Flash Plots

Summary and conclusion

2008-04-27T13:20:00.006+01:00

Flash Plots was initially designed as a platform for practicing creative writing. The process involved, has gradually lead itself into a searching task and soon after has established as a concrete, task-defined dialectical discourse titled, Searching for the President in Tehran. More accurately, Searching for the President in Tehran was born on 22 November 2007 at 12:32 PM in Harborne Park, Birmingham. He travelled to Tehran from 14 December 2007 to 4 January 2008. He died on 27 of April 2008 at 1:36 AM just couple of hundred meters far from his birthplace, No. 12 Lesson Walk, Birmingham.

The content of this blog can be considered as the row-blocks , or better said flash plots of what Searching for the President in Tehran is. As a result, several versions as well as arrangments have been already produced by modifying the flash plots presented in this blog.

The current evolved version of Searching for the President in Tehran has been just sent for further consideration and assessment to a couple of people in the field, I've been introduced by a friend who has been truly encouraging to keep me developing this discourse and has helped a lot in edition and modification of these noisy flash plots into an integrated and relatively coherent framework. The final outcome (after further modifications) will be presented in one or the other possible means (most probably as a free-access frozen blog), as the main delivery of Flash Plots, a strategy to contribute in creative writing.

Thanks for the readers of this blog and those comments that I have received especially from the people in creative writing course, in particular Alison and Peggy. I send you both a hug from this room, although you are in different continents now. But who cares? Internet always can solve the problem....!!

This blog will remain unchanged in Internet as it is. Although, it contains lots of grammatical mistakes, word usage etc; however not changing the contents, at least in this platform, is a rigid way to keep the commitment to the principle idea behind the creation of Flash Plots.

This is the last post of this blog...

A Funeral for Searching for the President in Tehran

2008-04-26T11:31:00.005+01:00

In current social condition, in which success requires a loyal commitment to one and only one statement "Save your time", critical thinking has an unavoidable drawback: It wastes your time...

(Jean-François Lyotard, 1924-1998)

The way I received his passing and consequently the way I kept on moving, was so even and humble...Sometimes I am wondering, how come I am able to be that calm and act in such a modest way...Just sometimes, though...

The first time I observed this behaviour, I can surely remember, was in my grandpa funeral...I loved the man and now, I’ve truly understood, he was the first and the most influential person, or better said master, that I had in my life....

He bought me the first book I've ever read in my life apart from my school books ... "Around the world in 80 days".... It was after the last exam of my primary school....One day in June 1984, Tehran...

And I couldn't have made a tear in his funeral....Even one...

Maybe I didn’t cried, because I had cried before. The last time I met him in my life was one month before his death...He was going to Isfahan...On that day I had cried... Something unexplainable but surely perceptible in me had told me: “this is the last time”...

I’ve always remembered him while Searching for the President in Tehran....The old fellow who died for his ultimate commitment to smoking...From that sense, I am definitely carrying his genes....

In the last 10 years of his life he was just reading and solving crossword puzzles. In the evening (except on Thursdays in which he had his poker plan with old party fellows, even during Tehran's demolition by Sadam's American bombs) he used to sit on his rocking chair in the dark and gaze at the wall...We were all well informed that during his gazing period, he is just not there and he doesn't want to talk to anyone...But I was rebelling this unsaid rule....Because, I was also well informed how much this old (according to his age), careless (according to my grand mom), and loser (according to my dad) master loves me....For me, when I was a child, the man was like a doll...I wanted him whenever I wanted him...And not surprisingly, I wanted him when he didn't want me....

For me, this man during his gazing time was like a archetypical sculpture, a true piece of art...I was so jealous of his mysterious gaze, incredible calmness during these moments and of course his carelessness (the characteristics that grand mom hated) to my grand mom nasty comments....But I didn't like his dirty feet....That was the only thing I didn't like in him...But, only because of that and nothing else, I put the poor fellow so many times in trouble...I was complaining to grand mum about his feet and grand mum used to start her show and perform as a hardcore metal singer on the stage and shout about his carelessness and the bad influence that he had on a child behaviour for at least 2 well prepared songs....10 minutes full....

But he was so calm and keeping on solving his crossword puzzle and shaking his dirty feet...Sometimes when my granny was very loud, he was just going to his room and sleeping...I’ve never seen them sleeping in a same room....

After 16 years of intensive listening to rock music, I can claim that my granny had the vocal skills of those icons such as Ronny James Dio....But she was a bit unlucky...Instead of being in Tehran and getting married in the age of 19, she could have been a star in New York, or London during late 50s, early 60s and could have contributed a lot in the direction and future formation of rock music....

She also had the potentials to cope with celebrity life style...

But now, that I truly discovered the skills in her it is absolutely late....she is too old to do the job....She currently suffers from progressive Alzaimer, which itself is not a big deal for being a rock star, but it implies a label that I can’t avoid. How can I convince music industry to invest on her? Not only because she has Alzaimer but also this kind of skills doesn't attract music producers anymore....

Several time during his gazing moments, I approached to him....Because he was like a energy source attracting me....I used to stay on his side and just look at him....I knew the rules...He is now going to ignore me....Ok, he will look at me now but he will be well annoyed....Now he is going to again ignore me....Old bastard, I am bored....Which galaxy you are?....Come back, I want to talk to you....I want to play....I want to complain....I want....And I don't give a shit what you want...

