This weblog consists of my Memoir, Personal Essays, Stories and Sketches in English or Persian. It is a free form writing. It is an escape, a "Patogh" for me to reflect what I perceive to be life. In this weblog, you'll find a heart for literature - with a bias on literature and art of Iran. I contribute my writings to my pioneers in modern literature: Sadegh Hedayat, Forough Farokhzad, Ernest Hemingway, and William Faulkner.

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Thursday, August 21, 2003

٭
با عرض پوزش از دوستانی که هميشه به من محبت دارند
بنا به هزارو يک دليل تا مدتی طولانی و يا شايد هم خيلی
طولانی قادر به نوشتن، وبلاگم نباشم.
شايد وقتی ديگر





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Thursday, August 07, 2003

٭
Dear Papa Grigory,

It is quite sometimes I have not written to you. It feels so good to know your sprit is there, ....

See my entire letter to Papa Grigory Rasputin dated on: Thursday Jan, 17, 2003
in this Weblog (My Archive not working!)



٭ پرنده ها پرواز را هرگز فراموش نخواهند کرد. آزادی را با بالاترين اخلاقيات نمی توان به مقابله گرفت. آزاد زيستن خود اخلاقيترين ارزشهاست.


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Thursday, July 17, 2003

٭
To be humble

Of all good attitudes a man can make out of life, nothing appeals me more than being humble while one knows he is in control and in charge; and yet, he suppress that arrogant urge to display superiority of his state of being, knowing deep inside that he is a thing now that will be nothing in forcible future, old and sick and subject of mercy.

Misreading
There seems an eternal conflict between striving to possess material things and satisfying one’s thirst for higher spiritual, moral, and artistic realms. Nothing piss you off more than a misunderstanding stemmed from your genuine efforts to be a good man and are suddenly misinterpreted and portrayed as a nasty greedy bloodsucker. I believe there are a lot of good people out there that be an accident are Jews.




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Monday, July 14, 2003

٭ اکنون من ديگر فارغ خواهم شد از زنان بی احساس
به کنار او می روم که با من می ماند، و همه زنانی که
خون گرمند و مناسب حال من
می بينم که آنها مرا می فهمند و مرا انکار نمی کنند،
می بينم که آنها ارزش مرا دارند،
من شوهر ی نيرومند برای آن زنان خواهم بود



٭

No man wants to face the reality of decay and becoming that miserable nothing – that insignificant being smashed by harsh of soberness and dictation of wealth and influence. One feels nothing when he sees the depth of the crisis of being. So much that he wants to slap god few times and have him taste the niches of pains we have to go through every day. Is he just?




٭ همه ما به نوعی شکار شده توسط ارزشهای گذشتگانمان هستيم. ما تنها مجريان آن ارزشها هستيم در حالی که به خيال خويش ما سرزنده بوده و بر امور زندگی امان استيلا داريم.


٭

It is over a year that now I am writing here - off and on. It is tough to keep things interesting. Even though I have not tried hard fot that either. I always wrote here out of randomness – out of an accident feel to want to vomit in face of monarch and communists judges of post war Europe.




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Tuesday, July 08, 2003

٭

The Iranian twins death was heartbreaking. I prayed so hard for them. May their soul be at peace at last.


٭ مشغوليات زيادی است که زندگی فرد را ير ميکنند. لحظه های که قلب فرد را بشکنند و اندکی از عطش روح او را بکاهند - اندکند اما چه زيبايند. سردی دستان مرگ بر قفسه سينه آدمی هولناک است. يک شعر خوب - يک داستان زيبا ميتواند تلاوت گرمی باشد که مرگ را شرمنده کند. هنر نوشتاری، موسيقی ذهن برای همدردی و ايستادگی در برابر دغدغه های زندگی است.


٭ نرمی بدنش آرامش دهنده بود - بزرگی جثه اش هم به او هيبت ميداد و احترام انگيز بود. وقتی چراغ روشن شد يک پاپت پشم الود بغل کرده بودم.



٭

This morning I am feeling like that sculptor who worked so hard on a shape of a bird and pushed his imagination to new horizons only to be disappointed when he visits a local zoo. The actual bird, the eagle, which he worked so hard in his imaginary world, and he needed that then, is not as big now, not as pretty and not as significant he was craving for it to be. Thus, he goes out and he finds the nearest brothel house and shares a drink or two with some women he has no hazy imagination this time to know who they are.




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Monday, June 30, 2003

٭
There is something about the power of words that carry me on, actually, pumps me up to the roof and once I have to face the reality, it crashes me on cementitious earth - enough that I wish I would never had the liftoff.

I was feeling low today, crawling on floor like a miserable pigeon in heat, of disappointments, of misery in realities of life, of the ....

So I had to look for inspiration and here I found some and I share them with you:


"A true friend tells one the very things an enemy would laugh about in hide." (An anonymous Persian proverb).

"Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood." (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)

"The artist and the self-critic . . . are, with a few felicitous exceptions, forever at odds?" (Joyce Carol Oates).



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Thursday, May 29, 2003

٭ يک هنرمند همه حقوقی را دارد که هرآنچه خوش داشت ابراز دارد. ما می خواهيم که او از چيزهای بگويد که ما در دل دوست داريم اما از اينکه به گونه ای با آنها مرتبط شويم - خجالت می کشيم. اما به مجدّد اينکه او شروع به تظاهر کرد ما آن حس غريبی را نيز داريم که از او بخواهيم گورش را گم کند.


