AIDA

Eulogy

2011-12-29T23:33:00.001-08:00

words fail me.
in the immense world of letters, conjugations, word choices, sentences, phrases, metaphors, and silences, there still rests miscommunication. what sweet delight exists in the complete and perfect deliverance of an idea from one mind to the other, and how rarely it happens.
we are in constant search of proper media of communication. to transfer ourselves, to bring forward what we are, to represent the essence of ourselves, to open ports for the succession of what is trying to come through us, we either search the ways to enable it or delve into silence and become reserved because what comes through is getting polluted with everything it is not. So silence... silence... and more silence.

Only Loveless Concerts Allowed-Tehran

2011-08-24T02:36:00.000-07:00

what shame
for you to be my flower
and me to be your thorn

for all i am and all i’ll be
is yours to break and set me free
what change and shift shall bring us close
the warm embrace or words of prose

for willows fall and maples sway
for skies go red and men must slay

what shame
for you to be my flower
and me to be your thorn

if songs of love are burdened prayers
above the clouds they cant repair
if we cant love, what hope propels
the spinning wheel of mind that swells

with thoughts of concur, power, smite
of stabs in backs and rationed rights
to burn you down and make you fall
for me to grow and stand up tall

what shame
for you to be my flower
and me to be your thorn

the leading bird

2011-06-14T21:04:00.000-07:00

clouds descend
on grass grown wild
tall and grand
lush in hand

they bend in air
as man in prayer
i'm weaving through
trying to get to you

i'm running past
the birds of dawn
they sing like heaven
they're leading on

yet i don't see
slow motioned wings
like gold in sun
how it could be won

white as snow
silk feathered doves
eternal glow
they easily know

that life is grand
in all its shapes
whether it gives
whether it takes

That i am you
and you are me
and loving grace
can set us free

from sprinting far,
above, beyond
and being our own
strong, magic wand

i'm pushing through
though knowing this
thinking it all falls
behind the next abyss

i'll get there soon
and dwell there some
until its time for
the next cloud to come

Replay

2011-06-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

The theme runs through it like a river.
if i were a valley, this must be the water that gradually breaks away a path within me.
it grows and as it does so, it digs deeper into the sands and stones of my being.

It is the questions raised to which the answers reside in this water.

the concept of reincarnation was unacceptable to me. I could not accept it even spiritually.
Yet to think of the water that has ran through the valley... it is hard not to accept it now.
the story goes like this: I am that water, i am that grain, i am that valley, i am the air that the eagle flies in above the water, i am the first tree that meets the eagle at the tree lines of the jungle, i am the cloud at sunset. They are my family, a particle of each and every one of them exists within me. without them i would not be here. Reincarnation is held within their death and gradual leading to the existence of others. Death leads to life. that is reincarnation.

Embrace

2011-02-09T07:25:00.000-08:00

Children are joy.
they are overflowing with emotion, love, excitement, and curiosity.
i may not have many treasures in this world, but the three feet long people, secretly escaping the discipline of class to embrace your leg as if its the safest place on earth..."Bye Miss Aida!!"... it makes you think twice about treasures.

+-

2011-02-07T07:43:00.001-08:00

events unfold that direct you more and more inward.
There will always be those who question why you are the way you are.
It makes you ponder over it for a while. sometimes years.
Yet deep down you know there is no proof necessary for anyone but yourself.
At the end of it all, it is only you and you. So make peace with it.
You intend no harm, you walk the earth with respect, you extend a hand where needed, so why should it matter if you are not the way others want you to be?
intimidation? Is it not true though that my brother's success makes me just as happy as he himself? Is it not true that my mother's sorrow is mine and my sister's joy my light? What makes me stand above or bellow anyone else? What i have is yours, so there is no separation.

Let there be light in all our different shades, for we are leaves of the same tree.
Just on different branches.
location in and of itself yields different growth results.

I believe.
and I stand by it.

Fall

2010-12-06T09:02:00.000-08:00

Just like two maple leaves
golden and red
we were sure of our home
of our teetering bed

The wind told tales of far away lands
of trees tall and grand
of grass that grows tall
of glittering sand

It was you me and Alice
the leaf next door
and Jonathan of course
and a couple leaves more

I loved you to death
you loved me back
we'd wait for the wind
to make us stroke each others' back

In stardust nights
we'd watch the shining moon
with endless silky grace
the breeze would join us soon

born in spring
we knew summer was grand
though limbless and fragile
we could still offer a hand

to a passerby on road
in need of a shade
for his passion to restore
for his fatigue to fade

and autumn would come
with all of its clues
of old age, of death,
and withering hues

We'd see a vision
of crystallized breaths
of icicles on branches
white, plump, fluffy beds

we knew the wind
would blow someday
and carry you off
to lands far away

and i would fall
right here at last
to the skirt of the earth
that holds the leaves of our past

I'd miss you for a while
and you'd do the same
but we knew very well
it's time for a new name

on our home upstairs
with new springs to unfold
with new love to progress
and stories yet untold

2010-07-12T21:01:00.000-07:00

You are loved
for all that you are
and all that you will be.

Express

2010-06-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

To express does not always mean authenticity.
There are many of us who express without anything worthy of expressing, while there are others with such internal grace yet no tool for communication.

Every morning, I know that I don't like to have breakfast until I feed the goldfish. I eat three times a day. She eats only once.

The basil and thyme leaves sitting on the windowsill must be watered or they lose their young and vigorous energy. They are like six year old children. Growing bigger everyday and filled with enough energy to run you down in two hours. Yet they are fragile to the extent of not being able to survive without you.

There is beauty in this care. There is no exchange other than the necessity of survival... other than the fact that the fish starts to float on its side if I don't change its water or the bowed head of basil and thyme leaves if i don't water them.

Some expressions are just internal. Some beauties are simply there. It is only a matter of noticing them.

You have it.

(To a friend who watered my basil when i was gone. Thank you)

Today's Gift

2010-06-20T18:38:00.000-07:00

"Draba plucks no heartstrings. Its perfume, if there is any, is lost in the gusty winds. Its color is plain white. Its leaves wear a sensible woolly coat. Nothing eats it; it is too small. No poets sing of it. Some botanists once gave it a Latin name, and then forgot it. Altogether it is of no importance--just a small creature that does a small job quickly and well."

A Sand County Almanac
and Sketches Here and There

Aldo Leopold

Cement

2010-04-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

How ironic
Being a child and amused at the cite of the amazing texture of Tehran streets' cement since it barely presented itself to me with a mother who made us pampered promising girls. It was exceptional to have a good fall on cement... hands scratched, knees bleeding, face almost touching... Which meant your nose was close enough to smell the stories of all the strangers who had walked along there. Those grains seemed to hold in them so much of the world. And the scratched hands would allow you to carry home with you some dirt that had collected in the fine lined wounds.
And now, at 23, cement is no longer exotic when I walk back to Broadway/Lafayette F train stop at midnight to go home from downtown Manhattan.

2010-03-29T20:15:00.000-07:00

"There either is or is not a way things are.
The color of the day,
the way it felt to be a child,
the feeling of saltwater on your sunburned legs...

Sometimes the water is yellow,
sometimes it's red,
but what color it may be in memory depends on the day."

From the script of the movie, "Great Expectations", adaptation of Charles Dickens' book, Great Expectations.

2010-03-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor
freedom and deprecate agitation are men [sic] who want crops without
plowing up the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightening...
Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did, and it never will.
--Frederick Douglass (1857)

A+

2010-03-02T21:04:00.000-08:00

As unpleasant as the initial stage was, the actual event was an experience i would not mind having again. The nurse said i was out for 5 seconds which seemed like way too short for what i felt.

I was on my way, walking towards Bobst Library on West 4th street when i noticed the big NYC blood drive buses. There was no crowd which always seems to define my situation when I go to give blood. I often wonder... why is this the one thing so many of us voluntarily do? It's the one line we accept to stand in without getting any tangible rewards in return. There were no lines, i had work to do, this was my chance. As I filled out my form and took my seat on the bed, i was wondering why these nurses ask you so many times whether or not you are doing well. The other girl to my left was feeling dizzy... i was quite proud of how totally fine i was. yes! Pump that pint of blood out of me as i have a meeting to catch at 2! When the intermittent squeezes at 5 second intervals were over, the nurse pulled the needle out (which took a bit longer than it should have if she hadn't kept pressing her finger on the still penetrated needle). She put the cotton ball on the opening and told me to raise my hand up. I was looking out the window. I noticed that my stomach was getting unsettled. Maybe it didn't like how the nurse put too much pressure on the needle. ok... divert thoughts... meeting... remember notes for meeting... remember notes...there is no way i can keep that arm up any more...my eyes... something is happening to my eyes...i want to say something to the nurse, but she tells me to put my hand down, which at this time is already half way on its way to collapsing. i figure now that the hand is down things should get better, yet it seems that i can visualize my own gauges. All the little hands on the gauges that were showing my smooth and healthy running system are on their way to zero. zero...zero...zero...