But the model that I had built to assess and predict his behaviours was ensuring me that after sometime (the time depended to which galaxy he was at that moment), he will look at me again...He will give me a smile and will hug me....and that was the orgasmic feeling I always wanted, although it required his destruction....

Now, I've realized that I was certainly destructing him....But he never complained....

During my orgasmic experience in his arms, I was mainly questioning about Gods, heaven and hell, why I have been born or why he is my grandpa or why he doesn't pray or why in Thursdays with his friends, they are very cheerful and keep on drinking coke (I've been told that it was coke)...

And he was just listening to me and rarely talking....

I think he was kind of thinking about these questions....That's why he was not talking....

And I think these questions interacted with his life....The last couple of years in his life he started praying and not drinking coke with his mates....Actually, in the last two years of his life, he didn't play poker or smoke (I know he smoked though, because I was the one bringing him cigarettes but that was just between us and was buried with him)...

I think those were the main reason behind his death...

But sometimes my model was collapsing....My model was not able to predict his behaviours during certain times of his gazing periods....Especially, during the time that he had less destruction from my grand mom (because she was simply not home)....I remember that one time I asked him about why people are crying in the funerals although they know that the person died is going to merge with God....He replied....

I don’t know...

And that was a massive collapse in my model....He doesn’t know?!!...He didn’t even hug me that day. Instead, he called my parents to come and collect me...Then, he went in his room and closed the door...He had never closed the door even when my granny was shouting...

That was a real collapse of my model...

That incident had been taken place before he started praying....When he was still drinking coke...He had had some coke that day, I think, before I had arrived....

My father said once to my mom (I heard them, but they don’t know) that when the old man is drunk, he is saying non-senses ...Apparently, once he told to my dad, that he feels something that it is not explainable or show-able but it is clearly perceptible by him and it hurts him badly....That's why sometimes he is crying when he is gazing at the wall....

And I can imagine how my father was listening to him with his fake smile...

Before his death, I read most of his books...After his death, I collected the rest and I have started reading them....6 years before, I heard from my mom that there are more books in my granny's basement and I went and found the hidden treasury....I didn't take the books....They are still there except one that it is here now....on my desk...

This is the last last book of my first master that I hadn’t read before....I am kind of in doubt if he read the book himself or not; because it has been published 6 month before his death....But I read it...Now, I can claim that I am his true evolution....

The book is titled "A childish portrait of Gods" which is kind of essay written by an unknown Persian writer...I haven't heard his name and further search in the internet didn't help either....The book is full of bullshit with some glorious paragraphs such as:

“The only delivery of great narrative in western societies i.e., the modern project, is providing more security in daily-life scale; not only social security but also political and economical stability which made the people not think about the origin of system itself, but act unavoidably as part of the system proposed. One historically validated product of this system was World War-II but it has been never addressed properly as an ultimate product of dominant great narrative in Europe. That’s why the world, soon after, started to be covered by Fundamentalism, which is the immediate and definite outcome of this system in post-war world. The only reason behind the continuation of great narrative is the historical belief about the credibility of modern project and assuming it as the only approach to provide security, although we all know that security is the main issue in the global perspective.”

I did finish the book last night, before going to see Rene...He came down from Manchester to attend in the funeral....A funeral for Searching for the President in Tehran...."Being Desperate in Manchester" was also with him....She changed her name so many times during "Searching for the President in Tehran" but I know her perfectly even without her name. The label that she carries is not important for me....

I am going there now; it is just one minute walk.... Maybe this close distant, is the reason behind my expectation....I have no expectation....It would be another funeral, like all other funerals....We are going to talk about politics, world economy, sex and will attack each other by stupid non-senses with funny covers....During, this stupid funeral many events can happen, such as collapsing Maria's ceiling, shooting exchange between Iranian and American boats in Persian Gulf, a sexual intercourse in Melbourne that I will be informed the day after, as well as a personal perception or even an inner modelling attempt to describe the rational flow in our conversations....

I am not expecting anything....People in the funeral will look at me in the same way that they have always wanted: A Persian guy who sewers a lot...Nothing less but nothing more either...

This is what they expect from me in this system...If I am not going to be in the way that they expect, they start thinking that something is wrong....And they feel insecure, and think that there is something wrong. But there is something wrong although we want to forget about it...

If nothing is wrong in some time or some space, even if it is not explainable, yet surely perceptible; why we are all gathered in this funeral?

But people don't care....I personally don't think that I care more than others....so fare enough...At the end of the day, I think we have all contributed in his death equally...

He will be certainly dead forever. The funeral will officially confirm that....

Lay down buddy, Sleep and later fly....The ocean will die too

The way I received his passing and consequently the way I kept on moving, was so even and humble...Sometimes I am wondering, how come I am able to be that calm and act in such a modest way...Just sometimes, though...

I am coming back now from a funeral for Searching for the president in Tehran and am thinking about the paragraph that I should write as the overall conclusion in my thesis....The conclusion which is not limited to the research that I've been paid for but also covers the results of all searching attempts that I have done while "Searching for The President in Tehran"....The research which initially kicked off while I was trying to forecast his behaviour when he was gazing into the dark...

The time that I was staring at him with one eye full of admires and the other full of jealousy and waiting for an orgasmic feeling in his arms...

