Form

The orange flames were enclosing the scene.
Shouts and Roars were rupturing through the domain.
horror was the only logical argument.
She confidently grabbed him tight and looked sadly into his eyes.
paved the way smoothly to the portal and with all her existence pushed the button for the past.
Came again to the sphere of peace and the the easiness of obliviousness.
midst the green valleys of grains and dust came the great cataclysm.
and began the elimination of the humankind and whatever he has had ever created.
as for them, falling desperately for each other again, one of whom not conscious of the sequel SHE was drifting through, the inevitable seemed unstoppable.
She, again, looked sadly in his eyes and paved the way, smoothly to the portal, knowing, against all odds, there’s still definitely lies another chance, the same chance, earlier in time.
She was thinking: goodbyes are never meant to be forever…

AWKWARD

اوقات نادری وجود دارند که حس می کنم احمقم

حماقت ذاتی کم نظیری که به موجبش تمام پدیده ها به شدت ساده به نظرم می رسند

در حالی که نیستند

و من تنهار در همین اوقات اندک قادرم از نشانه هایی این پیچیئگی عظیم رو حدس بزنم

و غمگین تر اینکه این واقعیت که تقریبا همه آگاه به این پیچیدگی هستند مثل یک خرس وحشی بهم حمله ور می شه

و من به حدت تو زاویه ای فرو می رم و کوچیک به نظر میام

درحالی که کماکان قیافه ی حق به جانب به خودم گرفتم

‘The Inevitable Definition of an Existence’ or, simply, ‘The Reality’

it’s 2:49 in the morning and it’s unusual, desperate and probably sad.

but it’s inevitably true.

that’s because it exists.

and the existence is necessarily definite.

where it’s the definition of it which makes it inevitable.

well, the inevitable is the truth, or at least, the reality.

However, it’s the quality of this inevitable existence that imposes the definition of the human condition each moment.

…

flap…

philosophizing about it didn’t wear it’s desolation away.

alright…

it’s a confession already:

I was dreaming of my childhood.

and it was such a delightful vision.

so delightful and joyous…

the anarchomusic

Give me my music archive, my earphone and whatever else necessary.

I will free the whole world…

The Last Man on Earth

There once was this man, this beautiful sophisticated man, and I was a boy, a man, a young man, meeting him, there, at the main building of the collage. And he was watching me and I knew he knew me, for he was watching me and again, he knew me since earlier, early 80s I guess. and I knew him as well back then and right now and then again he knew my father. As a matter of fact he knew my father first and then me, not to mention my mom in between. and we all knew his family. Trivial I guess though, but he smiled at me quite gently as quite gentleman as he was, and I remembered him being one, and told me in the most pleasently piercing sound a shriveling velvet like word can throw in the thin morning air, producing vivid images on my heads as a grotesque conscious deja vu to my eyes: “I know I would be able count on you”.

***

the world is at the dusk of it's destruction I guess and it is later on decades. Orange flames were common scenes where couples screamed in joy or pain or both, for humanity was at it’s finale, or at it’s another renaissance, where and when he, the one, the man with almost everything, who could afford to possibly want no more, would inherit it all, and he, the sophisticated man, as I once guessed and then told otherwise, would be the last person to capitulate whatever is left to what or whoever would come subsequently.

I can not by myself judge whether it was the most glamorous illustration there ever could be or the most wretched one of them all. Yet there suddenly seemed to be I am the one, and I always have been, I guess, with a power invested on me to be the last one standing out there.

***

The sophisticated man knew me. As he knew me back in the 80s. He knew my father and my mom too. He looked upon me as he once did decades earlier and he smiled at me, and was gradually swaped beneath my feet while whispering words of wisdom, just as acute as he once did decades ago. There was a sudden realization for me, ketting me guess that it was actually me being lifted from the orange surface off. Of course it wasn’t orange any more. White snow had covered it all already. I was the last man on earth. And I was ready. I guess I was…

LiveJournal Tags: fantasy, apocolypse, fiction

typical

This is where the backing song behind the protagonist theme sings: “There’s a hideous omen behind my soul, tearing it apart”.

The lonely protagonist turns away and whispers: “Enough with this shit. I’d rather die and not witness this misery suffocating this town”.

…

shut the fuck up protagonist…

urge

a while from now I will start to fade.

in a gradually subtle way I will.

I will fade and there would be a moment by which I wouldn’t exist as I used to.

no existence of me but an aspiration.

or aspirations.

these will shape a common existence, in which I will bloom into.

no boundaries, and I’ll grow.

growth like tones f chords, harmonized and mesmerized.

and that wouldn’t be the end of me, but the very genesis.

I just have to wait…

heh…

I wish I were a filmmaker.

