DAR VATANE KHISH GHARIB, (Nostalgy in one's very home)

Closure

2008-03-20T17:18:00.003-07:00

It has been a very long time since I have written anything.
And I have always been very honored by all the comments from my very dear readers.
The matter of the fact is, that I have come a long way from when I wrote "Crucial Eyes", that I have come very far from my profound depression that truly shaped my as who I was.
I had to fit into a new society with a new language and new culture and at the same time I had to define myself. Life was hard and I underwent a lot of harsh conditions at that point, and it all made me question myself, my environment and my existence.
I couldn't`t help thinking how much all the pain we go through, all the struggle we take to eke out a living, all the conflict we have to know right from wrong, and all the inner anguish that makes us tie ourselves back to something more powerful and abstract has shapes us as persons, as distintive voices who can express and idealize. I have been a quite happy musician and I have been able to express myself through my music.
That`s why I think I need to stop writing.
This blog is a reminiscent of my adolescent, of a very important and valuable period in my life, a very memorable and difficult phase that turned me into a human.
Thanks all my readers and friends.
You always encouraged me to write more, but let`s face it that juice of creativity and anxiety belonged to my past.
This will be my last post on this blog for I have said what I wanted to say, for I declared my existence and my critical voice.
Hope the best for all of you my dear friends.
All the best
Saman Shahi
March 2008 Toronto, Canada

Award

2007-05-15T10:02:00.000-07:00

The Poem "Human" won the first place in the Editor`s Choice Award of Petry.com, the international library of poetry.

Clouds

2007-05-14T08:26:00.000-07:00

And in the loneliest corner of my room, I cramped myself, and gazed to the farthest piece of

anguished silver cloud.I could hear it; the sad tender melody of the clouds, soft an flowing, as

though they were telling the story of millenniums, the story of complex knot in us, the story of

all the rains that came down, the story of all the birds that came and left without any

commitment. The music sucked into my ears and pushed my tears out. I cried as though I

was the loneliest creature in the loneliest corner of the world, it felt like all world had

fit itself into my bed. Ah ! sad clouds, sad anguished silver clouds. It was raining now,

raining.....

2006-11-27T21:29:00.000-08:00

I learned how painful and obsessive life becomes when you want to challenge other people's attitudes, and assimilate all values on earth.
Let`s accept everyone the way they are
Isoaltion is a consequence of struggle with the "STUPIDITY" of people....

2006-11-05T18:18:00.000-08:00

An empty room, a memory,, the wind,,,yes the wind was taking it all away,,,and worst of all,,, it took the image,,the image was gone,,,there is no us....just sheer vain alienation.......

2006-09-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

value is everything that humans die for, it`s everything that we suffer from, everything that we are suppressed for.

I don`t want any comfort, I don`t want any perfection
I am striving for conflict, forimperfection, and for the beauty in the core of a complex grief.I am not here, Iam not there, I am in the sunset, I am the most untouchable. I am in the history,in the past, in the regret of things that never came back..In the isolation ofa loss, in the anguish of the impossible
......I am a human
I am a beautiful human.......

Our tragic yet comic world

2006-09-09T13:40:00.000-07:00

We draw lines, define humanity based on color, ethnicity and nationality, create a lot of ethical and social boundaries, Distinguish ourselves from others by hanging a flag on our houses, prejudicely patronize our history to collapse other cultures, and then at the end ACCLAIM that humans are all the same, and they need to be treated equally, and racism is a wicked social illness which needs to be unraveled.

It`s a quality in human beings that they always move against
what they have established; In our world two plus two makes an unknown number based on the intensity of the situation.

There`s always two
layers, always......

Alireza Mashayekhi, Shahrzad

2006-09-02T20:42:00.000-07:00

In the south corner of the desert there is a statue of a woman which

is gazing to the horizon. She`s so still as if she is awaiting a miracle,

which is never going to occur.

The Mirrors Never Lie

2006-08-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

I laughed, laughed and passed by. I saw myself in the mirror again; seemed like centuries were behind. After all those questions, after all those idleness, still perplexed, still nostalgic. Ah! beware that I kept growing but losing the answers, that I laughed at myself and the whole world, the whole universe cried. That moment was worth all the adventure, that moment was as precious as the birth before death, or death after perfection. I sacrificed the answer for the sake of the question, it was there; simple, vivid, harsh and sad. I ran away, years and years in the stillness of my abyss solitude, moaning along with the night birds, "I never belonged, I never belonged.....". I laughed, the whole world laughed, birds laughed, and I cried. Never should I have passed by myself; the mirrors never lie.

