می توانی دلت را بگیری و ساعتها بخندی. همانطور که من معمولا هر وقت موهایم را کوتاه می کنم می خندم

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Welcome Niloofar!
We look forward to read your posts here as well!

7 Cs

Chemistry
Charachter
Culture
Compatibility
Communication
Conflict resolution
Commitment

Getting to know Bahar.

An interview with our very own Bahar was published in Shahrvand newspaper. You can find it here.

Weightoholics Anonymous!

I am an educated woman, I socialize in academic and political circles and I get paid to think. I am a successful engineer who is running for political office at the age of 27.

Yet, I have a terrible body image! I am 5" tall and I weigh about 120 lbs, 10 of which were gained in the past 5 months.

Ladies and gentleman, I have a lot on my plate to worry about these days: my master's defensee, my job, my campaign and all the world events, but what occupies my mind most of the time, is my weight!

I am depressed, because when I look in the mirror, I see a fat woman! The truth is, I'd rather die but not become a fat woman.

Should I blame Hollywood, show biz or the Vogue magazine for this? OR perhaps this is just me, who has a problem with myself?

I don't eat junk food and I do drink pop. Recently, I stopped eating lunch, hoping that it works. These days I don't have much time to spend in the gym, but I walk at least 30 min/day and sometimes 2 hours a day. Yet, I am fat.

Why my body image matters to me, I am not sure. All I know is that I am terrified to look at my-naked-self in the mirror.

I have never expected myself to look like a model (let's face it, I am at least 8" shorter than an average model) but I want to look lean and healthy. I want to look presentable without having to disguise some parts of my body under heavy clothing!

My weight has become an obstacle on my way to happiness. This morning I realized that I have a crisis on my hands!

Ladies and Gentleman, my name is Bahar and I am a weightoholic.

A comment by Pezhman.

There are many ways to make people (including friends, employee, students, children and ...) think and act as we want.

Among all those methods, frightening others was known earlier, utilized more frequently and more worldwide (even today). Unfortunately it works, though we all know there is no good in that.

I can not think of anything more terrifying than the moment somebody notices the world is diffrent from what she/he imagines. That is why some try to control others and some give control of their lives to others.

A friend whom I highly acknowledge, says that there is a great joy in the moment children say "NO" to their parents. That is the moment they grow up!

A comment by Siamak.

I liked Amir's post, and I agree with Leili more than the writer of this post. Not that she/he was wrong... but how can we think of solving a problem without first knowing and understanding what the problem is? The writer of this post, as far as I understood is older than most of us, and probably doesn't realize the problems (I would call them "Trauma") we, the Children of the Revolution (and oppression) should tackle, even when being lived for a while in a foreign country. Personally, when I came here (Finland), I had a hard time figuring out what the hell is wrong with me. My biggest "cultural shock" was that I can freely laugh in the street and spend time with my friends without being worried of something! Now, you tell me, how can I even think of helping other people having a humane living condition if I even don't allow myself to have such a living condition?

My point is we should be able to discuss about everything (I mean EVERYthing) freely. That's the point about freedom of speech: to understand the problems. And that's why corruption and censorship always come together.

Regarding Leili's comment about why Iranians should always be afraid. Of course they're afraid of SOMEthing... many things... like excommunication [I looked it up in the dictionary; it means "takfir"], being put in jail, being mysteriously killed, etc, etc (not to mention numerous fears that the media induces in people and those people, themselves, develop to adapt to their abnormal, deformed society). Americans and Europeans have also experienced such fears, but long times ago.

Incidentally, the original post of this thread sounds amazingly like the way my mother writes! I don't mean every single aspect of his/her opinion, but the way of thinking... like "there are as many paths as there are human beings" and so on. :-)

We believe in freedom of speech!

Here is a very well thought comment I received from a friend and I like to share it with you. We enjoy hearing different ideas in this weblog. Please send us your thought to behindpseudonyms@gmail.com and we will publish them here. We also welcome new members, just send an e-mail to the above mentioned account and we will happily add you to our team.

معانى در ما هم مى خورند و ما هر کدام از اين آب ماهى مى گيريم و آن وقت به هر کداممان بگويند ماهى را تعريف کن، ماهى را آنچه در دستمان است تعريف مى کنيم، اگر سبز و کوچک باشد، ماهى يعنى جانور سبز و کوچکى که در آب شنا مى کند، و اگر ماهى دست ديگرى را هم ديده باشيم، تعريف ماهى مى شود، موجودى در آب که يا سبز و کوچک است، يا زرد و بنفش و بزرگ و همينطور پيش مى رود...و اين اشتباه نيست، شايد فقط کامل نباشد...اما هر انسانى راه را از ديد خود تعريف مى کند، اما اغراق نيست، به تعداد آدمها راه هست.........