"Aida?"
"What just happened?"
"You were out for a good 4-5 seconds. Just relax."

I had no idea where i was. she put a bag of ice under my neck. I'm sweating as if i'm walking in the middle of Sahara desert. My arms are crossed along my chest. i'm pretty sure i look like i just came back from the grave.

i don't remember the images, but i do remember that i saw things and i certainly remember the feeling and thought. I felt confused to the point that was sickening. i did not see a point to anything. everything lacked value. The nurse said only five seconds, but I felt like i saw a whole bunch of images flash in front of me. It must have been at least a ten minute show! I remember feeling torn between paths and very quickly getting to the result that there was no point in any of them. It felt much longer than 5 seconds. of course, the neuro-psychologist in me has the proper explanation. There was not enough blood going to my brain, certain neurons were firing, but not enough to give me proper logic and reason.
I will accept that. But there was something soothing about the experience that i felt afterward. Something was different. Something was surely different.

I Pledge

2010-02-14T07:34:00.000-08:00

I click the "purchase" button for my order on Orbitz.com and finalize a ticket to Minneapolis' Lindbergh airport. i had figured that all this flying back and forth would be worth it... much more worth it because there are probably a lot more immigrants here in New York. Sending in my application here would most likely mean waiting a long time.

Yet in retrospect, i stumble upon the obvious question... how long is long? really?

I moved to the States at age thirteen in July of 2000. This July will be the tenth year anniversary of my move. Would you say ten years in a long time?

Well, it seems like it would be if you were waiting for something. Imagine... imagine something you really want and then imagine waiting ten years for it. Now is ten years a long time?

i cannot even imagine what it feels like to wait for something you want for ten years. i have certainly not been waiting for this. I am sure of it. If anything, I had such resentments towards it. It was not a conscious decision for me from the start. At age thirteen i was more worried about my skin and my big nose than the notion of a brighter future in another country. Though i must say, i became ecstatic about the idea of moving to the U.S. once i was notified. I often wonder why I do not have the slightest recollection of what my mother behaved like during those last few months before our move. She must have been either entirely convinced that we are all just going to come for a visit and return after a month or two, or that we would eventually just decide not to leave Tehran at all. Because i cannot see her being happy about yet another move... and a move not just to anywhere, but rather to the other side of the world.

i say, again, that i have not been waiting for this moment because i did not come here by choice. Therefore naturally, while learning about the TV show "Friends" in 8th grade, or mapping out the ethnic breakdown of the cafeteria during lunch hour while in Midwest suburbia's Eden Prairie High School, i did not think i was accumulating years towards the ten that i needed in order to become a U.S. citizen. i did not patiently wait for this.

yet in all of its glory, the big "1", "0", has meant a tremendous change. i certainly hope it has meant an improvement in my English skills because i was positive, sitting in the citizenship ceremony with my own little American flag in hand, that the MC lady was about to put herself to sleep while reading off a sheet as if we were all in second grade dictation hour. Really? i mean i spent another $200.00 to fly out here in December to take a fluency test, and i am sure non of these people who are sitting around me would have made it even close to this Federal District Court of Minnesota without knowing proper English. This was occurring as we were being told how to fill out voter registration forms. a bit of an irony i thought.

Especially since i had also just studied and taken a test, the same time i took the English proficiency test...educating myself about American history, how George Washington is the father of this nation... while like a lost child i was looking for a mother which this country does not seem to have...how the Declaration of Independence was written to set this country free of the British, yet like a child who grows up to know no better than what his or her parents did, Imperialism took over. I learned all this in the preparation pamphlet i got prior to the test. i even learned, that America brought and sold Africans as slaves, but that Slavery existed in many countries long before America was founded, AKA, "It's not so bad", or that Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, Samoa, Northern Mariana Islands, and Guam are U.S. territories, which means a partially self-governing piece of land under the authority of the US government with representatives in the congress who can debate, sponsor legislation, and vote in committees, but cannot participate in the formal votes of the House.

So yes, i got my ticket and headed over to MN.

At 1:00 pm on February 3, 2010, i entered the Federal District Court of Minnesota in St. Paul. I left my mother in the back of the court where families and friends were supposed to sit, and after being handed the US Citizen's Almanac, the Declaration of Independence, a voter registration form, and my little flag, i took my seat as citizen #58. There were 67 of us that day... apparently a small number for the typical ceremony. I looked around to situate myself. There were so many different feelings in that room. The Indian woman to my left, citizen 57, did not seem too enthused while the Ukranian woman to my right, citizen 59, was terribly annoyed by the child behind us who refused to quiet down. There was a gorgeous woman sitting two rows ahead of me who was wearing a beautiful African gown. As we stood up to put our right hands in the air and promise to give up any loyalty we had to any nation, king, queen, or prince, i looked at her wondering whether or not she sees the contrast. The vibrant blue color of her dress against the dull dark brown walls of the courtroom was simply not going to accept, "you are either with us, or you are against us". Blue can never turn brown.
What came to her lips as she repeated after the judge was a mumble she was not paying attention to as she kept turning around to signal her family to come forward and take pictures. She was not here to give up any loyalty and her lack of care for the words was screaming "arbitrary" just as much as my right hand was up in the air with my mouth shut as if I had been jaw-locked my entire life. I wonder what would happen if I put my left hand up. For me, there is a lot more strength in that one, a lot more belief, a lot more capability. It is the one i would pick if i wear to swear anything and actually mean it. but yes...i forgot that in 2010 we still stand in courtrooms believing that the left hand is the hand of sin.

Will be continued.

Handle with Care

2010-02-06T11:02:00.000-08:00

It's like the difference between doing a 9 feet long scroll painting vs, a small sheet of emotion expressed in tangled details. For the scroll you have to let your hands get dirty with paint, let your body touch the paper, let your hand move with the strokes... you gotta dance. That's the grace you owe to the work. Yet, the small sheet unravels itself in the delicateness of your breath as you get closer and closer to paper. Its intimacy is private, with the lines unraveling their message in tight constraints yet not feeling insignificant at all.
Whether big and passionate, or small and private, one is not better than the other.
Sometimes there is a calling for one, while sometimes the other is more attractive.

Each of them have their own grace, their own world. Comparing is generally a terrible and pointless idea.

First Class Reflection

2010-01-26T22:36:00.000-08:00

When it comes to courage, I would have to say that it is with courage that any happiness is possible for me. If there is no courage, nothing is done, and when nothing is done, no new encounters occur, and when there are no new encounters, there lingers a stagnant feeling of …well… emptiness.
It was about a year and a half ago when I personally encountered this. I always thought happiness was overrated. I disagreed with this idea that we are all constantly looking for different ways of achieving happiness. I cherished sorrow because I knew that I was aware of the world around me, and the world around me was anything but a happy place. With all the wrongdoing and injustice around the world, how could anyone allow him/herself to be happy? How can you be happy when thousands die from poverty and hunger every day? How can you be happy when so many women are beaten every day? How can you be happy when innocent people like you are tortured in prison everyday? How can happiness be possible with all that goes on in our world?
I was going through a personal crisis. I had hit an emotional bottom. I felt that I could not possibly be any worse than I was then. I took refuge in lying down on the floor with my belly on the ground… arms and legs spread out as if they were not mine. I did not want them. I was a broken soul stock in a body wanting to tear myself apart. I wanted to cut myself loose from it all. I do not recall what happened or what I experienced that eventually brought me to think what I am about to share, but somehow with what I was going through I came to the following conclusion: If the world has done all the injustice it can, then my misery is only making it a more hideous place; If I am bothered by its state, instead of complaining, why do I not do something about it? From that point on, something completely changed in me. I started to have a different view on happiness. Happiness did not mean to be content with the current state of the world, or to seek instant gratification. Happiness, rather, meant to have enough courage to do your part for the betterment of the world.
Courage is to accept the personal experience of life. It is to take it all in and savor it. Courage is to come up with one’s own answers for the questions of humanity. I have to come to believe that we are complex creatures with too advanced of brains to even properly understand our own species. We struggle to comprehend one another. This scares us, and so our delicate psyches and strong brains direct us to try to find the best routes that benefit us. This benefit for some can mean misery for others… and this just seems to be the normal course of action we have taken so far. This is why I would say we all have our own answers for the questions of humanity. I discovered courage when I came to accept this about myself. My answers are my own. I shall not impose them on anyone else, but as long as they aid me in making sense of this world I will stick to them. I think religion, science, spirituality, consumerism, and all other activities we engage in as groups are responses we have come up with. Some, however, have been powerful enough to impose their answers onto everyone else. Courage, is to accept that each one of us can have our own answers. This is why courage can mean happiness, because with itself it brings freedom. I wish for courage… for all of us… to come up with our own answers, and to do our own small part for bettering the world around us and not worsening it. I wish for courage for the people of Haiti, and for the friends I have who have been involved in getting medical aid to Haiti for many years now. They have lost friends in the earthquake along with many years of hard work. I wish for them enough courage, so that they do not think what they did over the past years has gone to waste. It takes courage to pick up and start all over again. I know that they can find it within themselves. It takes courage to recover, because it means picking up and facing again the world that might be brutal to you just as it was this time. Yet, that too, is something that us humans with our delicate psyches can manage. I wish for courage… for Haiti… for all of us.