٭
Perhaps all these writings are nothing, my dear, but to ask you to respect me more. Perhaps these words click nothing to you, and I am still asking for your respect. It might be nice thing to find a place for me in your heart that I might deserve and you are denying yourself the beauty of it. Perhaps, you did not have to disappoint me so oftenest you did it – with no compassion, almost with a perceived ruthlessness. Perhaps at last, the wisdom would suggest you to handle me more diligently, with some foresight, and in a just and honorable manner. We would not need someone to meddle between us like I thought once. I still have not lost the hopes that you are incapable of this.



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Wednesday, May 28, 2003

٭
I like to stand in the balcony facing the city, whole lots of people facing me, and command them; “Thee shall adore Freedom but can’t if thee interfere within other’s life!”



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Tuesday, May 27, 2003

٭ بخشی از يک نامه دراز قهرمان داستان به همسرش:
"عزيزم! اين را می نويسم چون دلم سخت چرکين از توست. شايد هم از خودم که آنقدر توانمند نيستم تا کمبودهای زندگی امان که تا حدود زيادی و قبل از هر چيز بازتاب ضعفهای خود من است، را مهار کنم. اين دردها گاهی آنقدر هجوم می آورند که دوست دارم سرم را محکم به ديوار بزنم و قطره های از خون آنرا را بر روی پارچه ای بريزم و به تو نشان دهم و بگويم :"عزيزم! با من مهربان باش! جنون نامهربانی تو مرا به هيزی واداشته است! ببين! من اين پارچه را از ميان لباسهای نشسته زن همسايه برداشته ام! امروز دهم ماه است. من اين را بايد بخاطر بسپارم! "


٭
Though in past, early months I met you, things were different and feelings were bad and heartbreaking. But that is gone with the wind. And once gone, it is gone and not a thing one can do to have it back. There is nothing to replace a moment one captured of the whiff of a red rose that now is withered under merciless of heat and realities. Often accidental, often short live and illusionary, the feelings one may have for someone is as easily as that rose could be shattered under harsh reality of life. The only reward is good memories that last and that is a pleasant thing for any man to hold. Like I do about you.

So the memories for us are actually nothing but those temporal pictures that are registered by now and of them, one could give rebirth to life and to craft them if he has to – just for the sake to attain the art and fullest beauties of life. The luckiest of us are those who have tons of good and pretty memories of others and hearts and places. It is a heavenly thing on earth; good memories, that is.



٭ ٭ انسان تاريخ ساز است - اما در نحوه و بنای ساخت آن نقش ضعيفی دارد. منشهای گذشتگان انديشه او را آنقدر مخدوش می کنند که برای او کمتر اراده ای می گذارند تا در ساختمان تاريخی که می سازد نقش داشته باشد. اما، گاهگاهی ميوتيشن اتفاق می افتد. اتاترک در ترکيه مدرن مردی بود که روح گذشتگان تُرک را خبيث خواند و در يک روز برفی و سرد در آنکارا بساتش را درآورد و روی قبر گذشتکان تُرک جيش کرد.


٭
It is Thursday and it feels a very dumb Thursday here – not eventful and when Thursdays here are so slow and dragging the last thing one wants is a voice of a woman, a white woman talking non-stop in phone and soon you hear she is about to hang up the phone her cell goes off. So, you reach your classical CD in dismal and put the earphone and solicit affection from sprites of Vienna and of Mozart

But that is a Thursday that is slow and uneventful. On regular Thursday here, not whole lot things more going, things are slightly better in that she is not here and though you still may reach for Mozart but your mind could be on literature of Faulkner and Faulkner and his Yoknapatawpha County.



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Tuesday, May 13, 2003

٭ هرکه خره خودش می کشه. هرگز متوجه شده ايد که چرا مردمان کشورهای صنعتی به سياست بی تفاوت بنظر می آيند؟ شايد برای اينه که سکس مرتبی دارند و در اتاق خوابشان عکس رئيسشان را آويزان نمی کنند. آنها مجبور نيستند. نه! مجبور نيستند!


٭
Nancy looked at us. Her eyes went fast, like she was afraid there wasn’t time to look, without hardly moving at all. She looked at us, at all three of us at one time. “You member that night I stayed in yawls’ room?” she said. She told about how we waked up early the next morning, and played. We had to play quiet, on her pallet, until Father woke up and it was time to get breakfast. “Go and ask your maw to let me stay here tonight,” Nancy said. “I won’t need no pallet. We can play some more.”

Caddy asked Mother. Jason went too. “I can’t have Negroes sleeping in the bedrooms,” Mother said. W. Faulkner, That Evening Sun



٭ سرش را بالا آورد. چشمهايش در چشم گرگ افتاد. اشک بر گونه هايش جاری شد. خود را در دخمه يافت. ميل شديدی به يک زن بدکاره داشت. شبه گرگ که از در خارج می شد بدنش دا لرزاند. دست لای پای خود گذاشت و بر خود پيچيد. در حالی که از درد می ناليد با خود زمزمه کرد "عروسان مردان تنهای شرق کجائيد؟ "


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Wednesday, April 30, 2003

٭
If you can’t make a woman happy, don’t hang around for too long. She becomes a vicious thing and your life would be miserable. Either you make her happy or lose it all. To make it happy does not take much. And spending money on her footsteps is not the wisest and often backlashes. Give her a rose. Write her nice letters. But respect her always – even if that means you have to pretend listening to her.



٭
There is always a better way to do a thing, only if we be open to possibilities.



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Thursday, April 24, 2003

٭
Putting god on Trail

I got tons of things to tell him.
Only and if his majesty takes me on equal foot
And he should – he does.