The last time that I met Searching for the President in Tehran

2008-04-14T16:11:00.007+01:00

"It hurts when you have to press that dull little thing
That you are supposed to use once and then discard
Wish I had more, more opportunity
More chances to remember something
You are personally responsible for
The entire strip to be washed away
Cleansed as if gallons of, um, rubbing alcohol
Flowed through the strip and were set on fire"

Kurt Cobain (February 1967-April 1994)

I saw him like always, with tight jeans, lose T-shirt and dirty Converse. He came toward me.

- Ali, The man died...
- When?
- Yesterday, I heard in Voice of America...In the morning...
- How?
- They said suicide, but you know how...
- Overdose?
- What else can be?...It is all for that bitch...
- Ditch the bitch...
- We are all gonna meet up after the school...In Sasan's basement...His brother and the band are gonna play for Kurt...
- But I don't think I can make it
- Why?!!
- I have to study
- Fuck you man...Today?
- I can't..
- Fuck you pussy...Go and fucking shave!!!

And I didn't answer....I didn't go but I didn't study either....I spend all day in my room listening to Nirvana. Yasha called me in the night....We went for a walk and talking about Kurt and making stupid comments about his death...

But the man was dead, regardless to our comments and the stories we were making by our imaginations....

The day after, it was around 40 of us in a hidden corner of Alborz with a portable HI-FI listening to Smell Like Teen Spirit....Some bastards informed the school officials, and well, my parents should have come to the school and met the officials for the second time in one week....

Of course we found out who the bastard was and we treated him nicely after the school...

It is now 14 years after that day and I am still listening to the man...I have changed, many things have changed...Non of school mates are in my life anymore but the man and his voice is still around...

And I am still studying....And still like old Innocent days, sometimes I just stay in my room and listen to Nirvana...

In this 14 years I've learnt many things...I've lost and I've gained more than I was expected...And that makes me happy and satisfied....

But, I think, my roots are the same....

During these years of Searching for the President in Tehran, I have seen that freedom is the product of justice and can be sung only by knowledge...Although, it might be painful, but that's the only way to achieve freedom...Inside or outside, the rules are the same...

During these years, I wrote freedom on many walls...In Iran or in mine...I shout it in different inner and outer cells while I was in different part of the globe and I've seen how freedom can become cheaply ridiculous just like a loaf of bread...Just the survival, not the fittest...

It has been proved to me that if freedom is a right, you have to fight for it and if it is expensive you have no way but pay for it...

We are responsible animals but responsibility is just a personal choice...And this constant choosing/withdrawal struggle makes us to constantly lose something but gain something else...And I think that is the real origin of transformation regardless to its direction....

But roots remain unchanged.

He is like always, with tight jeans, lose T-shirt and dirty Converse... He is still studying while the dead man is singing...

Yasha is calling me...I think, regardless how personal it is, I should tell him that I've completed Searching for the President in Tehran through surprisingly quick spirtual simulation...As a true freedom fighter (although, not in my way) he is gonna be happy....

The genealogy of Searching for the President in Tehran

2008-03-04T23:11:00.002Z

"I think studying science is a good way to get into fields of humanity. The reason is, you learn what an argument means, you learn what evidence is, you learn what makes sense to postulate and when, what's going to be convincing. You internalize the modes of rational inquiry, which happen to be much more advanced in the sciences than anywhere else." (Noam Chamsky, Thinking about power, 2002)

I. Searching

1. Examining carefully or thoroughly: a searching inspection.
2. Acutely observant or penetrating: a searching glance; a searching mind.
3. Piercing or sharp: a searching wind.
4. To examine in order to find something lost or concealed.
5. To examine the person or personal effects of in order to find something lost or concealed.
6. Keenly observant

Searching and search can refer to the following topics:

* Mathematics
Search theory

* Computers and computer science:
Search algorithm
Boolean search
Tree search
Search engine
Web search

* Governmental
Military and police search
Social search
People search
Search dog

* Entertainment
In Search of..., Television documentary, broadcast from 1976 to 1982.
The Search (1948 film)
The Search (DS9 episode)
Search (TV series)
Searchin', a Leiber/Stoller song.
Searchin' (I Gotta Find a Man), a 2007 single by the Young Divas.

* Others
Job search
Search for common ground
Novelty search
Visual search
Searching for the preseident in Tehran

II. For

1. Intended to belong to
2. Suiting the purposes or needs of
3. Sensitive or responsive to
4. Appropriate or adapted to
5. With regard or respect to
6. In punishment of
7. With the purpose of reaching
8. In order to save
9. In order to become
10. As affecting the interests or circumstances of
11. By reason of
12. In spite of

III. The

Origin: before 900; First used in midland of Britain around current Birmingham. Middle English, Old English...The pronunciation of the definite article THE changes, primarily depending on whether the following sound is a consonant or a vowel. Before a consonant sound the pronunciation is [thuh]. Before a vowel sound it is usually [thee], sometimes [thi] or [thee]. The usual pronunciation is [thee], although is often replaced by [thuh], especially among younger speakers

IV. President

"Appointed governor of a province, chosen leader of a body of persons," from L. præsidentum (nom. præsidens) "president, governor," noun use of prp. of præsidere "to act as head or chief". First use for "chief executive officer of a republic" is in U.S. Constitution (1787), from earlier use for "officer in charge of the Continental Congress" (1774); it had been used of chief officers of banks from 1781, of individual colonies since 1608 (originally Virginia) and heads of colleges since 1464. Slang shortening prez is recorded from 1892.