Right of Passage

2010-01-15T14:01:00.000-08:00

Check out some of the concert photos
here

Delicious

2010-01-13T12:43:00.000-08:00

I got bit by a dog in Vancouver.
Beautiful city.
Lucky Olimpians.

-14

2010-01-11T08:46:00.000-08:00

Reaching a place to sit down and write was a bit difficult.
a few road trips, a couple of Tim Horton coffees, Subway sandwiches, and the neverending jokes, i'm now in Toronto with two lovely relatives and the group is on its way to vancouver. I will join them tomorrow.
The only downside so far may have been the room i got at Hamptons hotel in Ottawa. They gave me a complementary upgrade to a private suite, which is a bit diasappointing when you're only going to sleep in it for a few hours and not share it with a couple of people for a few days. I tried to run around and cover all areas as much as i could.
Anyone ever gone for a walk in subzero weather? of course those who have dogs would definitely know. But this wasn't really a walk with a purpose of "dog needs to do its business and there aint nothing we can do about it". This was just pure, lets go out for a walk. well, we did that. Lake Ontario is tremendously beautiful when the beach is covered in ice yet the slow waves still hit the shore. I would say it was one of the most peaceful scenes i have witnessed. You realize how small and delicate you are. With all of the layers of clothing you have on and the amount of effort you put into taking care of yourself... this water, the source of our lives, hits these big blocks of ice with no regards for its edgy rough coldness. It is so delicate yet so strong. Niagara... had a story of its own.

Discover life.

Best of...

2010-01-06T20:27:00.000-08:00

Losing something can always mean finding something better.
Nutella, strawberry crepes are sent down directly from heaven.
Less is more.
Chocolate covered lizard tails make sure you don't fall behind from Obama.
You might have made a fool out of yourself but at least you took a step towards something... how would you know if you don't ever try?
چخ خواننده

Road trip with the group to Ottawa.

Montreal

2010-01-04T20:27:00.000-08:00

About 11 hours later, and i'm in Montreal.
turns out trains are actually much more comfortable than planes, except for when it comes to restrooms. I did not go for 11 hours.
For some reason everyone was sick too... just hoping i didn't catch anything.
The food cart was amazing! you could order whatever you wanted (which you had to pay for of course) but you could get pretty much anything. There was a lounge area to sit at with tables and comfortable chairs. The coach chairs were very comfortable of course with leg rests and foot rests and a back which would go down more than just 20 degrees. This was like business class NWA for me. There was an outlet right by my sit and free Wi-Fi. for all those who can't live without this... what more could you ask for? (clean toilet maybe?)
I have an economy room at the YWCA hotel, which means i get to share a communal bathroom and shower. This reminds me of Zarafshan in Shahrak e Gharb of Tehran, where i used to live as a child. We would go to Zarafshan, the absolutely superb new indoor pool and rec center, with our upstairs neighbor, Leila, who was Neda's age. the communal showers and bathrooms were great... except for that one time when for some reason Leila decided to bring her camera in and take pictures of us making dumb poses. she was haunted down by "Strong-in-Charge-Women" and right in front of all our faces, as if enacting a horrible torture for us to learn from, they pulled out the film from her camera and dropped it in a glass of water. What was a tremendous topic of conversation later that day was why the hell did they start stirring the film with a spoon? did they add sugar?

yes, communal showers... good times.

Amtrak

2010-01-03T20:36:00.000-08:00

Train ticket to Montreal, 8:15 tomorrow morning, January 4, 2010.
I wonder what the train ride is going to be like.
a backpack and a small luggage should be easy enough to maneuver.

Giberrish for the Wall

2009-05-27T21:17:00.000-07:00

Here it is
yes, we can make it
look
listen
smell
grasp
taste this...
yes, we can make it
did you notice the whale?
come on, swim, swim, and keep swimming because
we can make it
notice the journey
understand how tangible it is
feel it right here and right now
and sense that it is not difficult at all
the sun is here
and the moon will be.
and the sparkling jewels of this endless water
shine at us
listen to your fingertips as they find a place for themselves
between these jewels
see how easily they let you in?
you are home
always
regardless of your size
eye color
father
land
or degree
you are home
always
and is it blue?
green?
turquoise?
no... lets name a new color
for we see something beyond grace
that does not fit into green, blue, or turquoise
swim on
yes, we can make it
because we realize
who is to say what lies at the end of the journey?
swim on
yes, we can make it
there
to the East is Spain
to the West are the Americas
North is cold
so is South
but we can be somewhere else too
if you want
We can rename Spain
and the Americas
neither of which requires a passport to get in
swim on
yes, we can make it
such beautiful water this is
yes, we can make it
because we already are.
we already are.

because we...
...
hello?
oh...

UI

2009-05-06T15:25:00.000-07:00

I saw a herd of rhinoceros in my dream last night... running wildly right here in our backyard. They represented you being utterly careless.

Petite

2009-04-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

ای کاش کسی بود به کودکانی که از خط بیرون می زنند هم افرین می گفت
شاید از عشق پرند و در خط نمی گنجند

Rambling on

2009-04-11T16:13:00.001-07:00

We ask why we suffer, but why do we allow ourselves to ask that question? we say we suffer because we define individuals. We become "me", "you", "him", "her"... and we do this by differentiating. We define "one" by seeing how different the other "one"s are. If we love all, because we are all one and parts of a whole collective ultimate truth, then there would be no difference... and when there is no difference, there is no suffering. And we will see this because we will see the end along with the beginning simultaneously. Maybe if we learn to come full circle...we can become fearless, blind to suffering, insensitive to pain, thirst, hunger... and ever more so sensitive to love, kindness, unity, passion, care, and generosity.

Golden

2009-03-25T15:31:00.001-07:00

4'33"

Dedicated to Conference of the Birds

2009-03-21T15:54:00.000-07:00

Gone to the Unseen

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?

I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.

-Rumi

Sign Language

2009-03-19T21:03:00.000-07:00

There is such grace in thoughts that take shape in silence.
Can I... please... not speak anymore?