Happiness

2006-08-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

What really matters in our moods or attitudes in life is what those emotions or mentalities convey for us to be better humans, not necessarily how they make us feel. We are facing major issues every single day in our lives, coping with a horrible social and cultural condition. If we are truly a happy and normal person, are not we adjusted to abnormal circumstances? have not we compromised with evil just to be "happy" or "normal"?

Happiness is not worth the ignorance; depression occurs in extreme consciousness.

Humanity is lost wherever the happiness has been the
objective

"Going To The Moon"

2006-08-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

"I felt cheated somehow, felt that I had touched for a moment some larger world that had receded again, that had remained as elusive finally as the promise of the tall buildings across the river or of the golden pendulum clock that sat in my mother's dining room."

"and by then I had understood already how hopeless my situation was, how my humiliation was not something that other people did to me but something I carried inside me like a sin, that was there even if other people did not see it."

"so much the promise of all the things I would not have, that I only cried harder, only thought, we'll never go to the moon again, we'll never go to the moon."

Excerpts from the short story "Going To The Moon", by Nino Ricci

Nightmare

2006-07-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

"You were in love with the most perfect figure in your mind that was embodied in me. You were passionately needy for that existence to fulfill your isolation, to shelter your everlasting shame. I was a defective picture of your illusionary thoughts. You broke me, you broke yourself; You were the tormenter, and the tormented. You are a pathetic insane who kept striving for the perfection; seeking for originality. You were wrong, you were dangerously wrong. Go and hide in your distant solitude because world never needs a lunatic like you. You are the very barrier of yourself, you are extremely obssessed with other side of the line; the untouchable. Go away......"

I woke up. Rage and passion swirled in my head. These complex nightmares, these frightening delusions, and this delicate sound of past are twist and tunrs of a dissolved image. I went to bed; to hear all those things again, to be told how alieanated I am, how my eyes are always filled with fear, loneliness and an unearthly gaze, and just to think to myself how those eyes never lied about what truly was inside of her. Tomorrow the sun will rise; no more conflict, no more anguish.....

Walking in the Twilight

2006-06-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

The black cloud had darkened the street in the early morning, and there in the queer gloomy silence of the street, was my father saying good bye to all of us, leaving for the borderline; for an obnoxious war. There was little time left to say a lot of things; things that mattered much, and yet could not be expressed easily. The war had been invigorated over the western boarder, so it could have been the last time I was looking at his lax, deep eyes. I started weeping uncosciously; I was too young to comprehend this huge separation, to digest what this chaos was for. And there it lied, the very last statement of my father murmured in my ears, "If I died, don`t cry for me. Think of me. These days tears don`t matter, thoughts matter, thoughts matter. I will always think of you; I will close my eyes, and recall you. Take care of yourself."

He caressed me with an odd hesitation in his face, and a strange shake in his hand. Then he was disappeared in the twilight, looking ahead, afraid of looking back and getting caught with the tears swirled in his eyes. I allowed myself to cry just once while they were burrying him so gloriously; his eyes were closed.

Horizon.

2006-05-30T14:09:00.000-07:00

Horizon is beautiful
because it`s untouchable.......
It`s a sweet sadness that it carries along; an unfigured
passion, a complex pain, an unknown man....

A suicide letter

2006-05-12T14:58:00.000-07:00

The rain was brutally colliding with the window. It was cold and gloomy inside the room and the man had no fear of death anymore; in fact, he had decided when this death should take place. He wasn`t anxious or sad. He had a fairly "empty" mood; no sympathy, no grief, no laughter. His eyes were almost motionless. He had prepared his final set of facilities; a rope, a chair and a sad stuffy room to finish a defective life. The only ornament that was hung on the wall had a picture of a scarecrow in a desert. Something was written beneath it so roughly,"Scarecrow looked back. Everything was burned, even the wheats. There was no more pretext, even to continue to be..." The rest of the room was merely a stereotype mixed with a lot of heaviness. He started to write a letter, a suicide letter, just to tell people how odd this world has become.