من از ترس عبور کرده م و ردى از ترس در خودم دارم، من از انکار عبور کرده م و شايد ردى از انکار هنوز درم مانده باشد، من از خفقان،از مرگ، از شادى، از هيجان، از مبارزه ، از خستگى، از آرزو...از زندگى رد شده م و از هر کدام ردى درم مانده است، گاهى کمرنگتر، گاهى پهن و پر رنگ...آنوقت براى خودم آرام آرام راهى تصور کرده م، راهى که شايد آهسته است و گاهى نرم است خيلى، اما دست کم اميدى دارم که ادامه ش بدهم، هرچند که حتى از آن هم مطمئن نيستم، اما خوب در دنياى ما همه چيز نسبى است...و بعد براى خودم خط قرمزهايى تعريف کرده م، اما فقط براى خودم، بعضى هاشان برايم ارزش انسانى دارند، و در تعريف من از ماهى کوچکم نقش دارند و شايد سعى کرده م تعربفم را آنقدر بزرگ کنم که خيلى ماهيهاى ديگر هم درش جا مى شوند...اما يکسرى خط قرمزهايى دارم که کمکم مى کنند احتمال اينکه راهم را ادامه بدهم بيشتر بشود...شايد در من هيچ دغدغه يى قويتر از اينکه آدمها و سرزمينى که دوست دارم را در دست کم شرايط انسانى ببينم نباشد، شايد در هيچ موردى اينقدر با آدمها بحث نکرده باشم يا عصبى نشده باشم يا نلرزيده باشم "بايد کارى کرد"...و مى خواهم برگردم،...مى خواهم آنچه که در تمام سالهاى زندگيم ياد گرفته م را به کار ببندم...اين همان بحث شيرين عبادى در اشل خيلى کوچکتر است، اينکه من نمى فهمم آدمها چطور مى توانند اينقدر راحت اين همه بد و بيراه به او بگويند و حتى انتظارهايى خنده دار از او داشته باشند، در حاليکه تا همين جا هم کارهايش "در اشل انسانى، نه قهرمان پروري" از خيلى از حرفهاى بزرگ تاثيرش بيشتر بوده...از خيلى از حرفهاى تند که جوابهاى تند به همراه داردو آنوقت چرخه يى درست مى شود که در انتهايش خستگى و نابودى است، يا در نهايت چه؟ انقلاب؟تغييرات بزرگ و تند؟ من به تغييرات بزرگ و تغييراتى که سرعتشان بيشتر از توان دريافت گيرنده باشد اعتقادى ندارم...من حرکت آهسته و تا حد ممکن پيوسته را ترجيح مى دهم،...حرکتى که اصولى باشد، ريشه يى را آرام آرام تغيير بدهد که آن ريشه بماند ...حرکتى که از خودم و آدمهاى دور و برم شروع شود، دوستانم، مريضها و همکارانم...تعبير جالبى است تخم کسى را گرفتن و گفتن که سوت بزن! اما قضيه ماهيها اينجا هم صدق مى کند...زمانى که تو درگير حرکات تند و احساسى شوى( که به نظرم بهايش مى تواند خيلى بيشتر از تاثيرش باشد گاهى) آنوقت از ديد من يکى تخمت را گرفته و بهت مى گه سوت بزن..کنترل کردن از ديد من يعنى يکعده نيروى خلاق و جوان را فرارى بدهى، و کارى کنى که ديگر نخواهند برگردند و سوت زدنشان بشود احساساتى که هر روز تند تر و زخم خورده تر مى شود ...سوت زدن مى تواند اين باشد که اعتراضت و احساست را براى عده يى که خودشان هم آن را مى دانند راحت بگويى يا مى تواند اين باشد که :" برگردم و شروع کنم در آن جامعه با تمام گندهايش و بديهايش کار کنم و يک موج کوچک آگاهى و رفاه جسمى (کارى که قرار است من بلد باشم بکنم) در خودم و آدمهايى که مى توانم (در اشل انسانى) ايجاد کنم و اميدوار باشم که آخرين دايره هاى موجم مماس شود با موج آدمى ديگر و ديگر و ديگر..." و يادت هست که هم ماهى کوچک سبز ماهى است هم ماهى زرد و بنفش بزرگ هم...بار ديگر مفاهيم در ما هم مى خورند و ما ماهى مى گيريم و ماهى را تعريف مى کنيم ...
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Also published today:
'Children of Hell' is back!

Contradictions called "me"

People who know me well, know that I am controversial. I'd like to tell it like it is.

I like to write about how people interact verbally, emotionally and most importantly physically. I like to discuss religion and how history has had reality fooled. I also like to write about human rights and how it only makes a good topic for "chit-chat".

But again, I have to resort to a private life for another 3 months. I have put all my balls (!) in one basket, running for political office.

So, my friends, the controversy will break shell in 14 weeks. In the meanwhile yours truly has to bear the confiding walls of "privacy".

Also published today:
Whistle baby!