Orchid

2009-03-05T23:09:00.000-08:00

Nothing is pointless, because everything is. To question the point of one thing should not stop me from questioning others. What is the point of a young man wasting his time getting drunk on the streets? Well, what is the point of a neurosurgeon saving someone's life? They are both mortals who will be gone sooner or later. They are both pointless in their strives. They are both searching for contentment. One finds it in drunkenness and the other in helping fellow human beings. But they were both in some level of quest for an answer... an answer to the question of the purpose of life. If we define the point of life in some form of contentment--to strive for something, achieve it, and be happy--then life is pointless. Because will we ever become fully content? Will that neurosurgeon not save a second life because he became content after the first success? Will the drunkard not drink after the ecstasy of the first cup?
would you then say that the neurosurgeon is doing some good not just for himself but also for humankind? That he is doing a good deed and achieving something beneficial? That he is spending his time, energy, ability, and generosity for the sake of others' well-being? Or any other type of hero... anyone who has done the biggest most self-less thing for his surroundings either human or non-human... they have all done something to be a good for other people, animals, environment, etc. If you believe that life is pointless, then you cannot think that the neurosurgeon has lived a better, more fulfilling life, because obviously you give value to doing good deeds in this world. As stated above, you would have to think that there is no difference between him and the others. Here is where the distinction should be made. Do you or do you not see a difference in the neurosurgeon? If you do, then you see a point in life, if you don't then life is indeed pointless. If the first case is what holds, then you know that you can pursue a similar goal and dedicate yourself to it. If the second case holds, then another kind of goal becomes evident. Is it not depressing to think that everything is pointless? Does it not bring a soul down to think they have to live by a clock that tells them when to get out of bed and what to do at what part of the day ... and to even call a day a day ... or to put pants on? Doesn't everything become depressing? i would say yes. However, there is a choice that can be made here. One can either see this situation as an entanglement... as one that indeed has the capacity to bring you down, chain you, sadden you. Or...you can cherish this sorrow, treasure it, but not become bound by it. This does not imply doing anything contrary to your belief about pointlessness of life. This would actually be a promotion of it, because if you become bound and entrapped by your understanding of the pointlessness of life, you become more of a slave to it than those who don't event question and live in a wonderland. If you cherish it however, you understand and you move along. You see other universal truths....
To cherish...look at a flower. Don't just look at it. First look at its form, the surface grace. Its colors, shapes, smallest details you can find, but don't think about yourself looking at the flower, and more importantly, don't think of what is usually considered beautiful. don't think about anything... just give your eyes some time... give the flower some time...be patient. Be patient. Forget yourself and everything you are... and just be patient. Then slowly use your fingers. Don't grab anything. Just get close at first. put the tip of your index finger on a petal, and just that. Then allow your body to be content that it is not only seeing something, but it is also sensing how it feels through your fingertips. Remember not to think of anything. Then listen... listen to it... just listen and don't think... don't try to create a melody or remember a melody in your head... just listen...then sense the things you can not visually see or feel with your fingers. Like the flower's breath, its life. little by little you will know
You will know what i mean by cherishing sorrow, and moving beyond it. You will grasp a different meaning for the life of the neurosurgeon and that of the drunkard. You will see yourself, you will see me. You will see all of us together, and how we make sense and how we don't. You will know how to be present at that specific moment and get the most out of it... become one with your surrounding. And you might lose the vision very quickly, as i do. But that's the greatness of it. It is one thing that our comfortable lives do not allow us to have everywhere, every time, and as much as we want of it. We have a tendency to take what we have for granted. Let this be one thing we can not. The point of life, that is.

Converse

2009-03-03T19:11:00.000-08:00

It is all for luv
indiscriminately...

"Why stuck on this one?" ... there's no one but this one

"It isn't practically rational"... there are two words in there that just don't fit the topic: practical and rational

"So what's going to happen in the end?" ... why look to the end? Do not seek water, seek thirst... as someone dear said once. What value does the glorious glittering glow of water have without the knee breaking thirst for it?

it is an awe inspiring journey... every single day.

Discovered Treasure

2009-03-02T10:43:00.000-08:00

Otros

Says it

2009-02-18T07:58:00.000-08:00

ما قلم در سر کشیدیم اختیار خویش را
اختیار آنست کو قسمت کند درویش را
آنکه مکنت بیش از آن خواهد که قسمت کرده‌اند
گو طمع کم کن که زحمت بیش باشد بیش را
خمر دنیا با خمار و گل به خار آمیختست
نوش می‌خواهی هلا! گر پای داری نیش را
ای که خواب آلوده واپس مانده‌ای از کاروان
جهد کن تا بازیابی همرهان خویش را
در تو آن مردی نمی‌بینم که کافر بشکنی
بشکن ار مردی هوای نفس کافرکیش را
آنکه از خواب اندر آید مردم نادان که مرد
چون شبان آنگه که گرگ افکنده باشد میش را
خویشتن را خیرخواهی خیرخواه خلق باش
زانکه هرگز بد نباشد نفس نیک‌اندیش را
آدمیت رحم بر بیچارگان آوردنست
کادمی را تن بلرزد چون ببیند ریش را
راستی کردند و فرمودند مردان خدای
ای فقیه اول نصیحت گوی نفس خویش را
آنچه نفس خویش را خواهی حرامت سعدیا
گر نخواهی همچنان بیگانه را و خویش را

-Sa'di

my second burial

2009-02-15T07:10:00.000-08:00

The little turtle died.
I buried it by the soft land on the side of the white roses.
I did what I could to protect you little darling... but it seems that it was not for me to decide. I only hope that the white roses keep you a good company.

Placement

2008-12-15T21:56:00.000-08:00

The arguement over what the purpose of art is has been passed back and forth for a long while now.
There are numerous sub arguements which i don't see necessary to get into here (of course we can if it is requested)... but I will simply state now that I am going to categorize music as an art here, and move on.

If i were to give a definition for art, first and formost it would be that art is a form of communication. To me, art is a way of saying things in a manner different from the direct forms which we have developed to make things understandable. On the evolutionary line (again, another point of argument between the believers and non-believers), humans were the first to develop something close to artistic expression (even another point of argument... were the goats and the cows drawn at the end of the caves really art or not? I have personally come to terms that they were). If we make that an initial point for the existence of art, i would say it is clear that its coming was in order to communicate. It was done either to portray the things that were essential to that group of people's lifestyle, such as the cows, bisons, or other cattle that were usually depicted, or to tell history--biased or not--like that of the egyptions. I would say then, that art was created to serve the function of communication. It still has that connotation to me, yet in much more complex ways. I would say that art has the capacity to communicate things in much deeper ways. It has the capacity to communicate concepts intangible through other forms, and it can not only involve numerous senses at the same time, but it can also engage higher levels of processing.
Some believe in art as merely for itself and nothing more... it should not be polluted with any other purpose... it is what it is and no more.
I can not and have no intention to oppose any theory or say one is better or the other, since i sometimes come to think we talk more than we actually do, therefore i see myself in no position to say what is good and what is bad; i can only say what i sence when i play music, paint, draw,take a picture, or create something. I see a purpose in art. I see an intention. I see a goal, a target, however, what is important to me is to know that the purpose is not necessarily to speak the words of a society or to serve a certain group of people or to say something political. These are certainly possible goals and are important and great goals. They should indeed be included as some of the purposes. Alongside these, there are numerous other things that can be targeted... things that one wants to say but has a better way of saying through his/her artistic tools... as i said: a way to engage numerous senses and higher levels of processing to grasp. A concept such as "a lethargic state of being with a desparate call for being pulled back into happiness" might take years of therapy, wheras it can be perfectly portrayed in a single moment of understanding... it is a great form of understanding when you can feel that feeling within yourself; when you cry because in that single moment you become the creator... you sense the feeling within your own being; you become just as lethargic as the person who was trying to reach out to you. On the other end of the spectrum, the same is true about ultimate happiness.
So i would say that art is a form of communication, and it can be used by people, organizations, groups, and governments with different purposes, such as when a government creates music of propoganda or allows only music with a certain message to be played in the society. I would say that to me, art has a purpose; it can, therefore, be manipulated in different ways. I would not say that all these purposes serve a good intention... such as steering the mind of a society in a certain way, however, its nature as a medium is simply difficult to deny. Who uses it for what purpose is like wanting to control speech... who knows which one of us ends up as a bad mouth and which one a saint?

How short is too short?

2008-12-14T08:40:00.000-08:00

Back again, in front of Vahdat hall, I was ready to enter for the performance of Iran's National Orchestra when the lady at the ticket booth told me i couldn't go in because my manteau (usual overcoat type clothing women wear in Iran... same thing as the French word it originated from) was too short. No way was i not going to that concert! For a second i actually thought of the Batman idea. poor guy... such moments bring you sympathy in the most awkward ways.
I figured if i cooperate as much as i can it would be the best solution. She told me to stand in the corner and just wait. I obeyed the order. As I patiently waited and allowed my hopefully charming smile to do the work as she looked at me every once in a while. I discovered that some other lady before me had a similar situation, and she blew it way out of proportion. The ticket booth lady had told her that her manteau was too short and she had responded with something along the lines of how the women with their hejab (like the ticket booth lady herself) put their Chadors on and go around in the city doing whatever disgusting thing they want. oh god... have mercy on me... thank you lady for ruining it for the rest of us! How's my smile gonna out do something like that?!
so as we were being collected on the corner, an idea came to mind. One of these more "properly dressed" women had a longer winter overcoat over her manteau. We decided she could give that to me to wear so that i could get through the gate where the officials were standing, and then i could give her her coat back. Rocket science, pure genius, we had figured it out. No more Batman idea was required. I sat at the balcony that night. Lovely view of a lovely performance.

