Get high!

It's been so long since my previous post. I am a total mess, I know that, you don't have to remind me that.

I was reading this post in a weblog which is about - I'm just paraphrasing here- "having crush on someone and letting it go like a passive person, because you were waiting for the chrushee to step forward and ask you out, and since that never happened, the crush kinda expired and now after six months it's too late" etc etc. Like many of you, I beleive a relationship -- which in its most exterem and most intimate form transforms to love; is something you build, something you erect, brick by brick. The more you build up, the more it takes you high, and in its climax, it gets you so high, higher than anything. And of course there is always this risk of this high rise not working some day and it may collaspe and take you down, so down, even downer than ground. But it's the risk we take. After all, isn't the whole life experience a big risk?
I somehow passed my message to the writer of that post that, it's never late for any relationships of any kind, it's just a choice that we make.

Does love work in a binary logic?

If it's only true or false, or if it takes only a yes or no, it's a binary logic. Like job status, you are either employed or not. Now, does that logic work for love? Can you say you are either in love or not? Can you say your love has drifted apart or not? Are there absolute sings about these things or not? Even in surest times, you tell yourself or your lover, hey it's not working, yet in the darkest and most lost corner of your mind you'd question yourself: "Did I do all that I should, that I could have done?" And that question stays there for ever, even after you give it a second or N-th chance, specially for people like myself who suffer from lack of self confidence or per say lack of decisiveness. It may sound doom, but it's like gambling, when you lose all the money, you walk out, yet keep repeating to yourself, what if I'd played one more hand, I might have hit the jackpot or the big prize.

Is it O.V.E.R.?

I've been missing most of the episodes of final season of Sex and the City, why? Well, good question, but let's leave that for another post.
Last Friday night I was watching the very episode that Carry got invited to live in Paris by her b/f -- for those of you who may say hey buddy you are way behind the schedule; up here in Canada, Sex & the City is aired a season behind the American broadcasting sked. -- This episode was so bizarre or it seemed bizarre to me. Characters kept saying "New York is O.V.E.R.", even Carry's narrative voice indicated this sad news; Carry BradShaw, a City paper columnist, a girl from the Big Apple, an absolute New Yorker? It sounded kinda sad; ain't it sad?

But when I think through it and recall the days of my last trip to New York last year, the City was totally different from my previous trips to NYC. The tension in Manhattan on new year's eve and the whole tight security thing in the island; man! Everybody was there to celebrate the new year but they were hiding the fear and the fever under the brim of their hats. What happened to the best city in the world? Is New York over because of aftermaths of 9/11 or it is over because this whole thing was only a party and the party is now over?

Someone was telling me about how his father has cheated on his mother at the age of 63, that he's been having affair with an older woman. He was saying that whenever I saw these things in movies or on TV never got a serious understaning of the situation, but now that I am in it, it feels so bad, you feel that you hate your father with all your guts. He wasn't able to understand how could someone at that age sacrifice his familly and fourty years old marriage for an older woman. And I came up with a why not.

What is age anyway? Isn't it just a number, not a sense. I am 34 and I feel so fresh, and even younger than my second half of twenties, and it's all because of situations and the things I've given or received in last 12 months as oppose to what I've of lost in last 8 or 9 years.

Sometimes at the very first moment I wake up in the morning, I feel, I live in absolute abstraction, I don't have any sense of place or time, that's why I can't really say how it feels when you are 34. For me it feels way better than my 24.