He is claiming to be the most, the complete
And we are to sin and he is to forgive us
And my sins are not particularly bad
I drink and I like women –
Music, I consider his slightest soul bestowed to us
Just to drain our smallest doubt
Of his superiority, of his magic, completeness.

I appreciate his gifts – and I do sin
But I have seen it all
His creation filled with beauties and ugliness
It is unjust in every turn
And oh, I could have him on trail stand
To defend something indefensible I reckon now
Only and if his majesty takes me on equal foot
And he should – he does.



٭ پنج شنبه است اما بنظر دوشنبه می آيد. و دوشنبه ها سرداند و هيج چيز آزار دهنده تر از اين نيست که شخص به انديشد که چه چيزی در انتظار اوست در حالی که می داند هيچ چيز نيست و هيچ چيز نخواهد ماند وقتی زمانش فرا رسد. با اين وجود ، هيچ چيز همچون اميد به داشتن، شخص را روی پا نگهه نمی دارد و اين خود آرامشی است که اکنون لحظه های را بدون چيز به انديشد در حالی که می داند هيچ چيز آزار دهنده تر از آن انديشه لعنتی نيست که در حقيقت هيچ چيز آنجا نيست.


٭
Now it is Thursday but feels Monday. And Mondays are cold and nothing hurts to know what comes next when you know nothing is there and nothing is for you and nothing will be left when you get there. Yet, nothing more keep you going than a hope that there are things and it is such relief that you have nothing to think of it now and you know nothing may scare you off more than the very bad thought that there is indeed nothing there.



٭ آزادی مثل عشق می مونه. اصلا نميشه تعريفش کرد. فقط ميشه اونا حس کرد. اونای که لازم دارند عشق را تعريف کنند هرگز به عشق پی نخواهند برد. اونای که از آزادی با کلمهای غمبل ثمبل می گويند نيز بهره ای از آزادی نبرده اند. عشق حس کردنی اسث. آزادی در زيستن آن مفهوم می گيرد.


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Monday, April 21, 2003

٭
At midnight he was sitting on the crest of a hill. He did not know it was midnight and he did not know how far he had come. But there was no glare behind him now and he sat now, his back toward what he had called home for four days anyhow, his face toward the dark woods which he would enter when breath was strong again, small, shaking steadily in the chill darkness, hugging himself into the remainder of his thin, rotten shirt, the grief and despair now no longer terror and fear but just grief and despair.



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Wednesday, April 09, 2003

٭ آخيش صدام ديکتاتور نابود شد. ای کاش اين درسی باشه برای ديگران تا دست از کون مردم بردارن! تعجب نبود که عراقی ها تو خيابانها می ريزند و شادی می کنند. آقايان، ديکتاتوری نفرت انگيز است.


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Monday, March 31, 2003

٭ خوشبخترين انسانها کسانی هستند که خانواده خوشبختی تشکيل داده اند. آنها که خوب آموخته اند که چگونه غشق، فداکاری، وفاداری، وگذشت اين خوشبختی را ضمانت می کند.


٭
The problems in our world seem increasingly are as the results of stubbornness and inflexibility of few leaders whose imagination comes short every time to realize that the words they so lavishly use, and that itself is one of the unfortunate realm of life, impact thousands of lives. Fortunately, the world is not with few who have that sheer sense that just because the technology of destruction is there, it is bound to be developed and used. Those who embrace peace are becoming a voice in our world. They are the only hope for our specie. Some one has to stop madness of war and dictatorship. People, all over our world, are this new force.



٭ بوی باروت و خون در عراق مشمئز کننده است. نفت و استيلا هدف است. آزادی کسب کردنی است و به زمان و تکامل احتياج دارد. تحميل آزادی آنهم از طرف اين آقايان که تاريخ منطقه مملو از همدستی آنها با ديکتاتورها يش بوده - منافقانه می نمايد. با همه اينها نبود صدام به نفع مردم منطقه خواهد بود. سازمان ملل تنها ارگان قابل و لايق اينکار می بايست می بود. ايران نبايد به هيچ وجه در اين جنگ شرکت کند. سکوت و بردباری دولتمردان ما در کوتاه مدت و رضايت مردم و آزادی بزرگترين دفع کننده انديشه های متجاوزانه است.


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Thursday, March 27, 2003

٭ سکوت را مرگ انديشه تضمين می کند. حرفها را نمی توان در سلول تا ابد اسير کرد. بلاخره خورشيد خدا خواهد درخشيد.


٭ .همواره فانوس را بايد روشن نگهه داشت - روزی يک ملوان پير سوسوهای آن را خواهد ديد و به خود تبسمی خواهد زد.


٭
But he did not think this now and he had seen those same niggard blazes all his life. He merely ate his supper beside it and was already half asleep over his iron plate when his father called him, and once more he followed the stiff back, the stiff and ruthless limp, up the slope and on to the starlit road where, turning, he could see his father against the stars but without face or depth - a shape black, flat, and bloodless as though cut from time in the iron folds of the frockcoat which had not been made for him, the voice harsh like tin and without heat like tin: Barn Burning - W. Faulkner



٭ همچون برگ درخت چنارپائيزی هستيم که تنها يک وزش نسيم ما را بسادگی جابجا می کند. من از درجه ضعف خويش احساس شرمندگی می کنم. شايد - زندگی يعنی مقاومت و کوشش در يافتن پاسخهای نو برای مشکلات هميشگی. تسليم يعنی مرگ. زندگی را بايد در هرحل پاس داشت. يک دسته گل توی گلدان روی ميز اين روزها در شهر فلک زده بغداد می بايست معجزه کند. زندگی را بايد پاس داشت.