Bottleneck

2008-12-10T22:27:00.000-08:00

I have inhaled so much fume that i sound like a woman who has been smoking for thirty years. It's the city's fault. I can't get enough of walking around its streets.

The second day of the Fajr festival ended yesterday and we're heading for the third. Let me just say that there could have been a better way of planning this, so that people wouldn't forcibly have to miss out on some of the performances that they really want to see. You can read my thoughts and reports of the festival and the schedule of performances that i will be attending at the Rameshgar blog. The address is

http://rameshgar.blogspot.com

So, i got myself to the Vahdat Hall to get all the tickets that i wanted. The choices were difficult to make since the performances happen in two show times simultaneously in a few different theaters and halls. All prepared, I waited for the couple of people that for whatever reason could not detach themselves from the bars in front of the ticket booth. I started telling the guy which ones i wanted and sadly i had to give up on some more performances because they were sold out. The good thing about the way the performances are laid out is that if you miss a show, there are quite a few more happening in the other halls. My total was a bit more grand than i had expected, so I got a receipt and left to get some more cash. I got stuck doing a few things and since the analytical conference was at three, I made my way there and planned on coming back a little earlier to make sure I get my tickets. I knew that even more people would probably be stock at those ticket booth bars, so I got there about an hour earlier. Indeed... people...
I decided to force the line thing. I would wait behind the last person and conciously change my standing position as more people came... like if someone stood beside me, i would stand so that my back would be towards them and they would know that i would have to be attended to first. now, i'm supposedly doing my own little social experiment while some guy that i actually saw coming from the end of the street walks to where we are, looks at me, looks in front of me, notices a space between me and the person in front of me, actually puts his hands up midway to get his hand bag out of the way, turns his back towards me, and tries to get in front of me. I walked forward as soon as i notices so he held himself from jumping in. then he looks to my left hand side (he was trying to cut in from my right), notices an open spot, walks around me and stands in front of me. He was even a bit annoyed that i was in his way. now, when i say an open spot, that doesn't mean that i was standing too far from the rest of the people so that one would think that i wasn't in line. An open spot is... if you imagine a bottle-neck situation where a lot of something is trying to get through a very small opening, that something will distribute itself equally around the opening... by an open space i mean anywhere you can find.
Finally, it was my turn. I gave the receipt to the guy and the poor thing started giving me my tickets. He had to switch one of the tickets, so he asked me which other performance i wanted to see. I had to say the same thing about 10 times because some guy walked up behind me and asked for a ticket to some show. the guy in the booth answered that they were sold out for that show, and since it seemed like the customer wanted to see this show so so sooo badly, he kept asking how he could get in. finally, the booth guy dropped everything and yelled at the customer:

"If you can, turn into Batman, fly in and go see the thing!!"

I got my tickets and was out of there before anything else happened... wondering what will happen at the next bottleneck.

Death

2008-12-06T04:39:00.000-08:00

I was planning on a sooner update, yet life, or better put, death, took me by surprise. My uncle is gone (my father's sister's husband).
I left for Shiraz on an early flight on Monday morning and came back last night in order to attend his funeral... a funeral held somewhere in the middle of the southern mountain ranges of Iran in the small village of "Deh no". The whether was fresh and sky was crispy blue... perfect for bringing him a calming peace.

The situation was interesting in many ways. I grew up not really knowing much about him since he dealt with chronic depression. I was afraid of him when i was about eight or nine, most likely because of his depression. Yet there was something he said to me once that altered his presence within me. He read me a poem which made me forget all the fear i had... all the childhood grudge i held. It was all gone in that single moment. Here's the poem. It was also written on his tomb stone:

افسوس که بی فایده فرسوده شدیم
وز داس سپهر سرنگون سوده شدیم
دردا و ندامتا که تا چشم زدیم
نابوده به کام خویش نابوده شدیم

The poem is about how in no time at all, we can become old and useless... that's pretty much it.

There were days when he would just sit and stare at the ground and not say a word. He was too afraid to do anything because he did not want to harm anyone.

let me just retell things this way.

he died. there were many traditions to adhere to. Like the fact that my father and i had to go there to pay our respects. Men and women, separate from each other, sat together and mourned at my uncle's family home (the children's grandparents' house). This open to public mourning process lasts from the day of the event until the 40th day. Although, things die down after the seventh day and most people start going home. I don't know what happens in the men's section since it was absolutely forbidden for me to even get close to the area ( i needed to talk to my father one time and my grandmother pretty much yelled at me not to walk towards the men... she even preferred standing there, hoping that my father just eventually showed up). The daughter of the deceased had to control her grief during lunch because other people had to be able to eat in peace (she was told not to cry). This is while she was obliged to cry when people came to visit... this showed that she was deeply saddened by the event; if she didn't cry people would go home and tell others that the man's daughter didn't care a single bit. Even though she personally requested to go home people said it wasn't really right for her not to stay. Of course we managed to take her out of there for the night and bring her back the next morning. We also learned that when the tomb stone was being put into place it was only men who were allowed to attend the event. Women could do so later in the day. On the seventh day, everyone gathered together at the tomb and remembered...
and a new way of life starts from then on.

In between all of this, I was touched by something deeper... much deeper than all of these things we had to do. The love that my aunt has for my uncle... and the love my uncle had for her and his children... Someone so misunderstood in this place was so well placed with people who at least gave him the chance to be the way he wanted to be, to not talk for days. My little auntie still smiled with her eyes, and my darling cousin, Meena, read with me a letter his father had written for her before her birth. I cannot disclose the content of the letter, but i can say this much that it made her father eternally immortal for her. She decided there was nothing for her to be sad about anymore.
There was so much undiscovered, pristine, pure, unconditional love underneath all of what was said above... to always be hidden from those who can not see the gray area in the mix of black and white.

Inja Tehran Ast -- This is Tehran

2008-11-29T11:23:00.000-08:00

After a week of trying to get over a horrible jet lag and getting over a cold that made me feel like i was about to blow out both of my ear drums, i'm finally attempting to get myself adjusted in this city.
There's something about walking the streets of Tehran... or riding in its cabs for that matter.

Taxi driver: "Where's your destination?"
me: " the glassware museum"
taxi driver: "What street is that on?"
me: " i think it's around Hafez St."
taxi driver (with me already in the car and on our way, after i had called the taxi service office and specifically asked for a car for this destination):
"We can't go there!"
me: "why?!"
taxi: "there's too much traffic."

of course he was a kind man who eventually drove me back to the taxi service office and made another guy take me to the museum. and I figured out it wasn't the traffic that was the problem, but rather the license one needs on their car ( "Tarh-e-Traffic") in order to drive in that area of the city at specific hours of the day (to prevent even more traffic). The first guy didn't have that license on his car.

With all this though, it would be absolutely normal to get a moody cab driver that simply nags at you for wanting him/her to drive in insane traffic or to directions you wouldn't be able to find even if you had a bird's eye view. But that's the whole point...you call them because you don't want to do it yourself.

سالک

2008-10-08T14:11:00.000-07:00

رهروی باید...
هست... با اعتقاد می گویم که هست راهی برای محبت...برای صلح
و امروز دوباره چشم می گشایم به امید فرجامی رنگارنگ تر

به خانه می اید

لبخند می زنم... "سلام"

و اغوشمان هیچ گاه دروغ نمی گوید

Bound

2008-09-23T21:49:00.000-07:00

For mere existence,
in the dark corner of a room,
beneath the dark circles under the eyes and the crust formed under the chin,
you discover the malleable nature of comfort.

Comfort is overrated.

Yet in your little torn pink dress,
you know that the depressives are eager for their dark corners for the same reason:

to find comfort.

Red, yellow, gold, burgundy, and every color in and out of your imagination to paint a rainbow

or

the broken pencil in the same secluded corner of discovery which you probably poked yourself with for pain before, for a simple gesture of a line

it's your pick.

Just a thought though... that in the end, you are probably better off than most of your fellow inhabitants.

In a brief moment, the concerns become so mundane.

It's a recurring cycle we never learn.

Enthalpy

2008-07-06T08:36:00.000-07:00

New road,
new gage,
new gas,
just the same old car.

New sun,
new scent,
new butterfly,
just the same old earth.

New shape,
new color,
new metals,
just the same old body.

New lights,
new stairs,
new windows,
just the same old facade.

New heaven,
new hell,
New ... somewhere in between,
Just the same old devil.