I would be just happy…

Social Pain

درد را نباید فریاد زد.

نباید گفت،

و هم نباید در نقش زاهدی آرام و بی درد،

چشید

 

چه فریادهایی از نهان های تنهایی ها بر فراز قله ها که کشیده شدند،

ولی شنیده نشدند،

زندگی نشدند.

 

و چه زمزمه های روزانه ای که در اعماق بی هدف به باد سپرده شدند

و بنیان ها برافکندند

زندگی شدند

 

درد را نباید فریاد زد، نباید گفت و نباید چشید.

درد را باید

زندگی کرد

The Legend

(Narrator:)

Sometimes, things just happen.

It doesn’t mean that they happen without a reason.

The fact is, they happen. And the reason is there too. But no one knows it.

(exotic, adventurous music begins)

And that is how mysteries are born.

And occasionally, legends too.

* * *

So was the beastly nomad from the east,

who suddenly captured the fascination of the west,

with just being there and doing nothing but,

being a legend…

His story travelled through cities and countries.

People of every corner talked about him every day.

Mothers told stories of him to their children.

His myth grew by time, and until now it remains as the greatest hero of all time:

The eastern nomad,

(exotic, adventurous music plays strongly and clearly)

Who no one ever knew how or why he was so famous.

He was just famous,

and the fact is and has been:

who cares why?

(exotic, adventurous music fades out…)

misplacement hallucination

The dream,

if came true,

ever,

it’s all-right.

Nevertheless,

I don’t know.

I just don’t…

...هشت، هشت و نیم، نه، نه و نیم

برگرفته از یک داستان واقعی:

چشمهایش را بسته بود. خسته بود. خسته از سفر، از تقدیر. به تقدیر اعتقاد داشت و نداشت.
آفتاب نزده بود که به شهر رسید. به شهر آرزوها و رویا ها. کامیابی ها و دلباختگی ها. بوی دود می آمد. دود و خاک. خاک و گرمای تابستان. تابستان داغ و طولانی. فرساینده، فاسد کننده.
هنوز آفتاب نزده یود. بوی دود می شنید. صدای ماشینها را هم. به سرعت می رفتند. پیاده بود. فکر کرد که دیر خواهد رسید. اما به کجا؟ به شهر رسیده بود. نزدیکتر بود. نبود؟ مقصدی ولی نداشت. داشت؟
داشت آفتاب می زد. خیابان شلوغ تر شده بود. بوی عرق می داد. پیراهن سفیدش، ولی، از سیاهی دود یکنواختی که برویش نشسته بود، چرکی را نشان نمی داد. شلوار قهوه ای اش هم. گرم بود. آستین هایش را تا بالای آرنج تا زد. در امتداد خیابان راه می رفت.
...
روی نیمکت پارک کوچکی، کنار خیابان نشست. سر و صدا زیاد بود. بوی دود رفته بود. چشمانش را بست. پارک دیگری را تجسم کرد. مکان های اتفاقات مهم، برایش مهم بود. اهمیت خالص و نابی برایشان قائل بود. انگار که سرنوشتشان از ابتدا، از ازل، در وجودشان نهاده شده بود. به تاریخ ساعتش نگاه کرد. بیست و ششم بود. بیست و ششم. تاریخ های مهم را نیز مستثنی از مکان ها نمی دانست. بیست و ششم ها بنا بودند که روزهای مهمی باشند. خیلی مهم. حتی قبل از آنکه شروع به مهم بودن بکنند. بعدها فهمید که زمان ها و مکان های بخصوص، تنها در لحظه ی وقوع و وجود خاصّند، و دیگر نه.

چشمانش را بازهم بست. بیست و ششم دلخواهش را تصویر کرد. عادت به این کار داشت. درد لذیذ، غم شیرینی را حس می کرد. وقوع محتوم بیست و ششم را مرهمی برای تمام بیست و ششم هایی که گواهی خلاف می دادند کرده بود. تناقض حاصل بلای ذهن دردمندش شده بود و چرا هایی که بی جواب مانده بودند را برهانی برای اثبات حقانیتش. بعدها فهمید که همان بیست و ششم هم اشتباهی بیش نبود. انسان ها واجب الخطا هستند. چراهایی هم هستند که هیچ وقت جوابی ندارند.
...
حرکت کرد. غوطه ور در افکاری از همین سنخ، زمان های بخصوص، مکان های بخصوص، حرف های بخصوص و کارهای بخصوص. رسید. وقتش هم نزدیک بود. روی پله ای که مقدسش می پنداشت نشست. به تقدس اعتقاد داشت و نداشت. بعدها فهمید که تقدس نه تنها ذات موجودی نست، بلکه اساسا نیست، وجود ندارد.
گرم بود. خلوت بود. منتظر بود. ماشین ها و ادم ها تک و توک می آمدند و می رفتند. یکنواختی صحنه خسته اش کرد و روی همان پله شروع کرد به چرت زدن. بیدار که شد زمان موعود گذشته بود. پانزده دقیقه. اخم هایش در هم رفتند. با این حال مطمئن بود اتفاقی نیفتاده که اگر بیدار می بود متوجه اش می بود. خشمش به سرعت فروکش کرد. دلیل دیگرش این بود که بیست و ششم های دیگری نیز وجود داشتند و او چشم به راهشان بود. ولی هیچ اتفاقی در هیچکدام از بیست و ششم ها نیفتاد.
...
بعدها فهمید که هیچ اتفاقی در هیچ بیست و ششمی روی نداده بود. همینطور فهمید که هیچوفت هیچ اتفاقی روی نداده بود. هیچوقت، هیچ اتفاقی