V. In

1 in = 2.54 centimeters

VI. Tehran

Covering an area of 1500 sq. km, Tehran is situated in the north-central part of Iran, on the slope of the Alborz Mountain. As the national capital it is the most populated city in Iran and the center of cultural, economical, political and social activities. It is about 1200 meters above sea level and enjoys a mild climate. The highest peak in the Alborz range, Mount Damavand (5,671 meters, 18,600 feet) is an extinct volcano, which dominates the skyline of Tehran.

The beginnings of Tehran are unclear but probably occurred sometime in the 11th century. It is believed that, as Tehran had a pleasant climate and was green and fertile, it often came under attack from highwaymen. In order to protect themselves, the villagers made underground dwellings. Hence, the name Tehran (Tah - Ran), meaning "underground town" (Tah meaning under, Ran meaning town or place).

Tehran became a capital in 1789, under Qajar rule, replacing Shiraz in that function, and in 1796, Agha Mohammad Khan was enthroned there. His successor, Fath Ali Shah (1797-1834) continued the transformation of the town and had the Shah's Mosque (today, the Imam Khomeini Mosque) and Golestan Palace built, while Nasir ad-Din Shah (1848-96) enlarged the walls and commissioned the Sepahsalar Mosque.

During the 19th century, the centre of the city remained focused around the palace and the bazaar. However, Reza Shah (1925-1941) preferred to live in his palaces to the west of the town or in those of Sa'ad Abad, 10 kilometers to the north, and large avenues were cut to link these areas together during his reign. This was the beginning of the vertical north-south axis, which is so characteristic of Tehran.

With a population of an estimated 15 million, Greater Metropolitan Tehran ranks as one of the world's largest capitals. The aerial size of the city has also expanded to such an extent that the size of the city now exceeds that of New York. The skyline of Tehran is growing with an ever increasing speed - Construction cranes are scattered across the cityscape. New buildings are popping up everywhere, every month. Real Estate prices in Tehran have in the last couple of years reached levels that are comparable to New York City. It's not uncommon to see a two to three-bedroom apartment in Tehran going for more than $1,000,000 on the market today.

Tehran Museum of Contemporary Arts is one of the world's renowned museums of Modern Art which also houses one of the world's largest collections of contemporary Western art - The largest outside of Europe and the U.S.A. After the revolution of 1979, many of the "nudes" were kept hidden in the archives of the museum.

The former mayor of Tehran is currently the president of Iran.

Searching for the president in Tehran revolution

2008-02-24T12:38:00.003Z

"The other question concerns this little corner of the earth whose land, both above and below the surface, has strategic importance at a global level. For the people who inhabit this land, what is the point of searching, even at the cost of their own lives, for this thing whose possibility we have forgotten, a political spirituality. I can already hear the French laughing, but I know that they are wrong." Michel Foucault, Le Nouvel Observateur, October 16-22, 1978

TEHRAN, Feb 17, 2008 (AFP) — An Iranian ayatollah died suddenly of a heart attack during an impassioned speech lashing out at insults against the family of revolutionary founder Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini in the run-up to elections. He had been responding to unprecedented ultra-conservative attacks against Hassan Khomeini, Ayatollah Khomeini's respected grandson, who had criticised mass disqualifications in the March election and military interference. He also quoted a letter from Khomeini from the early days of the revolution denouncing "reactionaries who attack the family and friends of the Imam Khomeini under the pretext of defending him." The manner of Tavassoli's sudden death underlines the tensions ahead of the March 14 parliamentary election. Hundreds of reformist candidates have been disqualified in initial vetting while the head of the Revolutionary Guards made a surprise announcement that the elite force favours conservatives in the race. Hassan Khomeini, who rarely makes comments in public, had bitterly criticised both of these events prompting extraordinary attacks against him by ultra-conservatives

Expressing a human need, I've recently liked very much coffee and cigarrettes in the mornings. Semetimes I also take a look to my old emails or letters sent by friends and family while enjoying my first smoke of the day.

11 February 1979

Dearest Searching for the president in Tehran

I just heard in the news about the passing of Searching for the president in Tehran revolution. My heart goes out to you in deepest sympathy Gods will be done. He has lived a good little life and he has gone to a better place now. You were expecting it and it was so nice you could have seen him on 9th February 2008 even if it was too short. You have my prayer and love and I will see you soon.

God bless you and his soul

Yours,
Searching for the president in Tehran revolution

P.S. Sorry, I forgot that I should have come for the coffee. As everything else wrong, it caused by a misunderstanding and can be sorted out just by saying "Sorry"

Prelude to Searching for the president in Tehran revolution

2008-02-11T11:12:00.000Z

Iranian revolution was the revolution that transformed Iran from a monarchy under Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, to an Islamic republic under Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the leader of the revolution and founder of the Islamic Republic. It has been called "the third great revolution in history," following the French and Bolshevik revolutions. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iranian_Revolution)

By looking at the wiki page related to Searching for the president in Tehran revolution, you will find a sign of Farvahar as the first picture on the left hand side, one of the first symbols documented in ancient Searching for the president in Tehran.

Today is the 29th anniversary of Searching for the president in Tehran revolution, an event which changes the history of my being, not only that; but also I believe, it change something in my genomes as well. I am kind of sure about that.

I think in order to trace Searching for the President in Tehran revolution, the image of Farvahar, the picture on the left hand side of the wiki page, is the best medium. But that is not the case...