"It`s a continious and fierce process, a process in which humans become complex and conscious. First of all an individual starts to understand and reveal the reality of the world. The more he understands the bigger the gap becomes between himself and the people around him. He develops his ideas and beliefs which mostly are revolutionary and in common sense "Offensive".Then he starts to express those notions to people in order to make them aware towards life but the only consequence that follows is a swift rejection. Society simply rejects that person because he is annoying and truth revealing. This is the very first segment of becoming an intellectual human; Isolation and social alienation due to the profound beliefs of an individual."

He looked at the room once more. All things were quiet as they were listening to this life story. The scarecrow was still facing the horizon, gazing towards infinity;

"This rejection makes the person furious, thus he starts to use sarcasm, falsified arguments to humiliate the rejecters. In this sense, he becomes totally offensive because he finds himself telling the pure truth while the masses are still interested in the propaganda that they have been fed all their life long. Many people stick to this level for rest of their life, but some cross that, and reach the next level; virtual communication. The individual starts to replace the imaginary or lifeless entities with real humans. These things never respond, or dispute his notions, and are mere listeners. The person talks to himself or other objects, and companions them. Other people call this specific individual "mentally challenged" at this point. Why shouldn`t they? They never ponder what they say."

The words and statements were strong, but He was telling an upsetting scenario; his own life. His eyes became tearful. It was strange because it had been a long time since he felt like to cry, but the pain was so deep that brought up all those dark moments again.

"The last part of process and the most important one is when one figures that even those imaginations are defective and useless. Then he starts to realize the reason beyond all this pain and isolation; A unique reality, diversing in his desparate mind. He has the "perfect" in his mind, which he is not able to compromise with reality, therefore he finds himself completely separated form the world. That`s what I have been through. This long process has made me to be this way; isolated. I revealed the factual proposition that is the principle of my life; We do not belong. The actual reality sustains in our mind. We criticize a defective world while we have never seen the perfect as an assessment factor. We can not belong to this defective context In which Capitalism is destroying public`s mind by biased propaganda. History is alterable based on the advantages of the power. Certain level of people get to live in absolute luxury while others are kept under a certain economical limit. Social hierarchy does not convey any meaning anymore, and all values and moralities are defined based on the advantages of stronger party. Humans are isolated, and made to stay in their own solitude in order to be still productive for the economical monopoly. Powers have turned humans into machines that work, eat and cannot love anymore. People that are aware of these horrible sequential events are hammered, and kept under pressure so that they would not protest. The actual reality for the masses has changed; there is no standards of what humanity is, thus however it is being coped is necessarily a proper way with no doubt. Religious and non- religious totalitarianists have falsified the standards and primary assessments of life so they could justify their wicked actions, and the masses would not be able to recognize the flaws within the society. Reality is not objective anymore, yet it`s totally subjective and the powers will mould it for public; They obligate the way that world, God, love and humanity must be perceived. We do not belong to "That" world. Now I shall abandon this life in order to finish this process of intellectuality. This life has brought me nothing but fear, grief and a rough hope to a unknown future. No one is guilty in this action, no one but me and my lunatic thoughts."

The suicide letter was finished; the last ambiguous evidence of his life. He wished there was something to claw at, and not die. He collapsed, and tears came all the way down his cheeks, but the time had come. The reality was hitting in, showing ugly faces through that big hole of the rope. Harshness of the moment was outrageous, but the time had come.

He started to wrap the letter when something really strange happened to him. He started to dream about a vague childhood memory, a far image from past ; he was jumping up and down with his fellows in the middle of street, trying to make as much noise as possible, and then their mothers came down and tried to quiet them. Then another dream emerged; a dream of his first teenage love; the sight of a beautiful girl with her lax eyes. Then the image of the first time that he cried hardly because of a queer, irreversible pain. Those memories affected him in a really odd way. He thought that maybe humans live through their continuous memories. This was quite possible; refining our being by this overlap between past and present, between history and now. Maybe we are a bundle of all those experiences, or maybe we are supposed to drag all those memories with ourselves as our identity. He started to look around; everything was a part of him, all those objects, thoughts, memories, pains and laughters were part of him. He could not "not belong". He was extremely glued with this world and every single "being" within it. And yet, it felt comforting to belong. He unwrapped the letter, and on the back of the paper wrote with a different color; "We exist within our humanity, our love and compassion." It was such a big instant in his life, a tremendous realization, and an untouchable moment. He had found something that he was seeking all his life for; a pretext to be. He and his past was all he needed to exist. He was not finishing this process, but he was escaping from it. He wrote again, "Yet, I feel I am part of my memories, part of my past and a segment of my future. Yes, a future. We need to relate, we need to belong to something, And I found it in the very last moment of my life." He gathered all those dark memories, rejections, humiliations, but yet expressing something completely contrasting. " I feel belonged, and It feels beautiful. "