ترکیب های وصفی

کشاکش مسموم
رویای دیرین بعید
غم مزمن
امید واهی
خودآگاه مشوش
ناخودآگاه ناخودآگاه
ملامت بیهوده
خاطرات سهمگین
انرژی هدر رفته
بطالت متعفن
زمان مرده
زمان از دست رفته
...
زمان از دست رفته

Built Then Burnt (Hurrah! Hurrah!)

Dear brothers and sisters
dear enemies and friends

Why are we all so alone here
All we need is a little more hope, a little more joy
All we need is a little more light, a little less weight, a little more freedom.
If we were an army, and if we believed that we were an army
And we believed that everyone was scared like little lost children in their grown up clothes and poses
So we ended up alone here floating through long wasted days, or great tribulations.
While everything felt wrong
Good words, strong words, words that could've moved mountains
Words that no one ever said
We were all waiting to hear those words and no one ever said them
And the tactics never hatched
And the plans were never mapped
And we all learned not to believe
And strange lonesome monsters loafed through the hills wondering why
And it is best to never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever wonder why
So tangle - oh tangle us up in bright red ribbons!
Let's have a parade
It's been so long since we had a parade, so let's have a parade!
Let's invite all our friends
And all our friends' friends!
Let's promenade down the boulevards with terrific pride and light in our eyes
Twelve feet tall and staggering
Sick with joy with the angels there and light in our eyes
Brothers and sisters, hope still waits in the wings like a bitter spinster
Impatient, lonely and shivering, waiting to build her glorious fires
It's because of our plans man; our beautiful ridiculous plans
Let's launch them like careening jetplanes
Let's crash all our planes in the river
Let's build strange and radiant machines at this jericho waiting to fall

انعکاس: واقعیت در رویا، رویا در واقعیت

قسمتی از صورتش را در آینه ی ماشین خاکستری، که در جاده ی خلوتی پیش می رفت می دید. لحظه ای بعد، تصویر لبخندی به وسعت کرانه ی چشمهایش. جاری شدن لذت توام با هیجان درونش را حس کرد. پخش شدن گرمای چگال، و مسطح شدنش در سطح پوست، و مو های دست و پا. چارپوب پنجره ی همان ماشین خاکستری، و کوچه ای به ظاهر بی انتها که به پایین سرازیر می شد. خانه های حد اکثر دو طبقه ی آجری در دو طرف آن و تیر چراغ برقی که نمی شد رنگش را از دیوار کنارش تشخیص داد، و شبح سیاهی که با سری افکنده، کیفی در دست دور می شد. هر دم بر تیرگی و مه آلودگی کوچه افزوده می شد. ولی نه مه ساده ی صبحهای پاییز، که محو شدگی تدریجی خودخاسته ای که نقاش به تابلو می دهد. سردی تصویر، تمام گرما را، مانند اسفنجی خشک، از موها، پوست و همه جایش دزدید و در خود باد کرده اش نگه داشت.گرمای متمرکزی که از آن به سرمای گسترده نیز تعبیر می شود. او دیگر رفته بود...

همین سرما بود که از خواب بیدارش کرد و برآنش داشت که پنجره ی پشت سرش را بیشتر ببندد. با چشمانی به زخمت نیمه باز و پیشانی پر چروک، در حالی که تلاش می کرد با کمترین هزینه ای پتویش را رویش حفظ کند، ساعت را جست. چشمانش را دوباره بست و در خود خزید. نفس عمیقی کشید و حبسش کرد. چند ثانیه بعد از دماغش رهایش کرد. چشمانش را کمی فشرد و بین ابروانش چین افتاد. سوراخ های دماغش در واکنشی همزمان به بازدمی دیگر و همان محرکی که چشمانش را فشرده و پیشانی اش را چین انداخته بود گشاد شدند. چند ثانیه بعد صورتش حالت طبیعی اش را باز یافت. دهانش رفته رفته کمی باز شد و نفس هایش منظم. دستش، که در تمام این مدت مشت شده بود، اکنون آرام رها شده بود. ساعت زنگ زد. چشمتنش فشرده شدند و پیشانیش در هم رفت. ساعت زنگ می زد.