I don't want to talk about the relatives nor the background. Today I just want to have my morning coffee with Searching for the president in Tehran revolution. Just enjoying being with an old friend and trying to freely experience him as he is....A man, with a body and soul....A friend, who has followed me everywhere even when I have had the most private moments. I saw him this weekend in my bed room. It was 5:00 AM and he woke me up....

- Sorry, have you got sleeping pills?

I was entirely naked. Beside me was a sleeping goodbye. So beautiful, innocent and peaceful like a marble archetypical sculpture of the feminie spirit made by evolution...I went down to find something for him in Andy's cupboard. Andy always has kind of things. When I came back, I just find a note on my pillow:

"Sorry, I have to leave. But I will be back soon. Would you like to have your morning coffee with me on my Birthday? It is on Monday. You did forget it, didn't you? No worries at all. I just want to have a coffee with you. It is a long time that we have said goodbye to each other…Stay cool"

Yes, I did forget it. But was it a real goodbye when he has been always following me like my shadow? I am kind of used to him. If I don't see him around for a while I will start panicking that something is wrong...I am sure we both like each other but we can't bare each other sometimes. At the same time, we need each other. I know he is always there and he knows I am always there. Not long ago, I disappointed him badly and he was kind of very angry of me. That's why I made a move and tried to talk to him, because I was sure he would be gone, if I don't do so...He told me what he was thinking. I tried to listen properly and think about what he was saying....From then, things have been quite OK between us, but I can absolutely feel something is missed. Is it word? Is it feeling? Is it a click?

I went again to bed. She was still sleeping. I tried to be quiet, but she looked at me with her sleepy eyes. By a very gentle move, she opened her arms while sleeping and without saying a word, hugged me tight just like a baby. Her mouth was literally surrounding my noose and I could have felt that her breathing smelled like the next morning, full of sunshine and colors.

Is it the right time to say goodbye?

Where is Searching for the president in Tehran?

2008-02-07T23:15:00.000Z

Salomon saith, There is no new thing upon the earth. So that as Plato had an imagination, that all knowledge was but remembrance; so Salomon gave his sentence, that all novelty is but oblivion. (Francis Bacon, Essays, LVIII)

It has been proved to me many many times that I am obliged to finish off the stuff that I've started....

Today, once and forever, I want to sort out the issue with this "Searching for the president in Tehran" little thingy...

Who is lab lab lab? Where is lab lab lab? How is lab lab lab?

I would like to faithfully confess that Searching for the president in Tehran is in me and I am in Searching for the president in Tehran...Kind of ultimate mutual interaction between two abstract concepts, me and a my surroundings....Logically, it deduces that everything related to me should be kind of Searching for the president in Tehran....So Searching for the president in Tehran is everything and nothing....A whole universe or just a magical electron....Physics says that there is no difference and all about is just the matter of scale difference....

Maths says too...

So maybe searching for the president in Tehran is some where in Super string theory or chaos mathematics...

I must have seen it some where...

I am sure I did...But I can't remember exactly....Like many other things.....When did I first heard about the puzzles and from who?

There are certain questions in daily life that answering them doesn't change anything particular in your life, but you die for the answer. You want to know the truth although it is as unnecessary as having another pair of shoes when you already have twenty. I still can solve puzzles and I will be able to solve them regardless to the knowledge that I am looking for....Solution is different from remembrance and of course narration from creation....

Maybe searching for the president in Tehran was in a train station. It was pissing down and he was waiting for some one who never came....

Maybe I saw his image on a cover of a book, titled "Trout Fishing in America" ...On that time, he was probably just a invisible dust around Brautigan's moustache or maybe just an unconscious feeling somewhere in the woman’s eyes....But he was indeed existing on the time that the photo was taken, although I, the one who I call I, was not existing at least in this time-space we labelled as reality....

Maybe it was some where missed in a conversation....You have to finish some thing up to the next morning....Perhaps, you smoked quite a lot. You had two shots of Whiskey and three cups of coffee....You are listening to The Tiger Lilies:

"...Murder is easy, Murder is fun. It's better than sex, I had always fun..."

You have to finish...But let me start to narrate my own version of it...

Your mobile rings...You don't know the number....You don't want to answer, because you are busy....But who is that number?....You are not answering....After 30 seconds, you call the number....

- Hi, I had a miss call from your number...
- My number?
- Yes, I just called back...
- If so, then you did have a miss call from my number
- ...
- ...
- ...
- Where are you?
- I am in my office...
- Now?
- Yes, I have to finish something....
- So you are busy?
- Yes, very much
- No time for a blow job then?
- Should be quick
- OK...

Just imagine how magical it is....a pretty sexy girl hooked on you in the middle of a boring office night when you are extremely devastated ....Five minutes after your pants is down and you have a sexy blond head going all the way, ups and down, on your little highway....Then she stays with you and helps you with your job...So you finish earlier than your expectation....You are very happy and of course very grateful for the help of your angel...

So you fuck her again....This time, hard enough to pay her kindness back....

I think you, yourself, are sure that this is the day...This day will become the most crucial point in your life. Why? Knowledge is not important because it doesn't change your destiny. Destiny decided that your life goes fantastic. You marry one day. You have a decent family and a wife whom you told once that she was the only love in your life....You progress, progress and progress....You get involved in politics and you will become the president of Searching for the president in Tehran....The most powerful man in the whole Searching for the president in Tehran...

But hold on....one day, you have a talk in the Parliament of Searching for the president in Tehran in order to suggest your life-time presidency....You are already sure about passing the rule....But reality is different from what we believe. You will see the head of the opposition with a woman....And you will remember her just by a sight....Fucking the same blond devil....