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Wednesday, March 26, 2003

٭ پرنده ها پرواز را هرگز فراموش نخواهند کرد. آزادی را با بالاترين اخلاقيات نمی توان به مقابله گرفت. آزاد زيستن خود اخلاقيترين ارزشهاست.


٭

I stand in front of full moon
I growl like a lonesome wolf
The moonlight over the roofs
The cool night in desert seems never lasting
And I am craving for some blood.



٭
There is a bird on the tree in our house
There is a coin in my pocket
I will get some water for the bird
I will give my coin to the first needy I meet
I leave behind my greed – just to be happy




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Tuesday, March 25, 2003

٭ جنگ چيز بدی خوب. مگه راه ديه ای هم هست تا ديکتاتوری مثل صدام دست از مردم عراق و منطقه بر داره. درس خوبی برای احمقهای تاريخ که با زور نمی شه حکومت کرد. مردم اگه نخوان حاضر می شن حتی کشورشون اشغال بشه تا از دست تاتارهای مثل صدام خلاص بشن.



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Friday, March 21, 2003

٭ اين صدام ديکتاتور هرگز نتوانست تصميمی بگيرد که بنفع ملت و مردم منطقه باشد. قدرت اولين کا ری که می کند مهر بر ذهن وخاری در چشمهای قدرتمدار می شود تا حقايق دا نبيند.


٭ جنگ آخرين بهانه ای است برای دفاع از تمدن که ديگر هيچ انسان متمدنی برای آن تره خرد نمی کند.


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Friday, March 14, 2003

٭
One does not have to be a saint. This does not meant that one has to be a devil. There is a fair line between goodness and badness. Goodness is to uplift sprits of others. Badness is hurting them.

Damn fucking cold. I need some medicine, that bloody ibuprofen.



٭ سرما خورده ام. تمام شقيقه ام درد ميکنه. لامثب مثل موتور هواپيماهای روسی داغ کرده ام. همه استخوانهام کوبيده اند. بدجوری می خوام يکی من را بزنه. به حد مرگ! دوست دارم آلتم را لای پای خرس عروسکی که داره تو تاقچه به من زر میزنه بگذارم. ميل شديدی دارم که در سکوت تهوه آور اتاق - به کوری چشم زن همسايه - به اين خرس مخملی تجاوز کنم.


٭
I got cold. I feel like that vicious bulldog that now is sick to her stomach pull her right leg up to piss upon a gravestone in an old cemetery in London.

There seems little desire to challenge any thing. My bones, my forehead, my body are in pain. Yet, I feel life. I hear my heartbeats well and sound. I am shivering in cold. My head feels like a gigantic balloon floating over Hyde Park. It feels I am going to blow over the park into nothing.



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Wednesday, March 12, 2003

٭ اين به خودی خود يک معجزه است که فرد انديشه اش را با يک کليک در دنيا پخش کند. درست مثل پودر خاکستر مرگ بر رودخانه ای وسيع که تا سالهای مديدی گنجايش اين خاکها را دارد. اما - اگر غولی شاخدار آمد و گفت "آقا! شما حق نداريد خاکستر در اين رودخانه بريزيد. من از سازمان دولتی حفاظت از منابع طبيعی آمده ام!" تو چکار خواهی کرد؟


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Monday, March 10, 2003

٭
Back in some remote village of a country in Asia, old Persia or perhaps even Siberian Russia, there came a vulgar trainer of shepherd dogs into believe that the origin of his people are from entire different stock than the rest. He began his own rituals to celebrate his new findings. Some ridiculed him first. Some dismissed him as a con. Angered by his words, the local priest called him an apostate to the village tradition and believes.

One very cold winter night, under persuasion of the head priest, the police chief sent out his men to investigate him. So, they waited behind bushes of his hut till the candlelight dimmed and darkness covered the place. When they ambushed the place, in their surprise, they found him naked in bathtub with two women, one fat and one skinny. The bathtub was decorated with all kinds of flowers, candles, and scented colorful knitting. Next to the bathtub, right on floor, they found head of a pig still fresh in blood.

Overwhelmed by the sight, they remained indecisive to carry out their acts in any instant manner.

“What do you want, my son?”

“We are here to ….”

“To kill me!” He abruptly said this with a tone of a voice so unmatched with that atmosphere of ritual and scarification.

“Well, go on! However, I am demanding you to do it with the very axe this hog is slaughtered!”

For few minutes, the silence governed the place. Then, he continued with his ritual. He filled the bowl with water, read a verse, and poured upon the breast of the fat woman. The dying light reflected on her breasts as water was dripping over her fat belly. He filled the bowl with water again and practiced the same on the slimmer woman. Women in response uttered some words in a language not to unfamiliar with the intruders.

“What are you waiting for?” – He asked without lifting up his head.

“Yes! What are we waiting for chief?” Asked one of the men.

“Lets get out of here”, ordered the chief.

Next day, the investigator chief reported to head of the investigation police of the region on his findings. So, they send him back with more men to arrest that self-proclaimed holy man next day.

They found the place completely burned. In search of the wreckages of the place, they found ruminants of pigs and other animals but nothing of human beings.

Twenty years after this incident, the locals experienced a widespread cult in the region honoring the sprite of that holly man and his two female disciples.