Sinfully committed, Saintly embarrassed

I was sitting behind the wheel on a Friday evening after an exhausting and disappointing week; waiting for a green light to begin my weekend, instead, I was stuck behind one of those giant Envoy SUVs which block your whole view of the world. It was already getting on my nerve. In times like this I play my silly childish game, making words with random letters and digits of the surrounding car plates, an attempt to give some meaning to them or trying to guess personality of car owner. Accidentally, this view blocker Envoy, didn't leave any space for my imagination, since the owner was probably one of those relatively newly wealthy people who buy a customized plate number to send their own message to people who get stuck behind them. The Envoy owner had this message carved on his plate: "Saintly". I had nothing to say or think but rising my eyebrows. But then something from inside the car grabbed my attention like a magnet. The passengers sitting in the Saintly owned vehicle were watching a movie on the DVD player of the car. I narrowed my eyes, focused my vision; cool! They were watching hard core porn movie. I was amazed by the grade of their comfort and choice, I became curious about the passengers of the car, but it was quite dark inside there, I just recognized three female figures. But then said to myself, hey who cares about them, I should enjoy the free porn, so I began watching the movie itself, it was then that they noticed an outsider was stealing their "privacy", they shutdown the screen immidiately. I was so annoyed by this selfishness, so got around them and drove side by side. It seemed to me they were so embarrassed by the whole incident, because they were hiding their faces.

Locked in/Locked out

"She is considering moving to another town, a place far away from here," a mutual friend said. I felt some sort of weakness in my legs, for few seconds my legs began shaking but I managed to hide my anxiety. At the time I liked Lilac a lot, but no one knew about it, not even that mutual friend. Despite that weakness and those shaking legs, I didn't realize what world I was stepping into. I had no understanding of long distance relationships, not in the slightest, besides, emotionally she was standing in a distant spot from me because she had no interest in me and so, I hid my feelings completely. But, as unimaginable things happen all the time, we became involved, more than I expected; we didn't get the chance to imagine things, every thing happened so fast: we were inseparable, period. And it was already too late to undo things, she had no choice but to leave the town, I had no choice but to stay, we couldn't NOT love each other.
After she left, I played it very strong, didn't show any irrational emotions, I even quit smoking the day she left to show my surrounding world that I have everything under control, that I am going to hang in there for as long as it takes, that I have a hold on reality. But when for the first time I felt that heart squeezing agony of missing her, the feeling that eats you from inside and leaves a big hole in your sole, I broke apart into a zillion pieces.
Are long distance relationships possible?
Long distance relationships are like lines, with two ending points, each person stands at one end and they point at each other all the time, as if they are trying to make or claim a path. A long distance relationship is like being locked; one person is locked out, the other is locked in; they are closely in touch, but they literally can't touch each other, something is blocking them off. They both lean their heads on the door, they hear each other so closely and so intimately, but the final touch is not possible, it's not there, it's being missed, just like my Lilac; I miss her. Yeah the truth is: I miss her so.

Wholesome or nothing

"So, are you coming to the party with your better half?" The guy asks me at work, while he is pouring coffee for himself. "Better half"I thought to myself. Are our love partners really our better halves? Do we believe in this urban mythology, that we are species in halves and need to be completed thus we look for our other halves? I don't. I never looked out there for any body to complete me. I like myself the way I am: not complete. I don't want to be complete. If I am complete, I am finished, unbearably tedious, unquestionably boring. I believe that "I" can join a "you" and many other things in this life, like trying to make sense of an "us" at its best. I never sought more than this in any relationship. To me a healthy modern relationship is the one with a little bit of compromising and a lot of independence. A little bit of compromising to sort out the differences, to reach tolerance, and a lot of independence to avoid a master/slave bond.

"I will be coming in a full status (as oppose to two halves, a better one and a regular one) accompanied by a "fine one", who I adore a lot, because she's the greatest one." I said to him while walking to my desk and thinking about the "fine one".

I have a young friend. I exchange emails with her here and there, and it started when she needed to talk to someone not from her generation and not judgmental. A couple of days ago I replied her email like this:

Asking me about my life? Well, nothing's changed really and it aint happening, because I don't want it to, I guess I am afraid, I am afraid of ruining this beauty. There is this beautiful beautiful girl that I have a huge crush on; she knows nothing about it and I want her not to know either, because her soul is free, free of any attachments. And I don't want to change this unbearably pretty image of her and her liberated life. Besides she is leaving this town in a matter of weeks and there is no point in letting something happening. And do you know where she is going to? Montréal! This is not fair. I love that town to death, I love this girl to sickness, and them both will be together soon, yet miles away from me. So who the fuck invented this word: "Fair"