شیر را در کاسه، روی خرده حبوبات ریخت. روی دستشویی نشست و چشمانش را بست. یک جوراب را به یک پایش کرد و کفشش را هم به همان پا. از پشت صندلی ها و میز و گلدان رویش به سختی توی آینه پیدا بود، با این حال به این وضع عادت داشت. با دستی که کیفش را نگه داشته بود، در را بست و یک دور کلید را چرخاند.

در راه مدام به سوسک های بزرگ و متوسط و قهوه ای رنگی که ممکن بود موقع برگشت در خانه مواجه شان شود فکر می کرد. پا هایشان را مجسم کرد، که چطور گوشتی و پوشیده از مو های کوتاه است. از سوسک ها نفرت داشت.

a life's tale, episode #3 (final episode)

... and yes, he married her, and she married him, with thousands of hopes, wishes and dreams. The interesting point is that, almost every each one of them was satisfied to the highest extent. They were happily together for a while, until the time arrived they both felt something is not just alright. They weren't quite sure about what they felt then, but both decided to give birth to a baby like almost every other couple would do that. and intuition tell us that, their son, too, was delivered by a strange dark skinned man, with a long black, shiny hat...

As every day and week and year passed, they both were more sure that their kid was the exact thing they once were missing. So their life began to glow like a star, giving warmth and joy to anything nearby. They enjoyed their meal, and the triangular pies she made. the weekend picnics by the lake, and the gum balloons he could make. First day of school and the first day of college. Graduation picture with three smiley faces. Loving and being loved, for the kid this time, yet the same story, again and again, time after time... and we all know that persistent presences was there for making all these possible, flying from place to place, time to time, just like gnats: some men with dark skins and long black shinny hats...

one nice morning he woke up early, brushed his teeth and made breakfast for two, like most of the past 35 years. They both got dressed and took their canes, went outside for a little walk and some fresh air. Found a cozy bench in the park surrounded by fallen leaves and birds. He put his arm around her shoulders, while staring at some far point, drowned in some old, sweet imagination. Then came a feeling very familiar, yet quite strange. The park disappeared and the bench remained in an empty white space. From invisible lines, some figures began to emerge, each dancing in a huge bubble, and flying weightless above their heads. A smile place itself upon his mouth, his face implied satisfaction. His fingers tighter and his body warmer. His eyes, focused on the scene he was looking at: countless dark skinned men, flying in harmony, each with a long black, shinny hat...

the end...

a life's tale, episode #2

...

he surfed around the globe, as he was seeking mystery, to satisfy his desire, which he felt was his soul. cities and counteries he visited, but there was nowhere he felt like settling down. not untill the day he saw a man, pointing an arrow to a woman, with the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. the woman smiled at him and he smiled back and next to her he sat. the archer man was a dark skinned man, with a long, black shiny hat...

it was the period he believed, was the sweetest of his whole life indeed. they thought they love themselves so much, in such ways, that no human have ever been able to imagine. but weeks and months proved them, such strong feelings were somehow in vain. and finally the mark was made, when they both felt their relationship smells just like a carcass of a dirty rat. this time, they both knew this was somehow connected with a strange man, sitting on the corner, with dark skin and a long, black shiny hat...

unable to stop living, the boy, now a man, picked a new lifestyle with different proiorities involved. he chose a job and worked hard and found new friends as he tried to put aside his past, but he some time sneaked around to see if he could find another strange, dark skinned man. he found one, just at the moment he let himself fall again for a pretty lovely girl at work, and he invited her to dinner and she accepted the offer after just a small chat. this time the man was smiling, wearing a long, black shiny hat...

to be continued...

a life's tale, episode #1

once upon a time, not long ago, in a city not too far, not too near, lived a happy couple, waiting for their baby to be born. there came a man, and delivered an adorable tiny boy, with blushed cheeks and body just like a pat. the man, however, had dark skin, with a long, black, shiny hat...

days passed and the kid grew up fast. his parents, so happy, taught him how to walk, talk and laugh. at his fifth birthday, they held a small party for him and he recieved a lovely little furry cat, from another strange man, with dark skin, wearing a long, black, shiny hat...

it once came a day that the kid felt something. something odd and yet familiar in some ways. he felt that someone is calling him, toward the adventures, the unknowns, experiencing joy and wrath. he was of course, another dark skinned man, with a long, black shinny hat...

to be continued...







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