Dynasty

2008-05-07T18:05:00.002-07:00

خون می چکد از چنگ تو، یادت نمی اید ولی
تیغی به حلقی برده ای یا دست خود ببریده ای
رنگت پریده است همچو دیواری سپید،
اما نمی اید به یاد
کی مهتشم دادی به باد
این رنگ رخسار از برای گنبد فیروزه ای،
یا رنگ عوض کردن بباید داشت همچون پیشه ای؟
دستت به لرز افتاده است،
پایت نمی جوید رهی،
چشمان پر گفتار تو بی سو بگشتند و تهی
فریاد کن گرحلق خود با تیغ خود نبریده ای
گر نای اندک باشدت
سازی بزن،
اهی بکش،
شوریدگی اغاز کن.

2008-05-06T15:32:00.000-07:00

واهمه...
یا زیادی شاخ هایم بلند بود... یا دندان هایم تیز
شاید هم زیادی تشنه خونش به نظر میا مدم

Offline

2008-04-07T14:42:00.000-07:00

ان چه از من خواسته ای یافتنش برای خودت بسیار اسان است... یک اینه پیدا کن

Settled

2008-04-02T21:53:00.000-07:00

هنوز همان سمجم که بودم... حتی بیشتر از پیش. و چه خنده دار می نماید فکر این که تبعید ترک اور است.

For a sister

2008-03-22T08:49:00.000-07:00

گفت حرف بزن
خواستم بگم گفتنش دردی رو دوا نمیکنه...کلمه ها که از دهنم بیرون میان انگار زنگ میزنن. تیکه تیکه جلو روم میریزن زمین. ایناها
...ایناها... همین جا.چه طوری من انقد پررنگ می بینمشون و تو هیچی؟ چشامو می زنن...دلمو بیشتر.
خواستم بگم... گلوم خشک شد...گفتن دلیل نگفتن هم زنگ زدنی.
کاش ازچشام بخونه...همینقد که مشکل از گوشای اون نیست.
مگه حرف و می زنن؟ یقین این زدن از همون زنگ زدن می یاد.
حرف و باید گفت...وقتی گفتن داشته باشه.
این دفتر و یه مداد نبودن چی میشد؟
صد رحمت به این دف بد بختی که بعد از این چند سال هنوز درست یاد نگرفتنش بهم اجازه دست زدن می ده

Educational Purposes

2008-03-10T06:22:00.000-07:00

همچون موشی که با بو کشیدن و توجه کامل خیال می کند راه را درست و بدون ‍تندروی طی می کند تا با نرمی به پنیر برسد... اگر تنها متوجه بعد دیگر فضا بود، مرد سفید پوش ازمایشگاه را می دید که ... قصدش چیز دیگریست. بوی پنیر را با خود پنیر اشتباه نمی گرفت

Diagnosis

2008-03-01T06:42:00.000-08:00

در طلوع ملکان سود چه می باشد باز؟
وقت در قحطی و دل ها خسته، چشمان کور

اگر ما نیز همچون زمان به ساختگی بودن حضورمان پی می بردیم چه می شد؟
یقین ما نیز، بدون نگاه به عقب، پا به فرار می گذاشتیم.
دیوانگان حقیقتی را دیده اند که باقی را به ترس وا می دارد

2008-02-27T22:28:00.000-08:00

www.honar.us

نقاش

2008-02-04T07:57:00.000-08:00

مرگ فکر...
گویم که باز دهم خود را به عقایدی قابل پسند، شاید زنده ماندن اسانتر شود.
گویم که گوش سپارم به منطق، شاید در مقابل، سخن من را اسان تر بپذیرند.
و شاید هایی دیگر به پاس احترام... که احترام محبت است.
به پاس احترام، تنها یک بار، نیمه شبی، هنگامی که به کمبود حضورت در مکان بیان کردنم اطمینان داشتم، به دور از همه چیز، انچه گفتنی
بود را گفتم.

و سوگ من امروز از رفتنم همین است که چرا ...
محبوب را به من نمودی و رخصت محبت از من دریغ کردی؟

که بوسه، دست، دیده... دلنشین تر از نفس،
خود نیستند که دلنشینند، که ابزاری برای طراحی نقشی زنده و نشیط اند بر وجود.

به پاس محبت، به پاس احترام.

که وجود هیچ نیست تا ان زمان که سر ریز شود از مهر.

دور یا نزدیک، راست یا دروغ، سخن باغی هر انچه بوده، امده و رفته است.
هر چه باشد سخن درونم را می دانم ، که درونم نقش بندی شده ی محبتیست.

و به پاس احترام به اینان که در نزدیکی ام دوستشان دارم،
نقاش را در دنیای کوچک خیالیمان رها کردم،
بی احترامی شد.
و اینجاست که می گویم:

شاید کوته لحظه ای بیاید که رحمی کند وجدانم به دانه اشکهایی که به سوگ بی حرمتی ام به عشق کم کم با ریختنشان اندامم را خشک تر و خشک تر می کنند.

2007-12-11T12:17:00.000-08:00

Crack of the Wall

2007-12-04T23:03:00.000-08:00

همه چیز خود درد می شود
وقتی که هیچ دردی نیست

2007-11-24T22:14:00.000-08:00

تا ثریا می رود دیوار کج

2007-11-22T00:46:00.000-08:00

Disintegration

2007-10-30T19:32:00.000-07:00

Am i just not worth the effort?

Main

2007-10-14T21:22:00.000-07:00

web.mac.com/aidashah

Synchrony

2007-10-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

Thirty years of thirst...
They've danced but only behind red curtains.
covered with gold dust. Breeze would only give them a true glimpse of eachother every few years or so.
Perfect synchronization yet no knowledge of eachother. Both too shy to dance in another's presence.
Thirty years of dance...
the curtain is just waiting to fall... an encounter waiting to be made.

They can't stand eachother.

They scream at eachother louder than i can stand.
.
.
.
need quiet,
need peace,
need a single night of sleep as if i was on morphine.

Where's my morphine?

Vibrant

2007-10-08T15:05:00.000-07:00

توقع یعنی خواستن اینکه دیگری بگوید: زندگی را با قرمز برایت رنگ می کنم... تو بنشین گیلاس بخور و نگاه کن

Hermaphrodite

2007-10-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

سیاه...سپید
چه کنم من که خاکستری را بسیار دوست دارم

Not Even

2007-09-29T00:32:00.000-07:00

حرف حساب را گاهی تنها در یک کلمه...
یک لحظه...
یک نت...
یک فحش کریه می توان بو کشید

Late

2007-09-28T23:41:00.000-07:00

Fundamentalism

2007-09-16T15:54:00.000-07:00

"We have to study man, and we must study what cocerns him most intimately, that is, the hold which life has on him. In each culture, the values are slightly different; people aspire after different aims, follow different impulses, yearn after a different form of happiness. In each culture, we find diferent institutions in which man pursues his life-interest, different customs by which he satisfies his aspirations, different codes of law and morality which reward his virtues or punish his defections."

-Bronislaw Malinowski

Yet, what happens to the one or few that deviate from these institutions? To study that man should be lavishly more amusing.

Clarity

2007-08-30T17:28:00.000-07:00

i understand.
It was not a matter of being right or wrong...
Leave all that aside.
Being or not being?! What is that to matter?
There is nothing to be sorry about.

i heard too many things... i heard too many things... all well-intentioned in their own way and from the view of those who told me.
Having heard what i heard, i tried keeping it sane, being angry at no one else but myself for lack of knowledge about who i am, what i know, what i want, what i believe...

I needed my own quiet corner to come to terms with all of it... nothing said, nothing felt, nothing told.
It was not a matter of being right or wrong...
Leave all that aside.
Being or not being?! What is that to matter?
There is nothing to be sorry about.
No plans... no expectations... no requests... no acceptance or rejection...no evaluation... no tomorrow.
This fits in no such evaluative frame. It was what it was when it had to be.

I'm ok.

Educational Purposes

2007-08-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

madarbozorgy ke hargez ghosse nemikhord

2007-07-01T00:44:00.000-07:00

hamchon zakhmi kevele baste sare zaanoo ke khoonash taaze band amade...ya bayad ta etellae sanavi rah raftan ra tatil kard, ya bayad rah raft amma aaraam.

in ham ba takhayolli ghaatelaane tar:

hamchon zakhmi kevele baste ke khoonash taaze band amade... kaarde ashpazkhaane ra bar midary va nimi az an ra vasate zakhm furu mibary... che sahneye delchasbist vaghty khoon az tahe dasteye kard jaary mishavad.

khalvat gozide

2007-06-24T04:02:00.000-07:00

shabhaye khalvate haafezie mitalaband.ey kash in yek hafte ra hich kas be niate hafezie az khaane birun nayayad.

perfection or gratification?