I am sorry; she was your Monica Lewinski....Just consider that things in Searching for the president in Tehran are not going as smooth as they are in America and of course you are not Bill Clinton...

Your government will collapse in the same day....People will up rise and United Nation will decide to interfere but before any one can do anything you will be hanged by revolutionary hard liners....Your wife will be rapped and killed...It will be in front of you eyes before your hanging ceremony....She will shout "I hate you" and bang....That's it....Her last words are going to be "I hate you" Yes, You....Your relatives will flee and your only 22 years old daughter will commit suicide in her holiday abroad, with his boyfriend while having sex with causing deliberate overdose by high amount of Heroin injection....

After some years you will become like Seyed Zia, Ahmad Shah or Shah Sultan Hussein...You even didn't kill enough to remain in the history....You are a total loser....

Searching for the president theory suggests that there might be two possible justifications for this dramatic trend in the narrated time series....First the music choice when you were working in your office could have quite an important role....You were singing with the song and it came back to you like a boomerang after some time....You were hanged and your wife was rapped....

I could have managed to verify this scenario quantitatively by some simulations..... I tried to simulate this time series by Searching for the president in Tehran's governing equations and I discovered that actually one of the teenager revolutionaries, the one that shagging your wife was his first sexual experience, was listening to The Tiger Lilies as well....Surprisingly enough, the same song....

Once, I decided to write a paper about the results of this simulation and I discussed it with my supervisor. He smiled and gave me a paper:

"Feedback Occurrences in Natural Evolving Systems"

So it had been discovered before. My simulation was just a narration of an existing theory.... A definite solution for a set of definite initial conditions....But I verify it through an alternative way.....By looking at it from Searching for the president of Tehran's point of view....

The second scenario that can be considered based on this framework is actually not the fact that you had fucked that blond bitch and then things came up in a nasty way....It was not even for the fact that you were absolutely corrupted in the power, or the fact that you were using cocaine extensively and became completely nuts and destroyed the whole Searching for the president in Tehran....It was not for the disappointment that you created for the nation....Also it was not for the fact that you lied to your wife and you had couple of mistresses, two sisters basically, one 28 and the other 34 when you bastard were between 58 to 61....You even asked them to have a threesome with you….Two sisters…And you loved it and I believe they did…But that wasn’t the reason….It was not even for the reason that sometimes you were wonking for your sister in law's 14 years old son when you had your morning showers....

No, The main reason was none of them....

Searching for the president in Tehran theory suggests that this is just the matter of randomness....All of us are the victims of circumstances and as every one knows shit can happen....

For instance on a particular day that many of us can still remember, a family in Kokar, a remote village in northern part of Iran, were watching the football match between Scotland and Brazil during the World Cup 1990....Many of us watched that match….I was not supporting Brazil but in their 9 members family, everyone was supporting Brazil....It was a free shoot...Branco was behind the ball...He shot directly to the head of number 10 in Scotland Team....He dropped like a falling leaf...15 minutes after he was sent off the pitch....Few hour afters he died....

And exactly the same time, yes, exactly exactly the same time, an earthquake happened in North of Iran and 55,000 people were killed including the whole family that I mentioned…
This is a true true story....No bullshit whatsoever....There is enough documents to verify this particular example of time synchronization. As Lorenz said "Flying a butterfly in China can create a massive storm in New York"

If you don't believe me, go and find out about these parallel stories by an easy search in the internet....

So basically, Searching for the president in Tehran theory is nothing but a medium to see the world through....Like all other filters, it has its own advantages and drawbacks....The most important issue is that it can justify certain events. For instance:

* Clemente the Basque coach, ex-Spanish national team manager, is going to sign with Iran....

* After the tragic wiping out of reformists for the next parliament election in Iran, Ahmad Borghani passed away in the age of 48. He was the governmental highest officer for newspapers during the reform period of Khatami....He was known as the Che of journalists....He was the member of parliament is the second parliament of the reform era, but he resigned and worked as an independent journalist....Once I saw him in a kind of exhibition....He was a fat smiley guy who could have been able to eat three portions of Chelo Kabab in a row....May god bless his soul and fill his stomach with divine Chelo Kabab....

* President Ahamdi Nejad launched the first Iranian satellite. US, EU and Russia expressed their extreme worries about the threat resulted from achieving Iran to the long distance missal technology. The same day Nicole Fardiani, The Persian photographer, died in his studio while working on his last collection of photos....He was terribly ill and was not able to talk in the last year of his life....

Based on Popper, the science aim is not proving the credibility of theories, but is concluding the discredibility of scientific frameworks....Therefore, as far as a theory works there is no justification to disagree with the theory and its outcomes....

That's why we have so many god damn bullshits around in Searching for the president in Tehran....

Searching for the president in Tehran becomes ridiculous....Life becomes ridiculous in Searching for the president in Tehran and even death....But from my personal Searching for the president in Tehran point of view, I still have hope....I think I can roll like the river of Searching for the president in Tehran...After an awful lots of inner trips, I realized that in Searching for the president in Tehran we have to survive because dying is too expensive.

Just as a proof for my last statement and to summarize what I think about where exactly Searching for the president in Tehran is, Take a look to this article that I've read today in Searching for the president in Tehran Post:

“According to the statistics published by high governmental offices in Searching for the president in Tehran, the related cost of funerals becomes a new financial crisis for middle and below middle class citizens.