It was said that his teachings, a masterful intermingle of some lost rituals of the area and his own divine was to save souls in pain from sorrow, degradation, and loneliness. As part of his rituals, he asked his followers to bath in-group and witness slaughtering animals like pigs, monkeys, and jackals. It was said that he saved some marriages and settled differences among peasants. He was remembered as a healer at times when the peasants had exhausted all modern medical offers from the city. Though, he insisted his preference to not interfere with natural progression of diseases. Among his followers, there was a very old woman who recalled him simply as “My miracle papa!”




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Monday, March 03, 2003

٭
It is for a while that I have come into this conclusion that a man’s belief system is primarily made up by not reaching it via a sensible logic. Rather, the truth of the faith manifests itself in forms to address his physiological needs. And this is how I found so many people fan to teeth for a particular branch of religion. More or less, I found same to be true for those who feverishly are atheists. Only those few agnostics and or few who insist to keep their faith private that I found to be mild on the subject, conveniently free and indecisive for one or the other. The very few who give meaning to tolerance in our world.



٭ قرار بود چهار قصه کوتاه بنويسم که همگی آن را اکنون فراموش کرده ام. عنوان آنها بدين گونه بودند:
1. بطری بزرگ و آدمهای خرابکار
2. داينو يک چشمی و استخانها
3. سفينه فضای و قاطی کردن آن و نابودی انسان.
4. روباهای پردماغی و دهکده شورش



٭ ملتی که قدرهنرمندانش را نداند، جايگاه خود را در تاريخ خالی می بيند.


........................................................................................

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

٭
Walt Whitman - A Woman Waits for Me


اکنون من ديگر فارغ خواهم شد از زنان بی احساس
به کنار او می روم که با من می ماند، و همه زنانی که
خون گرمند و مناسب حال من
می بينم که آنها مرا می فهمند و مرا انکار نمی کنند،
می بينم که آنها ارزش مرا دارند،
من شوهر ی نيرومند برای آن زنان خواهم بود




٭
The art of writing ranges from sporadic almost instantaneous generation of words to creating a well-structured plot. But a good writer is foremost a good storyteller. The storytelling demands lots of planning, character building, accurate point of view, proper space and tone, and a plot that puts all these together. On the other hand, storytelling involves a lot of sweating and asks for a writer’s endurance and intuitiveness. And that is what separates writing as a work of art over that mediocre lazy approach to it.
A sketch, a few lines here and a few there, few nice and gentle words stringed together, no matter how magically, are just a tab to that unsatisfied soul for writing something decent and lasting. And god, weblog is just designed to address this need. It is a bad toy for a true writer.



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Monday, February 24, 2003

٭
A working relationship is a non-violent one. A working relationship is about respect, trust, honesty, responsibility, and negotiation and fairness.



٭ ٭ زندگی يک حادثه است که تنها او از راز آن آگاه است. ما بردگانی هستيم که بر حسب اتفاق می آييم و بی توجه می رويم. مگسی هستيم که وزوزهای ما حتی گوشهای حشرات را می آزارد. مرگ ما در هستی و تاريخ آن همانند نسيمی است که يک روز برگهای درخت اناری را می لرزاند - آنهم در يک روستای کويری و بی توجه به کودکی که صورتش کثيف بود و در گوشه چشمش چند دانه مگس شاش می کردند.



٭
Literature, by its very nature, is a provocative art.



٭
Sweetheart Persian dream, remember,
The heart shape you drew in your high school memory notebook once,
You lovely rose,
I envy of it now.
I am that candle light,
Dances aimlessly in motion of any passing breeze.
Bleeding in pain, I plead for holding your round breasts,
In my hands, all through night, tonight
Those white cushion balls,
Must be heavenly irresistible, darling.
Can you cover me under your Chadoor?
Can you guide me to a private place?
I want to love you to tears.



٭

I am on hold
A state of nasty feelings
Not knowing what I want
Not knowing what comes next.



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Thursday, February 06, 2003

٭ ما حاصل اتفاقي مجهول هستيم. پوچی نه زاده کوشش ما در توجيح تنبلی در شناختن هستی است
بلکه بازتاب واهمه ای جدی است که در فهميدن زندگی دربمانيم.

We are an unknown product of a chance. Nothingness is not our way to be negligent to explain our world, rather, it is the very worrisome we have in failing to achieve a meaningful concept of our life.



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Tuesday, February 04, 2003

٭
Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me,
I will be the robust husband of
those women.
Walt Whitman - A Woman Waits for Me


اکنون من ديگر فارغ خواهم شد از زنان بی احساس
به کنار او می روم که با من می ماند، و همه زنانی که
خون گرمند و مناسب حال من
می بينم که آنها مرا می فهمند و مرا انکار نمی کنند،
می بينم که آنها ارزش مرا دارند،
من شوهر ی نيرومند برای آن زنان خواهم بود



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Friday, January 31, 2003

٭ زن و مرد دو نهايت تند از راز خلقت هستند. همه مردان به نوعی در برابر نوعی از کشش زنانه سر تسليم می آورند. حتی کونی ها از مادر خود حساب می برند. آما تعدادی از آنها نيز از برادران تنی خود حسرت می خورند که دوست دختری ناز با سينه های برآمده دارند.

A man and a woman are two extremes horizon of creation. All men submit in one form or another to their affection for woman. Even the queers deem to their mother’s. A few of them even envy toward their brothers who have girlfriends with big bosoms.



٭
Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me,
I will be the robust husband of
those women.
Walt Whitman - A Woman Waits for Me




٭
Children always pay for adults’ selfish desires to keep or dismantle a marriage. And that is itself a pain – but it turns to be a killer when a communist judge orders a big police officer to adjust all that.
If there is no love and respect in a household, the family is simply dragging itself, tumbling here, rumbling there, hoping things will get better on its own. Till, that grinding macebearer comes down to order.