And this is what she surprisingly wrote:

...Dude, I hear you... but let me say one thing about fairness, if life was fair, things would be a lot less interesting. It's that bitter unfairness that makes so many other sweet things so much sweeter some times. Or not... I mean, I kinda like it in a crazy sick way. I think sometimes that it's really not the "thing" I want but the process of getting it is what really interests me. That's kinda sick and twisted but hey, I never claimed it wasn't.
About your beauty who will soon part, look at it this way, that'll only make her more beautiful and make Montréal a better place. That's in a way a good thing. And, one more approach: why won't you go? Just take off and leave, and go to Montréal again (ok at this point I've lost your respect because in an adult world I'm being completely unreasonable and irrational but that's ok... ) What else can I say about it, maybe try to get something going for the time being? But you didn't seem to have a lotta fun with that idea either so how about this? Observe. Just watch her and be happy that she's so beautiful and just admire her...

It's a shame that adults run this world not kids. It's a shame.

Simply complicated

Could you hold me for a moment,
'cause I am falling,
'cause I am cold,
'cause I am scared.


How does it happen? How do we fall in love? Do we jump into it intentionally? What do I know about you other than your pretty pretty face; the smell of your hair, the enchanting smile of yours or your magnetic eyes. I know nothing about you. I don't know what is your favorite color, your favorite food. I don't know what you do when life sucks, I don't know what kind of music you listen when you miss a friend, I don't know what poet you read when you feel empty. I don't even know if you've ever felt empty at all.
So why do I let it happen? Specially the way I am operating it; all in my head without saying a word to you. Is this just a physical attraction? I don't even know what is it. I can't call it love for sure, because that's not how I define love. Your lot in my mind is deserted. There is nothing build up on it yet; not even a brick or stone, no foundations. There is just this visual image which is getting vague day by day. I wonder I just wanted to avoid or fill my solitude, so I sought someone else's corner and where cozier and dreamier than yours. I wish I knew. I wish you were here.

I am back

It's been so long since last time I wrote in here. I missed it here very much but there was not enough motivation to be here; just like anywhere else, I feel like I haven't been anywhere in last three months. Anyway I am back and I am glad for it.

Things have changed, specially in last few days. I am so exhausted, sleepless and preoccupied. It feels kind of num and good in a way but I wish it was different.

A fine episode of Frasier

I was watching a rerun episode of Frasier. In that episode, Frasier becomes frustrated with his love life. Then he hits the road to think through his situation and he ends up arguing in his mind with some of his lovers from past and his first love: his mother. And through these arguments, he notices that he is alone because he is afraid of being alone. He keeps pushing away perfect women because he is afraid of losing them.

This episode brought up some questions in my mind. Are we stuck with thoughts from our past? Why do we keep doing the same mistakes; particularly in our relationships; committing the same patterns? We walk through same hallways and put ourselves in the same misery over and over again. Those of us, who fail in a relationship, force themselves in the same path; force themselves to love someone else. For the rest of us whom failure is a sin and/or pretend to be happy, still force ourselves to stick to one person and keep insisting in loving another human being for the sake of not being alone even if we know that person is right for us? What is this all about: the fear of being and dying alone? In that episode, Frasier's mother uses death as an excuse in her failure. Is death really a good excuse for all the things we can do but we don't or fail to do? Is love something that we choose put ourselves into it just to justify th fear of being alone? Are we so unbearable to ourselves that we need some one else’s company in order to keep a distance between us and our real selves? Is there really someone out there for every one of us to fill all the gaps we feel in our being? Am I over analyzing again? Yes, no? Say something then?

I could see this day was coming,

but not this soon. During G.W. Bush's day and night rants on fictitious subject of Iraqi weapons of mass-destruction and way before the recent war, through some media propaganda (today's most powerful urban mind distracter) particularly American ones and most particularly CNN, I predicted that after Iraq the gang of White House will go after Iran (if they be able to renew their White House lease and stay there for another term) not that the predictions of this kind take a rocket scientist. And now recent demonstrations by students in Tehran in last couple of days ring some bells in my mind, bells that sound bloody and violent.