These days when people lose a close relative, they are not only crying for the loss but also they are crying for themselves who are obliged to cover the costs of this loss.

Currently, there are more than 500 companies registered as funeral services providers in Searching for the president in Tehran. This emerging business has established itself as a beneficial title in the service industry. The total benefit of this business is now equal to a business like wedding services, which has traditionally established itself as the most beneficial business in this category.

The cost of priest would be between 300 to 50,000 Searching for the president in Tehran, depending to the fame of the priest, the location and type of lecture. The grave would cost between 80 to 150,000 Searching for the president in Tehran and the dinner will be between 500 to 100,000 Searching for the president in Tehran depending to the number of people and the number of dishes served.

For some people who can afford, the companies can offer special services. For instance if someone doesn't have enough relatives to come to the funeral, the companies can provide some staff in order to attend in the funeral. Each staff costs between 30 to 1000 Searching for the president in Tehran per two hours depending to the age, sex, appearance and outfit.

The companies can also provide professional staff that can cry in the ceremony and make your funeral very sad. Cost of these professionals can change between to 50 to 500 Searching for the president in Tehran depending to the service that they provide. Some professionals can pass out during the funeral or cry non stop and loud for 2 hours.

Nowadays, the cost of funerals is going to be more than the cost of weddings in Searching for the president in Tehran"

Searching for the president in Tehran's weekend

2008-01-21T21:02:00.000Z

God,
Teach to the ones that you like
To love more in their life
And teach to the ones that you love
To like more than they love
(Ibn Arabi, 1165-1240)

