LOOP

it's just like a circle:
something ignites, stimulates you,
you start with something,
then you get on with it for a while,
and when it ends,
you're exactly in the same place where you were.
it's not an occasional or exceptional matter.
it happens each and every time, you're involve in something
you gain something, you lose another, but you never end up in a different dimension.
it's just like painting the circle every time you cycle it.
that seems to be a rule, an obligation. an oppressive compulsion
we live through, and in circles...

m.o.m.e.n.t

first he felt cold.
then the hair on his arms and chest rose.
then he felt an ignition, at the bottom of his stomach. just like a small candle light...
the it began to burn the inside.
he no longer could stand.
opened his mouth, finding unable to make any sound, he began to cry...
now you may think that there was something terrible going on in his life.
or in contrast, he's fallen in love and the joyous pain of conceiving it, has caused it.
or a sudden recall of an old memory, in which great sensations were involved.
or even an unknown fear striking upon him...
but it was just him, making a pure moment, in which he could live for now that meant to him so much that almost made him crazy.
he unchained himself from the past, waited for the present, and lived it...
it was such marvelous...

influential

imagine...

you are in a big room, a library, maybe...

the room is well docerated, and everything seems to be in it's place in a meaningful manner... you're sitting, comfortabely, on a comfortable sofa...

next to you, on another identical sofa, sits your lover. comfortabley for sure...

you seem to have made love just a moment earlier. both were satisfied pleasently...

both watching diffrent directions, think the same: fading strings of pleassure in your bodies...

minds? what's mind by the way? another limb of the same body, maybe...

but you may also think of the mind, as a sacred part, away from the physical aspect of your being...

that's also acceptable right at the moment...

you wait, just for the last string to be torn and then you blink...

then you realize, somehow, which i don't know myself, that your lover, and not everything, is not real...

she/he is just a meterialization of an idea, only existing in your mind...

some how, which again i am not aware of, you are considering this as an unrejectable fact...

i will tell you what will happen next: the earth quits rotating in it's usual orbit and chooses another direction...

weightlessness, sorrounds you(!) and everything begins to float...

you, and your lover, begin to fly in the air, with every object in the room dance around you in an oval orbit...

imagine it...

and believe it...

that's not even beyond your imaginations...

او زندگی کرد

مرغ دریایی،
بدون حرکت،
بالای سرت،
بر فراز آسمان،
غوطه ور است...
و تو چه می دانی "پژواک ها" چه هستند؟

روزها،
مناسب نیستند.
چرا که، نابینا هستم...
و تو از آن "دختر ژرمن" هیچ نمی دانی.

شب ها،
در رویا هایم،
شاید،
فرشته هایی می بینم،
با نارنجک هایی در دست،
و یا کابوس...
در دامنه های "یک کوه نقره ای"...

و چه بگویم؟
یا چگونه؟
از آنچه به من می رسد،
و آنچه به دیگران؟
زندگی را آسان می کند،
و مرگ را هم...
اکسیر خوشی،
وغم،
و مگر غم، در لذت، چه کم از خوشی آن دارد؟

v.o.m.i.t

و تو چه می دانی که چیست؟
آنگاه که به من نگاه می کنی،
و رنگهای چشمانم را می بینی،
به جای تاریکی وحشتناک ذهنم،
که از سوراخش پیداست.

هنگامی که ساعت ها،
به بازی های صرف سرگرمی،
و سرگرمی،
و این پاکی که در تو هست،
و در من نه.
و من آنِ تو را دوست دارم،
و تو فقدانِ مرا نه.

آنجاست که تو از من می رنجی،
شاید،
و من،
"از بهر رنجی که می برم"،
و نمی برم،
دوستت دارم

s.e.n.s.a.t.i.o.n.a.l

و درست مانند زمانی که اِروس،
فرزند الهه ی عشق،
با غبطه و حسادت کودکانه اش،
به چهره ی مرد نگریست،
و کمان را کشید...

و کسی نفهمید که فرزند آفرودایتی،
منشا عشق،
خود از آن بی بهره است،
و رنج آن را می کشد،
تا به ابد

فروید و من

دوست داشتم تنفری نداشتم...
دوست داشتم همه را،
همه را، دوست داشتم...
دوستانم را،
دشمنانم را،
بسیجی های حرامزاده را،
حتی...

نمی دانم کدام بعد ذهنم به تنفر نیاز دارد...
تصمیم هایی که می گیرم،
یا تصمیم هایی که گرفته می شوند؟
اساسا ناخودآگاهی در کار است؟

سوپر ایگوی من،
هر چه هست،
برای ادامه،
به تنفر نیاز دارد.
و خودآگاهم نیز به دیدن دیگران،
در بدبختی مفرط و مفرط تر...

دوست داشتم طور دیگری خوشحال می شدم...
...اما