The house was surrounded with wind and rain. The man was looking down at the paper, and wondering How greatly this sense of belongingness reposed him. He went to bed, and never attempted to suicide again. Yet, He maintained that rope and chair for a long time to keep recalling him of that untouchable moment.
The weather was still dark and cold. The man was asleep, and He was dreaming of a future. That image of scarecrow was now just a poetic gesture, not the reality. He was beautiful now. He did belong.

2006-05-10T14:03:00.000-07:00

It is sweet and fascinating when you are reaching something. That sense of uncertainty and wonder is beautiful, but once it becomes OBVIOUS, then it`s painful.

Identity

2006-04-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

The superficiality of the masses starts right where they become proud of what they

naturally possess, or in other words what they did not have any choice in and never

put any contribution towards, rather than what they have accomplished in life.

People are proud of their appearance, nationality or history background, which by

chance could be anything else. They feel superior over other group of peopole due to

elements that are not "Real" assessments of worth. Nevertheless the real scope of self-knowledge is not about the or predestined, but it`s about the way that humans analyze those situations and acquire something meaningful out of it.

WE ARE WHAT WE
TRY TO BECOME NOT WHAT WE WERE BORN WITH!

Social alienation

2006-03-23T08:49:00.000-08:00

I was coming back home last night, when I saw a really normal and good looking man in the

bus. After couple of minutes I sensed that he is a bit uncomfortable; yes, he was talking to an

imaginary person beside him. I thought how self-destructive we have become, And how

virtual communications are replacing with the real interconnections within a society. And

then I proudly pitied him because of how lonely he was that he couldn`t find any one else to

talk to. we are distancing from each other gradually and substituting imaginary beings with

the real entities. This is the way that we can contribute to a consumerized society; isolated

and left out without any commitment to the reality.

......

2006-03-16T12:16:00.000-08:00

-" Where are you gazing to, you continuous silence?"

-" To where I shall always have the dream of, and I never belonged to."

All nostalgic feelings, alienation, isolation, shame, and loss starts at the very moment that you begin to realize that you do not belong; WE DO NOT BELONG

"Crucial Eyes"

2006-02-13T19:21:00.000-08:00

I tried to escape all of my life. Escape from whom I loved the most, escape from the place that I lived in, escape from the values that I grew with. I escaped, went trough a lot of bizarre observations, felt a lot of indescribable, saw a lot of unspeakable. When I reached the end of the way, Sun was setting, and I couldn’t go any further. That was the end of the way; the red line. I had grown with my perceptions. I tried to remember all of the things that I saw, but nothing came to my mind, seemed like all of it was insignificant stories. All I could think of was when It all started; All this chaos in me, all this homelessness. It all started when I gazed into your eyes for the first time, and saw the strangest meaning in them. That made me insane, a glad insane who never lived normally again, happily though. I escaped from you too, I had to go away. But I traveled all this way to the end of the world by thought of your eyes. I wanted to discover your eyes at the end of the earth, on the sun. This is why I said to you that day, " I feel like I have the same distance with you at each point, each crucial point.”, and you looked at me as If I was not making sense. I died right there, right at the end of the way, right at the very moment of sunset. The air smelled like your eyes, your crucial eyes.

outrageous inference

2006-02-01T21:50:00.000-08:00

Life has turned to wandering in a lagoon full of useless thoughts and decayed beliefs, which we are not even ready to admit their defectiveness. We enjoy the sorrowful facts around us, and thoughtfully call ourselves "Open minded". Yet some people are watching a poisonous lily in the middle of the lagoon; poor people are awaiting for a "Big brother" to come, and save the world.

Zendegi tabdil shode be dasto pa zadan tooye ye mordab az aghayede pooside va fekraye bi masrafe ke hatta hazer be ghabol kardane bi khasiyyat bodaneshon ham nistim. Az booye motaeffene haghayeghe doro baremon ham lezzat mibarimo va ehsase roshan fekri mikonim. Baghiye ham ye gole zahr aloos vasate mordab mibinan va montazere ye naajiye bozorg baraye donyan.