٭ همه ما به نوعی شکار شده توسط ارزشهای گذشتگانمان هستيم. ما تنها مجريان آن ارزشها هستيم در حالی که به خيال خويش ما سرزنده بوده و بر امور زندگی امان استيلا داريم.


٭
We are all hunted by the values of the generations before us. We are merely the executioners, thinking are in charge and sound.



٭
I have lost all my hope that there would ever be an understanding between sexes under one roof. Not that I had whole lots of hope before, but, I thought the education could save it. But I learned education on relationship makes one to be more equalizer than any thing. What we really need are men and women who would take punches of marriage/union good in return for some absurd benefits like hot sexual intercourse at earlier years to some companionship at later years.
So the best a man and a woman can do is to stay within the course so long they got love and respect. And to get out soon all that gone with that merciless hot winds of fire and misery. Life is too short to stay in a bad relationship. Societies make it too damn big deal for divorce.



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Thursday, January 30, 2003

٭ يک هنرمند همه حقوقی را دارد که هرآنچه خوش داشت ابراز دارد. ما می خواهيم که او از چيزهای بگويد که ما در دل دوست داريم اما از اينکه به گونه ای با آنها مرتبط شويم - خجالت می کشيم. اما به مجدّد اينکه او شروع به تظاهر کرد ما آن حس غريبی را نيز داريم که از او بخواهيم گورش را گم کند.


٭
An artist has every right to express himself as it pleases him. We want him that way. We want him to display what we love but we are ashamed to be associated with in any ways. But, soon he starts pretending his expressions, we have that weird sense to tell him to get lost.



٭ انسان تاريخ ساز است - اما در نحوه و بنای ساخت آن نقش ضعيفی دارد. منشهای گذشتگان انديشه او را آنقدر مخدوش می کنند که برای او کمتر اراده ای می گذارند تا در ساختمان تاريخی که می سازد نقش داشته باشد. اما، گاهگاهی ميوتيشن اتفاق می افتد. اتاترک در ترکيه مدرن مردی بود که روح گذشتگان تُرک را خبيث خواند و در يک روز برفی و سرد در آنکارا بساتش را درآورد و روی قبر گذشتکان تُرک جيش کرد.


٭
The theory of the Communists may be summed up in the single sentence: Abolition of private property.
Karl Marx

How in world you have to have incentive to work, to educate yourself and to compete for a better life? The decease of dreams is a painful thing. I would correct Marx and say, “The theory of the Communists may be summed up in the single sentence: The death of human sprite.”




٭ خيلی از رفاهيات زندگی اجتماعی را که می شناسيم، ما مديون انسانهای بزرگی هستيم که همواره حمّ خود را در راه رهايی و آسودگی هم نوعان خود می کنند. اما تشخيص اين صداقت آسان نيست و کم نيستند اشخاصی که با تظاهر بی شرمانه ای سعی در هدايت نيروهای در راستای منافع خويش هستند. جامعه ای سالم است که در صدد مصدود کردن راه اين فرصت طلبان بوده - منابع خويش را در گرو لياقت و برتری رقابتی افراد و سازمانها می گذارد. نقش دولت انجام امور نيست بلکه فراهم کردن زمينه های سالم برای رقابت آزاد نيروهای اقتصادی است. در جوامع مترقی، نقش دولت در انجام و گرداندن کارگاهای اقتصادی به حداقل می رسد. دائمی ترين وظيفه اقتصادی دولت فراهم کردن زمينهای رقابت و به حداقل رساندن بورکراسی است. انديشه های چپ، اقتصاد را تنبل و طبعأ فقر را همگانی می کنند.وظيفه اجتماعی دولت، اما، دخالت نکردن در زندگی و آداب خصوصی مردم است. در اينجا نيز دولت بيشتر می بايست نقش هدايت کننده داشته باشد تا مجری.



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Wednesday, January 29, 2003

٭
The question of existence of god is so ambivalence to man that he may assume that the very question is part of his personal life’s mystery, ready to be unfold to him, one at a time.

He can be shocked in fear if he faces the ocean at night in his little fishing boat. But, mystery is not all in fearsome might of an ocean. If he chooses to stare hard enough into a cloudless ski in a desert night, he would go in dream shortly. In that very giant peaceful structure, he would see the face of god, assuring him that “Thou shall not feel alone!”

He may not come out of this experience to tell others that he is no more an agnostic. But, he would feel good thereafter; knowing that he is not all that alone.



٭ بخشی از يک نامه دراز قهرمان داستان به همسرش:
"عزيزم! اين را می نويسم چون دلم سخت چرکين از توست. شايد هم از خودم که آنقدر توانمند نيستم تا کمبودهای زندگی امان که تا حدود زيادی و قبل از هر چيز بازتاب ضعفهای خود من است، را مهار کنم. اين دردها گاهی آنقدر هجوم می آورند که دوست دارم سرم را محکم به ديوار بزنم و قطره های از خون آنرا را بر روی پارچه ای بريزم و به تو نشان دهم و بگويم :"عزيزم! با من مهربان باش! جنون نامهربانی تو مرا به هيزی واداشته است! ببين! من اين پارچه را از ميان لباسهای نشسته زن همسايه برداشته ام! امروز دهم ماه است. من اين را بايد بخاطر بسپارم! "


٭
There is always those few sweet words you can remember, heard perhaps from a Sufi, an old man you can’t even remember his name, but a vague image of his you might have now, and that his words are with you for ever. Then, you know you have the words of wisdom at your disposal, so much that you want to pass it down to generations after. Literature is this very nifty vehicle that can make words of wisdom heavenly beautiful and eternal.