In 1997 when president Khatami's landslide victory shock everyone the nation, things began to change gradually, professional and independent journalism blossomed, withheld books and cultural materials began to be published and rules began to loosened up a bit on young generation. The more people demanded freedom, the more pressure increased from hard liners on Khatami, and the more Khatami became passive. In 6th Majlis (you read parliament) election, majority of seats were taking by pro Khatami candidates followed by Khatami's second presidential landslide victory which came along as expected, but this time with less enthusiasm from the nation. The political recession had begun. Khatami and his guys in Majlis were not able to fulfill nation's demands. After 6 years, this recession has become a reality and a sort of deadlock until last few days. All of a sudden the political silence in Iran breaks down, right after devastating war in Iraq and American invasion in the neighborhood. Are Iranians terrified of being next victim of same scenario, therefore they want to take action directly before it's too late or this is just an over analyzed thought in my head?

Choices we have

I was watching Matrix, Reloaded. It was quite a movie, definitely a good one in Sci-Fi genre, because it's one of few movies that could drag me to the theatre; I don't like most Sci-Fi movies. There were some lines about choice in the movie said by the architect of the Matrix, the guy with white beard and the look of a wizard on his face (I don't know why but he reminded me Sigmund Freud). I don't remember the exact words, I am just paraphrasing one of them: "The bad thing is that we have the choice." I don't know if it's true or not. I mean I don't know if we do have choice at all. We don't get to choose between life and the quick wrap up death in a tissue when we are in the form of a sperm. We don't get to choose our race, our gender, our nationality, our first language (which is the ground basis for our personality almost for our life time), we don't get to choose our family. We don't get to choose stay innocent like a child, we have to grow up, otherwise we will be called retarded. We don't get to choose our politicians while we are minors, we can't even choose not to be or to be a minor. We don't get to choose not to live even if we live in a hell because life is a must to do, no question on that base on all social norms and even abnorms, and finally we don't get to choose stay alive as long as we want. So do we have choice or not?

Virtual voices

I've been participating in a group project called Virtual narrators. It is a kind of polyphonic ensemble. We all virtual narrators write in Farsi and the goal is to write a novel without a linear direction of a story or any direction or story at all. There is no rule how to write or what to write; something between democracy and anarchy. I am Iranian, born in a country full of dictatorship in its past and present. I live in abroad, but most of the participants of this project live in Iran. They write whatever they desire or whatever they think they should, having the fact that they live under a permanent shadow of fear. Recently, the young weblogger and journalist Sina Motallebi has been arrested and been in custody ever since, just because he was writing his weblog freely and he might have crossed some lines. Lines that you can't find them in law books. These lines are invisible to people. That's why writers, artists and activists never know when they are crossing a line and when they are going to be punished. Despite this uncertainty of law, people, specially young ones take the risk and do what they want. They write weblogs freely, wear what they want, speak out, party, they make love; even though they know all of the above is forbidden or considered as sin. And I salute them.

Should we speak out or not?

I've been in situations that I speak out my mind and once the words are out there, I regret the hell out of my brain. Oh god! Why did I say that? Shit! Damn it! etcetra etcetra. In those moments I think to myself honesty is just too much for people. I am not going to speak out my brain like this again. The world doesn't deserve the truth. blah blah bloody blah. And I tried to be like that, not a truth teller - not that I am a liar or something, I just keep the truth to myself, I guess I am a hider as oppose to a liar - and I thought it's a rule in adulthood world therefore I should feel mature when I hide a truth, but I don't. It's a fake pseudo glibby disgusting maturity which suites just those who want to play life cool; but they are so NOT cool.

And then I've been in very unique situations that I don't speak out and I don't put myself out there and the situation goes on waste. I am talking about those unique moments that happen once in a lifetime and you have your chance to step up and toss the truth to the face of the moment. So, shall we?