My short story based on "OEDIPUS THE REX" (in order to undersatnd the story, you should know the Oedipus`s drama first)

2006-01-10T19:22:00.000-08:00

ONE COLD SUNSET

He had to walk through the snow to reach his home. He didn’t know why Oedipus wanted to talk to him suddenly. He had known Oedipus for twenty years, and he knew that he is not much of a talker. Now that the poor old man was spending his last days of life in bed, he was getting more hysterical than ever. It was the second time that he begged Marcus to come, and visit him over the phone. He knocked at the door, and heard the weak sigh of Oedipus, which meant “come in.” He was lying on the bed, and facing towards the little window, which was his only connection with the real world. The poor man looked weak, but the sickness never affected his deep blind gaze to far away. "What’s the matter?”, Marcus said, while Oedipus didn’t even bother turning. “Marcus, you are all that is left for me in this world. I sense that these are the very last hours of my life. Believe me, I am an expert in predicting the unexpected. I want to reveal something for you, something that I suffered from all of my life, something that ruined my fame and fortune, something that…” He ran out of breath, and failed to finish the sentence. Marcus, who thought that this was one those delusions, went, and dragged the blanket over him, and quietly said, “You need to think less. You are destroying yourself. Rest more; this is the only way that you can get better.” Oedipus turned, and grabbed Marcus’s hand tightly, as he tempted to break it. He started talking desperately without even waiting for his breath to come, and help him speak. “I was weaker than them. I was destined to misery and to misfortune. I never knew myself, and my roots.” Marcus surprisingly watched him talking, and murmured, “What on the earth are you talking about? Although you never talked to me about your past, I never expected you to do so. You were always a good listener.” Oedipus started crying out, as he never heard Marcus’s sentences. “No! You don’t understand. This is serious. I had two choices; a life in denial and fame, or a misery in consciousness.” Marcus tried to calm him down, while Oedipus was mumbling quietly with himself, “Man! Did I ever reveal that for myself that now I am trying to convince someone else about my hideous past?” He released Marcus’s hand, and made him sit on the bed. His voice was low, as it was coming from far away, “I tried to escape all of my life. escape from something that was in front of me every single second; my weakness. I was nothing, as I am now. I tried to compete with my predestination. I never did anything terribly wrong; I was just stubborn enough to look for truth. That was all I had done.” He couldn’t continue. The inadequate words could no longer express his deep pain. He felt unexpressive, and defective. Seemed like, the more someone’s grief wounds the soul, the harder it becomes to express. During all these years, the little window and Marcus were the best friends of Oedipus; both of them were quite when he spoke out after a long time, and never able to respond to it. He chose not to talk any more, and then he awkwardly got back to bed. That night Oedipus slept peacefully, without any nightmares. Yes, he slept, and never woke up. Later on, when his corpse was being removed from the bed, Marcus found a piece of paper underneath the pillow. He opened it: “Life begins, where it ends. I escaped from my illusions, and I was trapped in reality. Life is darkly strong.” Sun was setting gently, and sky had a fascinating color. Marcus wondered the rest of his life what made Oedipus say that. He probably never realized. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to realize, as the Thebans never did. The sun disappeared behind the mountains, and Marcus walked home through the red snow.

photo: arash ashoorinia... www.kosoof.com

The road

2005-10-15T08:54:00.000-07:00

به انتهای جاده خیره شدم که شاید بار دیگر ببینمت. تو در پیچ جاده گمشده بودی_آزادی برای من بهای سنگینی داشت...

I gazed to the end of the road maybe to see you again.

You were lost in the curve of the path....redemption cost me a fortune

Scarecrow

2005-05-23T17:36:00.000-07:00

مترسک به پشت خود نگاهی کرد.همه چیز سوخته بود:حتی گندمها. دیگر حتی بهانه ای برای بودن هم نبود

Scarecrow looked back....everything was burned, even the wheats....there was no more pretext, even to continue to be.....

life

2005-05-23T17:34:00.000-07:00

وقتی به پشت سرم نگاه کردم دیدم که هنوز اول راهم. اما به اندازه ی همه ی راه خسته بودم.....

When I looked back I found myself in the very begining of the way,..But I was so tired as I had finished it....