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Tuesday, January 28, 2003

٭ قبول می کنم که ذهنی آشفته دارم. قبول می کنم که هنوز در اندر خم يک کوچه هستم - مانند تو به ايمان خاصی چنگ نزده ام. ولی به تو اطمينان می دهم که مرام تو در همزيستی من هرگز در تحديد نخواهد بود چرا که من تعصب خاصی ندارم که عقايد تو را تحمل نکنم. و يا اصولأ به عقيده ای آنقدر دلبسته باشم که زحمت پيرو کردن ديگران را بدان بکشم. اما، می دانم که تو هرگز اين توانای را نداری تا حتی عقيده ای آنچنان خنثی همچون ايده های نامتناجنس مرا تحمل کنی. من بکنار، اما، تو چگونه می خواهی با رقيبان عقيدتی ات که اکنون ظاهرأ دارند مستانه در کشورت می تازند به کنار بيايی؟ آيا اين تو را به واهمه وانمی دارد؟ ... که مثلأ سر تو را زير آب برای مدت طولانی نگه دارند تا خيال رقيب عقيدتی بودن برای آنها را از سر خود طرد کنی؟


٭
I can’t care if the whole world tips hat to left or right – I do crave for truth, believing that truth is not that obvious with naked eyes. And materialism with its enchantments had been for too long in decisive mission to bury it under its iron footsteps. But literature along with music and art in general will prevail the truth. For their lone business is human soul.



٭
I hear only that rigid rhythms of footsteps of a nihilistic giant that scares me to death – leaves me no alternative but turn to only god my tradition has brought me up, Allah!



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Monday, January 27, 2003

٭ آيا تاکنون متوجه شده ايد که تا چقدر صدای يک کودک در تلفن زيباست؟ تو اين را وقتی بهتر متوجه می شوی که قبل از آن با زنی شاکی و غرغرو که در اوج عادت ماهانه خود است صحبت کرده باشی.


٭
Have you noticed how heavenly beautiful it sounds a child’s voice on phone? You notice this if you just happened to hang up with a grouching woman who is in her prime of menstruation.



٭
Nothing works better for a real man than to be under moral pressure of not meeting his dues. I am talking about that piece of bread that all men have to make sure is on table of every child they bring in this world. Ultimately, a man is responsible for his penis. Masturbation is always handy only a few inches away – should he says he can’t.



٭ آزادی ملموس ترين و مقدس ترين ارزشهای است که ملتهای خوشبخت را با نگون-ملتها متمايز می کند. اما قبل از داشتن آزادی - داشتن شکمی که از گرسنگی قارت و قورت نکند لازم است. با همه اينها، تاريخ نشان داده است جنبشهای که دغدغه نخستينشان سير کردن مردم بوده است اولين خيانتکاران به آزادی بوده اند.


٭ خودکشی يک رهای است - اما بدون جدل بودن آن، آن را به ارزانترين و سرسريترين چاره که با ذات اقديسی انسانی ما در تناقض است مبدل می کند. رهای از دردهايمان تنها در گروه کوششهای ما در درک مشکلات و رسيدن به راه حلهای است که با منطق و ذهن روشن همگانی بخواند.


٭ ما حاصل غريب اتفاقاتی بيش نيستيم. پديده ای حرامزاده اين چنين، ما هنوز می بايست نابسامانی ها را تحمل کرده، در صدد سازمان دادن به آنها و قابل پيش بينی کردن آنها بکوشيم. درک عمق اين دو مطب يعنی اتفاقی بودن زندگی و کوشش و مسئوليت، به ما ياداوری می کند که اين سنگ بزرگتر از آن است که ما بخواهيم برای مدّت طولانی بالای سر خود نگهه داريم.


٭
We are a weird product of chances. A bastard phenomena as it seems, we still carry load of shits to have to organize ourselves and make this mess as predictable as possible. Only then, knowing the roots of both, is that we realize this is too big a stone to hold over our heads for too long.



٭ در اوج قدرت و توانايم، همت من همواره اين بود که استيلا خود را بر ديگران تحميل کنم. اين درسهای نخستينی بودند که من از تلاشهای ذاتی همگان در طبيعت خام در راستای حفظ بقاء خويش آموختم. که هرچه رذيلتر و گستاختر باشم - از مشکلات ام سربلندتر بيرون می آيم.
دگرديسی من، اما، از همان آغاز با تلخی شروع شد. مرگ، شبهه ای بود که داس و چماقی در يک دست و نامه اعمال ام در دست ديگر خصمانه منتظر هجرت من بود.
من يادشتهای او را جدی نمی گرفتم. اين بود که با هر جنده ای که سر راه ام سبز می شد همخوابه می شدم. بدينسان نامه اعمال من با نوشتهای ناخوانا فرشته مرگ به يک کتاب قطور دستنويس مبدل شد. من گناه زنخواهی و ابتذال را جدی نمی گرفتم. و آنگاه که اعمال نامه را به من دادند تا بابت حساب به گيشه حسابداری آخرت رجوع کنم - سعی کردم که کلکهای خاورميانه ای را که با آن عمری سپری کرده بودم را بکار اندازم. قسمتهای از کتاب را پاره کرده در زباله دان کنار گيشه انداختم. نگو که ماموران رژيم آخرت منتظر اين تخطی بودند. آنها از تمام کار من فيلمبرداری کرده و وقتی مرا برای بازخواست بردند - مجبور شدم به طور افتضاحی به التماس بيافتم. در حالی که ديگر حنجره گلويم از کرنشها ملتمسانه ام ديگر خراش برداشته بود به آن سرکرده تفتيش اعمال چنين گفتم "من به گناهی که کرده ام اقرار می کنم - لطفأ مرا تنبيه نکنيد! " سرکرده تفتيش تبسمی کرد و گفت "صبور باش! التماسهايت را نگهدار! تو به آنها در بعد از برسی اعمالت بيشتر احتياج داری!" هنوز انعکاس حرفش که با خندهای همکارانش عجين شده است در مغزم سنگينی می کند.