2007-06-23T12:16:00.000-07:00

If there was something you had to do, would you wait, knowing that you can do it a lot better in a few years and risk not being able to predict whether or not you will be alive another moment from now, or would you do something as soon as possible so that you don't lose the chance, and risk doing it right?

Berahne

2007-06-02T08:36:00.000-07:00

poshte mize kuchakash neshaste bood. goft rah raftan rah raftan ast... che baa kafsh che bi kafsh. albate bi kafsh mosallaman behtar ast. goft to hasti, pas negarane sangreezeha nabash.

Deedaar

2007-05-23T00:05:00.000-07:00

Che khoob mibud agar jayi dar in donya, goosheyi, sangi, derakhti, dari, poli, ya tire cheragh barghi dashtim ke sokutemaan ra dar shabhaye garm e tabestan aanja separy konim. Bazi shabhaye sokut ra tanhaa dar hamaan jaye naashenase nadashte mitavan gozaraand.

2007-05-02T09:52:00.000-07:00

Mesle nahaale kuchaki... darad javane mizanad.

Peidayesh

2007-04-30T21:53:00.001-07:00

Ingunast ke dobare khalgh mikonad.
Honar Ruh khalgh mikonad va shayad Ruh honar ra. Che zeebast ke in do ba ham zende'and.
Khalghe honar, hatta anke dar talash baraye neshan daadane khaamushi o marg ast ta parvaaz e Ruh nabashad be del nemineshinad.
Tablohaye khaliye dowrane jange jahaniye dovom porand az khaly. Pedar mande bud ke aamade muzeye honar ra bebinad ya vaght talaf konad. Otagh hayi por az boomhaye azeemo'josse ke tanha ba siahe yekdast rang shode budand.

Inast honar... honar inast.
Khalghe donyayi digar ba bayaani sade tar az kalaam.

Tablohaye siahe muze zeeba nabudand. Vali ziba'ee eshan be hamaan bud.
Tablohaye siahe muze harfi baraye goftan nadashtand. Vali harfeshan dar hamaan bud.
Tablohaye siahe mooze agar nabudand behtar bud. Jange jahani ham agar nabud behtar bud.

Honar bayaan mikonad.
Honar zende mikonad.
Honar jaan midahad.
Honar mast mikonad.
Honar migirad o micharkhaanad.

Va ingunast ke dobare khalgh mikoni.

Overlap

2007-04-27T15:26:00.000-07:00

jalebish tu in bud ke engar utubusayi ke savareshim jofteshun ye ja baraye dastshui o namaz o tanagholak vaysadan.
saheb maghaze ye ahang gozashte bud.
ba ham shenidim...

migam utubuse man dare bugh mizane. Bayad beram savar sham. In tarafe maghaze labelaye kherto perta ye chizi gozashtam. dust dashti bia bardar. Age tekrari bud mikhay bezar ke yeki dige ham bebinadesh.

Baazam khodafez.

12 minutes of Joker goodness

Chakme

2007-04-11T18:07:00.000-07:00

Baaz ham ordibehesht...

Aaseman ham az yeknavakhty hoseleash sar rafte. Barf ... pishe paye ordibehesht.

Stone

2007-03-31T06:39:00.000-07:00

people actually read this crap?!

Here it is.... the new grand thought of the day:
Hearing him call me "Selfish" directed me to one answer. What an irony it was to call someone selfish in the midst of trying to figure out a way to help a family in need. The only reason one would say such a thing to another within that conversation is indeed itself for selfish reasons. It's for the selfish reason of wanting someone to act a certain way or say a certain thing that would be acceptable. He wanted something which i could not give. I do not even have to analyze it or twist it in anyway. I do not have to distort any facts... simply restating his own observations: I am a stone.
I shall be selfish if it means preserving myself and not "remodeling" everytime my surrounding changes. A stone is not ugly or harsh. All one has to do is to look at it a bit closely. It's difficult to find a hideously ugly stone. Who says: "oh my... i can't stand the sight of that thing!!" ?
I shall be selfish if it means being a stone. I just hope i don't break any windows...

Equality

2007-03-17T13:22:00.000-07:00

بنی ادم اعضای یکدیگرند

2007-03-16T11:00:00.000-07:00

دیشب انچنان "خودخواه " را بر سرم کوباند که هنوز تنم نیمه جان است

Clandestine

2007-03-04T13:23:00.000-08:00

Could feel the breeze through its branches crawling slowly between its delicately green leaves bathing underneath the sunlight... it would crawl between the delicately green leaves like a lover standing closer than breath to his beloved and slowly moving his hands down his beloved's arms and in between her fingers... like that, the breeze slowly sways the delicately green leaves.

Only

2007-02-14T22:48:00.000-08:00

Believe

2007-02-12T20:37:00.000-08:00

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

-Margaret Mead

Runs on Oil

2007-02-06T21:46:00.000-08:00

We were having Chinese for dinner:

i: "...i like to have time to adjust. It's not the jetlag or anything. I adapt easily to that. It's a matter of being relevant to the context. You know... that's Iran, this is America..."
him (after staring at me for a while): "you're like a robot. You ARE a robot."
i: " Who? me?!"
him: "Yeah, you."
i: "no i'm not!"
Him: " You're too rational."
i: "...no i'm not"
him: "yes you are... but ok, i guess i can give you a chance to defend yourself."
i: " ..."
I was thinking i should come up with the right answer for this...probably something rational, like a rational reason for being rational.

Are robots rational?

Younger Days

2007-01-27T22:02:00.000-08:00

One Step at a Time

2007-01-27T15:50:00.000-08:00

From underneath the trees, we watch the sky
Confusing stars for satellites
I never dreamed that you'd be mine
But here we are, we're here tonight

Singing amen I, I'm alive
Singing amen I, I'm alive

If everyone cared and nobody cried,
If everyone loved and nobody lied,
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride,
Then we'd see the day, when nobody died

And I'm singing

amen I,amen, I, I'm alive
amen I amen I, amen I, I'm alive

And in the air the fireflies
Our only light in paradise
We'll show the world they were wrong
And teach them all to sing along

Singing amen I, I'm alive
Singing amen I, I'm alive

And as we lie beneath the stars,
We realize how small we are,
If they could love like you and me,
Imagine what the world could be

We'd see the day, we'd see the day
When nobody died
We'd see the day, we'd see the day
When nobody died
We'd see the day when nobody died

Nickelback, If Everyone Cared

Fine Lines

2007-01-25T06:15:00.000-08:00

An apple tree is wonderful when it has fruit, but it's also good without it. The tree's main purpose is not to make the apple; it does not wait for the season to produce the fruit. Alongside the rest of the things it does, it also happens to make tastey apples.

Letter to Depression

2007-01-21T07:59:00.001-08:00

It's so easy to fall in your trap. your webs are extended everywhere, in every corner, in every nook, in every space...
I've made myself a liminal space you know. You don't exist in it. no... i lied. You do exist in it. You're what i live with but ignore. i have simply become numb. I kept questioning myself about why i didn't react like everyone else to somethings. Like when i saw a dead baby, or when i heard she had cancer, or when i say goodbye... "what's wrong with you?! cry!! cry i say! you must be fucked up to see this and just stare!" , i said to myself.
It's because i've become numb. like a block of ice... no... ice reacts to heat. I'm a ghost... simply visible; a visible ghost that lives in a liminal space.

Captured

2006-12-20T15:18:00.001-08:00

haven't touched the camera for days. Its essential attachment, through its power of disconnection by placing me behind itself, hasn't been felt for days... days on end... I have forgotten how it protected me from perfection. Regardless of overexposures and underexposers, it is there to do its work. I have forgotten this. I have forgotten that i liked it for taking me somewhere else. I have forgotten that i didn't do the work, but rather the photo. I have forgotten to let go. Clinching tight... simply gotta forget myself.

Carbon Copy

2006-11-25T09:43:00.000-08:00

Is it required to prove ourselves? prove that we think... we have a mind...? Prove that we have ideas that may be significant?
If one is unable to do that then he/she is considered an outcast who knows nothing about how to socialize, or he/she can become the one who follows the crowd, the trend, in order to be sure that he/she is included one way or another.
Of course, the outcasts have groups of their own. There are the ones that all you can do with is to sit and stare at because regardless of what you say, they always feel like they're a step ahead of you. You never speak to them or ask them about specifics. All you talk about are general concepts and ideas. Regardless of what you think, he/she always sees you as the one learning, the one who is blank and innocent who is awaiting some enlightenment. The fact that you are hearing over and over again through them generals that you had already dug up yourself, has no significance to them because you have not proven yourself to know anything. You have not specificaly said that you already know about this or that you worked up your thoughts about this topic some time in the past. They will just keep saying it over and over again, not in one way, but rather in many, to make sure you understand it the way they do.