Moore guts

It takes a lot Moore guts to criticize your own people using a broad range media such as cinema and it takes even Moore guts to go on to a victorious Oscar stage and instead of "yakking a bunch of names" and "thanking the whole world that made this happened" kinda crap, condemn your president and question the legitimacy of his position and his administration's decision. Even the 400 pounds gorilla like Dennis Miller deserted on that matter after 9/11. The fact is that, Mr. Moore's accomplishment is more than just a speech in Oscar ceremony. I've been following his works since 1999, a little while after I came to Canada. I remember his fabulous documentary Awful Truth then his book Stupid White Men and finally his documentary Bowling for Columbine. His success in that movie is more than just getting his voice heard by average Americans. He and two of the stars in his movie, made the giant chain store K-Mart to stop selling bullets in a its stores as well as the real image that he showed from that old jerk/dinosaur Charlton Heston. I remember the commercials of Heston's phony videos on Christianity, and the way he was acting in those videos as if he was a saint himself. When in a scene of Bowling... Heston turned his back to the camera and walked away from his guest at his own house, one could feel how awful is the bitterness of reality.

Great job, Michael! Keep up on it.

After all this long period of uncertainties in my personal life, I get a bit of peace of mind, but the world is on fire and how one could enjoy this personal moment. The war, S.A.R.S. and the economy. It's like chaos is finding its routine to happen on a regular basis. When was the last time that human beings had peace of mind in this planet, ever, at all? Is chaos and confusion nature of man kind or it's just some of us who are trouble makers?

Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda?
Past, Present, Phuture?

I wish I could reach to the pure detachment of time; detachment of places and people from past or present. How can we live each moment as brand new as it happens? It seems almost impossible. When I go back to a place that I've built up towers of memories in there, I miss the moment that I am in, the very present time, the very present moment that is passing me by and is supposed to be joyful like love making, I miss it because I'm replaying the past in my mind. Like I am stuck in a cage of memories. How could I reach the pureness of moment? a sort of wide awake consciousness of NOW. Is time just a theory in our minds or it actually exists? If it's just a theory why can't we over-write a piece of present on the past? And if it exists why can't I feel the absolute joy of present time? I wish I could tear apart the past and live life moment by moment.
Never mind about the future. That WILL never exist.

Is history a bastard or what?

It's been said recently that Iran's western borders will be the biggest refuge camp for Iraqis in case of any US military action against Iraq. It hasn't been a long time for all of us to forget the war between two neighbors, Iran and Iraq in 1980s. How weird is that a once enemy-land could turn to a safety zone? Is it history that lies to us or the reality while it's happening? How many more reasons do we need to convince ourselves about ugliness of the fabrication of war? It's gonna be torn off sooner or later but to what price? And the cost does not just overweight on shoulders of one or two nations. The rallies of Saturday showed that it is a global concern. The cost is too expensive for all of us. The temperature was -25 on Saturday in Toronto downtown, I was there and so were hundreds of different races. I was crying out loud with thousands of Iraqis hand in hand here in Toronto rally. Not that I have forgotten those days of panic back in 1980s, when Saddam's missiles were flying over my head and powdered down a 4 storey building full of 8 to 10 years old kid guests attending a birthday party in the centre of my town. I remember every single moment of then so vivid. I have just lost my faith to the truth. There is no such a thing. Truth is just a philosophical difference, nothing else.

Let us have a louder voice in next rally.