٭

Papa,
I am sure you do understand my intrudes to your world of women and spirituality! For you are the last holy father in religious history one should worry to get forgiveness for lack of control on his manhood desires! You understand the stress of it better than any other personage in history even if that bitter taste of betrayal is pointed at you. A man like you can not be so possessive of his women by any means.



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Friday, January 24, 2003

٭ زندگی يک حادثه است که تنها او از راز آن آگاه است. ما بردگانی هستيم که بر حسب اتفاق می آييم و بی توجه می رويم. مگسی هستيم که وزوزهای ما حتی گوشهای حشرات را می آزارد. مرگ ما در هستی و تاريخ آن همانند نسيمی است که يک روز برگهای درخت اناری را می لرزاند - آنهم در يک روستای کويری و بی توجه به کودکی که صورتش کثيف بود و در گوشه چشمش چند دانه مگس شاش می کردند.


٭

Dear Papa Grigory,

It is quite sometimes I have not written to you. It feels so good to know your sprit is there, somewhere in sky, maybe over my shoulders inducing me to write. But, I prefer to think that you are like a holy statue resting your arms on one of four mud-shelves surrounding our peasantry home in Iran – dictating me to resurrect the true stories about you and your life.

Oh, dear holy man, our Siberian Startsy, I have things to tell you this morning! Not that I have no one else to write to – but you are top in my list today. For my needs at this moments are deep and essentially spiritual. Perhaps, I am desperate in other things which are not clear to me. And with the faith I could cast upon myself and think of what you were (not what your enemies, communist and bourgeois alike, have depicted you as), I can clear my mind today. With your blessings, at your holy presence, I can relinquish my anguishes and that nasty feelings of nothingness. I can tell you what it bothers me in deep. Things that are not clear to myself at this moment, I am sure of, now, if I grip firm your long Siberian black overcoat for answering to my calls, will become crisply clear to me. Only if I could have little more faith!

True – writing about them is much help. But, it is like a walk in woods if one is to miss that waterfall it is always a blessing if a holy man remind him of its mystery. Thus, imagine, if you and me with few young women of faith are walking in woods, and you show us this image of nature, that lonesome waterfall, which likely must had stayed unnoticed by us – what if you insinuate the girls to wash themselves, would you ask me to leave? Would it be a jealousy traits of yours, should I insist I like to see and that I have as much stake in the scene?! Is that why you could never trust a man? Is that why you were antagonized so often by male gender – so much that you could not even tolerate the most gullible ones among your devoted female disciples?

So, papa, see this is the problem with men! I am one of them! Naturally, I can not help but deviate from the your calling faith par excellence. Something you desire is a true and a whole of devotions, which, I can not bear to give. So, am I trying hard in vain to induce something that I am just incapable of. Oh! Papa! I can’t be sacrificing my own desires! Please, shadow your forgiveness upon me! I repent for this awful sin of mine!



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Thursday, January 23, 2003

٭ يک روز گهی که شاخ و دُم نداره! چنين است و چنين نخواهد ماند. آی سی :فاک!


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Monday, January 20, 2003

٭ زندگی ام هر آن می تواند توسط مقام معظم علياحضرت خانم به تباهی کشانده شود - درست مانند يک شمعی که در معبد شيطان از شکل بدرآمده است.


٭ اجسام در هوا عمومأ ملق زنان در تلاتم اند و آدم هميشه در اين معما می ماند که آنها در کدامين صورت خود نقش به زمين می شوند.


٭ حالم خوب است و بطور معجزه زای زندگی را می گذرانم. وقوع هر چيزی را انتظار دارم. گُه در همه جا گسترده است و اين چيز جديدی نيست {که من برای نخستين بار آن را ادعا کنم}. با اين حال، شخص تا يک حدودی در انحراف دادن اين جريان (زوال و پستی) توانای دارد. امّا اگر فرد قسمتش اين بوده است که مشت بخورد - يقينأ، صورتی داغون خواهد داشت.


٭ زندگی مملو از احمقهای است که آينه ای در دست دارند. آنچه در نظر می آيد چرک صورتهای با کله ای به انداز موشهای صحرای اند. من اساس وجودی اين طرح را انکار نمی کنم - بلکه بيشتر منطق آن را زير سوال می برم. خداوندگار اين هستی شاهکار کرده است. او می بايست به خلقت خويش افتخار کند.


٭ ناهنجارهی ها در هر گوشه و کناری اتفاق می افتند. تنها درجه بوی تعفن زای آنها در نوسان است - و آنهم بستگی بدان دارد که شخص کجای اين عالم ايستاده است. بيآموز از مشکلاتی که نتيجه بفکری اند پرهيز کنی.


٭ در مرگ انديشه، کمتر کسی مانده بود تا در سوک نشيند.


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