And then... you become the outcast of the outcast, The kind that doesn't know how to socialize.

Outcasts of outcasts are easy to forget. Because they don't mak an impression of themselves on you. They rather leave an impression of you on yourself. What you remember of them is what you were like when they were around. It takes, then, only a single mistake for them to be set aside, because apparently they had their chance, in which not only they didn't prove themselves worthy, but they also made a mistake. What is said is that they had their chance... chances don't come again, so they won't come again.

Life may consist of chances, but chance is not luck. I don't understand luck, but i understand chance. From what i know of them, they are not always a one time deal. It all depends on the definition of chance. Do we want chances because we want to be sure that we're proven the right way? or do we want chances to be understood the right way?Chances do come again, And with people,a second chance is deserved...maybe not to be proven, but to be understood.

Benefits

2006-11-07T20:56:00.000-08:00

One of the advantages of living in a disorganized society according to a local joke in Brazil:

A Brazilian died and went to Hell. Arriving there, the Devil asked him if he wanted to stay in the American Hell or that of the Brazilians. He asked the difference and the Devil explained: In American Hell you have to eat a spoonfull of shit everyday, wheras in Brazilian Hell you have to eat a whole bucket. He preferred, of course, that of the Americans. On his way, he met on the road another Brazilian, who asked where he was going and why. He responded and the other Brazilian retorted: "Look, there they have to eat only one spoonful, but they have all the spoons in the world and as much shit as they need, so they eat it everyday. Here, in Brazilian Hell we never eat it, because when they have a bucket they don't have shit, and when they have shit, they don't have a bucket, and when they have the shit and the bucket, they don't have the little demon to give it out! I've been here ten years and haven't eaten shit yet!"

-L.A. Rebhun

The Heart is Unknown Country

1999

Great Expectations

2006-09-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

i have done nothing if i only desire to do things for myself.
i have achieved nothing if i only desire to live for myself.
i have grasped nothing if i have'nt lended a hand when it was within my ability to do so.
i am nothing if i don't give as much as i can.
Who am i to expect anything?
Who am i to expect...
Legitimacy of expectation exists for me only when i have achieved all that i expect from myself.

Together

2006-09-22T13:19:00.000-07:00

I couldn't even read what the post card said.
Maybe it was in German...
maybe dutch...
it was hand made and all it had on it was a tall figure that looked like a girl with her hand reached out holding a heart. A piece of the heart was torn and being taken away by some figure on the other side of the card.
First glance ... i told myself i don't understand what it says.
Second glance...
i already know what it says.
and i'm sorry.

Hooks and Skin

2006-09-02T18:00:00.000-07:00

The great thing about being in the lowest social class is that there exists no need for keeping one's face. There's no where lower you can go as society has put it. the only place to move is up and only that.
Being higher though craves not only two eyes in front of one's face to analyze others' acts, but it also needs a hundred more staring at one's soul to make sure that it doesn't make a move out of its proper place... and that is only in order to keep one from falling lower than where they already are. At the same time, everyone in this level are bound together with heavy duty ropes with hooks at each end. One's choice to descent causes blood for everyone. It is everyone's decision whether a member chooses to move down or not. They are smart enough though that as one chooses to move higher up, they move up with him/her. They won't get hurt and they will use the benefits.

Cuffed

2006-06-07T04:31:00.000-07:00

Maa hame azadim.
va dar azadieman kharabe yek digarim.
faratar az anja ke mitarsim roya nemiparvarim amma
owje azady ra dar omghe natavany tajrobe mikonim.
Anjast ke divane mishavim,
kharab mishavim,
shole mishavim,
baad mishavim,
aab mishavim,
va ruzy ham vaghe'e yi dar gozashte mishavim ke mandan ya namandaneman ba haman khodast.

Man baaz ham gozashte shodam,

Na ba dely azorde.

Man na divane shodam,
na kharab,
na shole,
na baad,
va na aab.

Man be khod residam.

i wAs HuRT anD i dIDn'T SaY AnyThiNg

2006-05-03T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'm choking.

there's somethin' i wanna say... desperately. But i dunno what it is.
at some point talkin' with my heart became irrational. Why would i speak from my heart?
funny thing is... i actually asked that once from someone, he said why wouldn' you... maybe because you're afraid of bein judged.
who am i kidding?
people's judgements come and go like night and day. people themselves come and go faster than night and day. I come and go even faster.

he said listen to your heart more and your head less.
as simple as that.
the most comprehensive answer i could give was ..."Ok". The head was working too much.

Stranded

2006-04-19T10:48:00.000-07:00

Speed and safety are not the issue when your tank is empty of gas. Speed is surely out of the question, and your safety is not gaurenteed. Someone may kidnap you.

Light

2006-04-15T10:17:00.000-07:00

So,
there she was,
standing on a dusty stage.
Above was a spotlight, shining down a yellow ray of light,
and within its path,
she could see the small dust particles which hide themselves in darkness.
She had a pair of blue ballerina shoes with blue silk ribbons on... tied unevenly.
She had a free flowing skirt filled with colors that came right down to her knees.
As for a shirt, she was wearing a white blouse with long, somewhat fluffy sleeves that tied at her wrists.
She had an orange ribbon in her hair.
She was staring down at her shoes with her hands clasping eachother behind her back.

There was no audience.

Making It Easy

2006-04-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

What good am I
if I'm like all the rest,
If I just turn away,
when I see how you're dressed,
If I shut myself off
so I can't hear you cry,
What good am I?

What good am I
if I know and don't do,
If I see and don't say,
if I look right through you,
If I turn a deaf ear to the thunderin' sky,
What good am I?

What good am I
while you softly weep
And I hear in my head
what you say in your sleep,
And I freeze in the moment
like the rest who don't try,
What good am I?

What good am I then
to others and me
If I've had every chance
and yet still fail to see
If my hands are tied
must I not wonder within
Who tied them and why
and where must I have been

What good am I
if I say foolish things
And I laugh in the face of what sorrow brings
And I just turn my back while you silently die,
What good am I?

Bob Dylan

Maybe it's better forgotten... since it's impossible to remember and not lose a piece of self every time.

A Man, A Boat... Waiting for a Sea

2006-04-04T21:17:00.000-07:00

...there it was.
It took a blow for the moment to arrive.
Something cracked the shell.
And once it cracked... the whole thing fell apart. It shattered.
And everything within him spilled.
His own freedom was worth every year of anticipation... every year that i waited for a word.

He finally spoke.

Replay

2006-02-12T11:24:00.000-08:00

We passed upon the stairs, we spoke of was and when Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend Which came as a surprise I spoke into his eyes I thought you died alone, a long long time ago Oh no, not me We never lost control You're face to face of a man who sold the world I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home I searched a far the land, for years and years I roamed I gazed a gazey stare, we walked a million hills I must have died alone, a long long time ago Who knows? not me I never lost control You're face to face With the man who sold the world Who knows? not me We never lost control You're face to face With the man who sold the world

Mister Rogers

2006-01-31T18:25:00.000-08:00

It would be nice if we could care for eachother without any boundaries.
It would be nice if there weren't things stopping us from seeing goodness within eachother.
It would be nice if life didn't separate us with so much heartache left behind... and if it did, it would grow us only funder of oneanother and not forgetful.
It would be nice if there were less hopeless eyes.
It would be nice if there were less frowns.
It would be nice if we apreciated eachother's presence more.
It would be nice if we tried harder to understand eachother.
It would be nice to forget ourselves a little more.
It would be nice if we beleived that deep, deep, deep, deep down inside us... there's something we can beleive in.

It's nice that... none of these is impossible.

Mister Rogers sang once:

It's you I like,
It's not the things you wear,
It's not the way you do your hair--
But it's you I like The way you are right now,
The way down deep inside you--
Not the things that hide you,
Not your toys--
They're just beside you.
But it's you I like--
Every part of you,
Your skin,
your eyes,
your feelings
Whether old or new.
I hope that you'll remember
Even when you're feeling blue
That it's you I like,
It's you yourself,
It's you,
it's you I like.