First Sex and the Second Cup

In a cold cold day of January in Toronto, I walked into one of those fancy looking branches of The Second Cup, the chain coffee shop. I was looking for a second shift job; thank Air Canada's Mr. Milton who ruined canadian airline industry and put thousands of skilled workers out of job. I asked for the manager immediately. She was so busy with running this money making machine and serving coffee. I asked if they have any opennings, she asked for a resume. "I don't have any coffee shop experience" I responded. "But I still need to see your resume." she said.
Next day I went there with a useless IT resume in hand, after almost half an hour the manager said I am busy, just leave the resume and we will contact you. I did that. Long story short, after two weeks going back and forth she called and said wants to see me. Then handed me a video and wanted me to watch it and come back next day for two hours work. I watched the video very carefully and took some notes, reviewed the notes several times and went there next day. By the way, I forgot to mention, all the other workers in that store were females except one guy who was from the same country as the manager was originally. Next day I went there and began the job. Then at the end of the shift she said that I have to work 20 hours voluntarily so that she could decide whether I am a "suitable person" for this job or not. Yes! You read it right: twenty freaking hours of free labor for a simple job of selling a crappy cup of coffee or wiping the tables. And you guessed it right, I needed the job so I agreed to commit to this shameful slavery. "You need to correct one thing." she added at the end. "Correct what?" I said. "You have to be louder when you are serving the customer". She said.
Next day, she wasn't there. I began my job with enthusiasm. My co-workers told me to relax, it's just a simple work and bluh bluh bluh. Then suddenly, the manager appeared as a customer and asked for a muffin and she grabbed her son and sat right in front of the counter to observe from a customer’s perspective I suppose. Next day I had to start at 12:00. I grabbed the key of the changing room to hang my jacket. The manager came close to me. "What time were you supposed to start your job?" She asked with a grumpy face. "12:00" I said and looked at the big Second Cup clock on the wall. It was 12:04. I didn't have my watch with me to compare my time and see if I was late or it was just a asynchronous time difference. "You are always late. I have to send you home." She said while she was wiping the counter. I was surprised. Because I never was late before, besides this was my third working day and she wasn't even there on the previous day. "But…" I couldn't finish my sentence. She said the same thing and left pretending busy.

On my way home I tried to flash back and see what I did was wrong. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Here is a thought. I am an ordinary boring looking guy and not attractive enough to attrack the shoppers in to the store as opposed to the other Second Sexers behind the counter who can attract the customers to stay for the second cup. It's the only explanation I could come up with. What do you think?

People and places

I wonder if there is a magic in the spirit of places, streets or cities, some grow deep roots in people's soles. What is this magic? Does it come from the solid constructed soil and sand, the metals and the shiny glassy walls? Or it comes from us; human beings and the events that take place there?
I am standing in a corner, in Washington square, NYC; watching the crowd, it moves like a giant wave. I spot Jeremy and Simon among the crowd. Jeremy is a tourist from San Francisco. He was rubbed last night by a group of youngsters, right there. He hates that spot, even Manhattan and the big apple. And Simon is walking there too. He is a New Yorker. He used to love Washington square, because he met Angela in the same spot five years ago. She was his greatest love ever. But they broke up three years later. He was in pain and sorrow for a long time. It took him more than two years to get over her. Since then this monument reminds him Angela and the grief he went through.

But we know that Washington square has been the same for decades, no matter who is passing by or how we feel about it.

My new homeland, my former enemy's friend.

It is ironic few weeks after I received my Canadian citizenship and I relocated to Montréal/Quebec I saw this documentary about Gerald Bull on CBC's Fifth estate. I found his finger prints all over my nightmares back in a big slice of my and many others' lives:

If and when arms inspectors return to Iraq, they will be on the lookout for all kinds of biological and chemical weapons of mass destruction (See "The Secret Killer"). But they will also be looking at Saddam Hussein's conventional arsenal. And experts predict they may just come upon blueprints - maybe even fingerprints - belonging to the late Gerald Bull. Once a darling of the North American defense establishment, Canadian Gerald Bull spent his last years in exile in Belgium, dreaming up powerful weapons and selling his designs to whomever he chose. And though his life ended in a hail of bullets a decade ago, his legacy lives on...CBC Newsworld - Fifth estate
During the Iran-Iraq war we were living hundreds miles away from the front line, but once in a while Saddam bombed Tehran or fired missiles toward the capital. Many civilians were killed. We were living in a state of fear for 8 years, though we were the lucky ones, never mind about those who got killed or paralyzed. Here is the ironic part, those missiles were crafted by a Canadian astrophysicist, Gerald Bull. He began researching and developing the predecessors of those missiles back in 1960s in McGill university here in Montréal.
I remember vividly on a weekend night, one of those missiles hit a 4 storey building in a busy residential area. That night there was a birthday party in that building and more than 40 kids were burnt to ashes instantly.

