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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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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