The truth is...

Now that Bush's party has taken over all the three power spots, god knows how far he's gonna go with his aggression. Now he has all the supports and he is gonna monkey around more and more. It's ironic that many Americans indicate that Bush is not that nation's actual choice (I remember watching a debate on BBC channel weeks ago, when Michael Moore was asked about Bush's foreign policy, he said first of all he is not a legitimate president; and he began ranting about the Florida ballots). With all due respect to Amircans like Michael Moore, I disagree about illegitimacy of Mr. Bush, they have shown over and over that rednecks like Bush or Reagan are their choice and, oops they did it again. Americans knew that if the Republicans win this week election, Bush will get more support for his yahooing in his foreign policies and they gave him this support, quite consciously and deliberately.

The Black Crow is gone!

He was a blogger, Iranian, 33. He was living in London, Britain. His real name was Kassra Movahhed. He was an interactive multimedia expert.I didn't know him before the news. I read about him here and there. He committed suicide in his apartment. This was his fourth attempt. I don't know what to say. I didn't know him but still feel quite shocked. Some say he was one of the victims of chemical bombs in the war between Iran and Iraq.
He wrote dark humor in his blog. A note was found on his monitor saying:

A crow wants to fly,
Leave the wings alone!

Meep up! How damn it?

This is the second time that I go to the bloggers meeting, arranged by Meetup.com and I can't find anyone. I hate it when it happens.

Too close in fact

A glass of Noir in your hand
On its dark rouge surface
Two green moons
Blazing out a secret.
How deep should I dive in,
To capture the secret?

I have a good friend who is a translator from English to Farsi. His name is Ahmad. He has quite a varied translations from Lorca and Neruda to Anton Chekhov, even very contemporaries like James Finn Garner. Mr. Garner has a very funny story about Ahmad's translation of his book Politically Correct Bedtime Stories. Check it out.

:: Iranians mostly are medium dark skin colour, with brown eyes and brown hair, but at the same time there is a variety of physical appreance, like green/blue eyes, blonde/red hair, very bright skin (moonlightish), tall, short, hairy, bald, bushy eyebrows, big noses, acceding small noses and et cetera. With this variety of looks, when you as an Iranian live in abroad it is not easy to recognize another Iranian specially when they are not speaking (no matter what language), but as soon as they catch each other eye to eye, that's it, voilà! An exchange of smile, or nod of heads shouts "Hi you fellow Iranian,...". And how they do that? I don't know exactly, It's all in that wireless eye to eye connection. The look at people's eyes all the time, friends' eyes , family's, even strangers'.

Meet up!

I was so excited about Blog meeting, a combo of bloggers and montrealers, the best thing that could happen at this deadly quiet slice of my life.
I went there, the Second cup @ 1551 St. Denis, I entered, most of the tables were taken by loners, reading or hiding their loneliness, there was one table occupied by three young deaf people, communicating with their own language, which was foreign to me, and then two beautiful girls sitting at another table, I wish they were bloggers, but they said no and they thought I was trying to make a conversation - and I was - and the only group left there was the party of three Second Cup makers behind the counter, I didn't think they were bloggers; so disappointed I grabbed a shitty coffee and took over a corner, I hid my loneliness behind my first Second Cup. I don't know how good I did. Were you there? Tell me.

Why? Why? Why American politicians don't learn from the history? Another war? Another invasion, regime change? Is this a vicious circle? The big nose of American foreign policy and in response more violence from barbaric fenaticism and again and again and again. I am sick of both sides. I just hate two things, religious and power of politicians, but never could ignor'em. They have been overshadowing the life since ever and obivousely for ever.

This is my first post of this blog. I mostly write in my Farsi blog. English is my second language. The bad news is things here occationally may not make sense, but the good news is we can blame it all on my english, even if it's me who doesn't make sense. (like this!!! I don't know what the hell I'm trying to say.)
I hope I can catch and cut good slices of life and write them down here everyday, but sometimes some slices of life just grab my throat so tight and they won't let go of me. That's when you'll see just a blank page and nothing more.