- Is it your studio?
- Yes, come in please...
- So old….Is there any lamp here? it is so dark
- Well, there is one upstairs, in my studio...You have to climb the stairs in dark...Sorry, but you know....I don't have that much visitor here and I can climb the stairs even when I am asleep. Do you want me to take your hand?
- No, thanks...
- But you might fall down...
- I don't want to take your hand...
- But I am telling it for your seek
- I don't care...
- Be careful, the next stair is...
- Ahhhhhh, what was that?
- I wanted to tell you...
- It hurtttttttts...
- Sorry, but I wanted to...
- Hold my hand...
- OK...
- How many stairs left?...
- Just a few...
- So where is your studio?...
- I told you, just a few stairs...
- I am tired...
- I am too...
- Have you got a drink?...
- Yes, I have...That's why you came with me...
- Are you sure that was the reason?...
- At least I said so...
- And do you think that I wanted a drink?
- At least you said so...
- So where is your studio?
- Here...Open the door...
- Me?
- Yes, you...
- Why me? It is your studio..
- Now it is ours...
- Ours? He he...Don't tell me that you are that generous...
- I am not...
- You are not what?
- I am not...
- OK, let me go in, turn on the light for god seek...I feel we are in our grave
- OK...But we are...
- We are what?
- Never mind...
- Wow...What's going on here?...How many books you have !!! What is that cage?
- This is my pet...
- But there is nothing inside the cage...
- Well, I don't particularly like pets...
- So why you put the cage here in the middle of the room?...
- Because I want to have the feeling of having a pet...
- By cage?
- Because I don't want my pet hang around in my place...I am very busy...I can look after every mess that my pet can make...So I want to keep it in the cage...
- But it is cruel....You have to take it out sometimes...What is that portrait on the wall?
- Which one?...
- The one without the face...
- That's me....When I was student...
- You look much younger now...
- Thank you, should I take it as a compliment?
- I don't know...
- Thanks any way...
- You are welcome...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- Do you like to have a drink?
- mmmm, yeah, good idea...What do you have?
- Wine...Red wine...
- I am OK...
- So you want?
- What do you want?
- I asked you do you want red wine?
- Yes...I am OK with a glass of red wine...
- Let me wash the glasses...
- I can wash....I like to see your kitchen as well...
- It is there at the end of corridor, on the left...
- Nice little kitchen...Nice for a couple...
- But I am single...
- I know...That's why I am here...
- So you lied to me when you said I want a drink?
- So you lied to me when you proposed me a drink?
- ...
- ...
- ...
- What do you have to wash the glasses?
- Water and memories...
- Where can I pick some memories?
- There...In the cupboard...
- But they are expired...They are no good anymore...
- So take some from the stairs...
- But it is dark… Also they are painful...
- Well, we have a bit here as well...
- Where?
- Here, in my studio...
- No, we haven't had any memory yet...
- But we have talked...
- That is not memory...
- So what is the memory?
- It is deeds not words...
- You mean together?
- Can be together as well...
- But we haven't had any memory together...Ah, but you opened the door, here you go...
- But I just opened the door
- But you made a memory...
- That's not counted...
- You are chicky...
- You are stupid...
- Why you are insulting me?
- Why are you insulting me?
- Whatever...Why?
- ...
- ...
- Let's drink from the bottle...
- You first...
- OK...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- I want to smoke...
- I want too...
- Do you want to smoke from my cigarettes?
- mmmmmmm, yeah...Thanks...
- Let's go and sit on the sofa...
- OK...
- I like your sofa...
- I like it to...
- Do you like something else?
- I like you sitting on my sofa...
- Really?
- Yeah...Why do you think you are here?...
- Then we can have a memory together...
- Exactly...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- Have you been single for a long time?...
- Well, somehow yes, somehow no...
- What does that mean?
- I don't know...
- Do you like anyone?
- I told I do...I like you..
- You told you like my sitting on your sofa...
- What is the difference?
- I don't know...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- Do you like me a little or more?...
- I don't know...
- How come you don't know?...
- Because I don't know you that well...
- You don't know me that well??!!! So why am I here?
- I don't know...
- So you don't like me....You just want to use me...
- Nooooo...
- Yes, you men are all like that....Just abusers...I am going...
- Please...Why you are like that?
- Why are you like that?
- OK, whatever...
- Whatever what?
- I like you...
- You are lying...I am going...
- Why should I lie?
- I don't know
- I like you...
- You are lying...You are not able to prove it...
- How should I prove?...
- Don't touch me...
- Sorry...
- You see...You don't like me...You like...
- OK, OK...Let's play, how do you want me to prove?
- By your word...
- But I did...I told you…
- No, that was a lie, you bullshit...
- So how do you want me to prove?...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- Say S to show me how much you like my being in your studio...
- SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
- Say E to show me how much you are bullshiting
- e
- Nice liitle e....OK I believe....
- :)
-Say A to express how much you are not bullshiting
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
- Say R to show how much you liked me when you first saw me
- RRRRRRRRRRR
- Say C if you where thinking to hunt me...
- C
- Just that?
- C
- Do you know Spanish? Say H to show me how much you know Spanish...
- h
- Just a little you mean?....Ok, Say I and consider I am leaving now...
- IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
- Say N to beg me to stay...
- NNNNNNNNNNN
- So You are begging me?
- NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
- Say, G and consider I turn back at the door and look at you again, I am not sure if I should go or not...
- g
- So I will stay more...
- :)))))))
- ...
- ...
- Say F to tell me how much you like my eyes...
- FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
- Say O to tell me how much you want to kiss me....
- OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
- Say R to show how much you hate my shoes...
- r
- So you hate them?....If you hate my shoes, you can't like me king bullshit....I am leaving...
- TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
- What did you say? How did you know that I wanted to ask you T and H?
- ...
- You are silly....
- ;)
- Say E if I am right
- e
- So sweet....Say it again...
- e
- mmmm, I like it....Say P to show me how much I should like it
- PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
- Say R to show me how much you like my neck...
- RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
- I knew that bastard, you can't stop looking at it
-...
- Say E to show how much you like my legs
- e
- Just that?
- e
- You are flirting with me...you know I like when you say e?
- e
- You chicky...
- e
- So sweet...
- e
- I am thinking to kiss you, Say S if you like it...
- SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
- Say I and consider I changed my mind...
- IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
- Say D if you want me to kiss your lips...
- DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
- Say E if you like a French kiss...
- e
- Saaayyy iiiiiitttt agaaaaaaaaaiiiiiin
- e
- agaaaaaaaaaaiiiiinnn...
- e
- ...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- I liked your lips...
- e
- Say N if you liked mine...
- NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
- Say T if you want more...
- TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
- Say I if you want me to take my t-shirt off...
- IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
- Say N if you want to have sex with me...
- NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
- Nice to know that horney little bull…Say T if you wanted to have sex with me from the first time that you saw me....
- TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
- What????!!!
- TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
- I can't believe that...
- TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT ?
- You fucking liar, horney asshole....So you planned to have sex with me from the beginning....You men are all like pigs....You just think about sex, heavy metal and football....I am going....Leave me aaaaaaaaaallllloooonnnnee....I will scream if you don't go off from my eyes...
- e
- Fuck offfffffffffffffffffff
- e
- I don't want to hear it againnnnnnnnnnnnn...
- e
- Leave me...
- e
- Please...
- e
- Don't do it again..
- e
- I liked you...
- e
- I wanted to kiss you again
- e
- I wanted to eat your lips
- e
- Say H if you want me to have sex with you
- h
- Say R if you want me to take your cloths off...
- RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
- Say A if you want to take mine offffffff...
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
- Ahhhhhhh, I love it.....Noooooo....Slowlllllyyyyyy......mmmmmmmmmm....Ahhhhhhhh
- ....
- Say N if you want me to....
- NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
- ....
- ....
- ....
- ....
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
- ....
- Thank you
- Thank you too...
- ....
- ....
- Do you think we are kind of together now?
- What???
- I mean, do you see any change?
- Change???
- We did something, didn't we?
- Yes, we did....So what?
- So it is a memory...
- Yes, it is....but just a memory
- So know we have a memory together...
- Yes, we do...
- :)
- :)
- May I ask you something?
- Yes, of course
- Do you like me?
- Yes, I do....What do you think?
- I don't know...
- Was it exactly the stuff you wanted to ask?
- ....
- Hey, I am with you...
- ....
- Come on...
- I mean...
- You mean what?...
- I mean we have a memory together...right?
- Yes, I told we did...But I think that doesn't change anything...We had had some memories from the beginning...
- But not in my studio....Things outside was not any special...
- What does make memories special?
- I don't know...But there is a difference...
- Why are you bullshiting? Go straight to your point...
- I am not bullshiting...Memories are special when they respond to some metaphors...
- What metaphors? What are you talking about?....We drunk the wine from the same bottle...DO you remember? What is the difference between drinking wine from a same bottle and having sex?...
- ....
- Tell me, what is the difference?...
- You are chicky bitch...
- I just told you the truth...
- ...
- Why are you turning your head from me?
- ...
- Come on, where are you going?
- I want to smoke....
- We can smoke on the sofa...
- Here is my studio...Smoking is allowed only in the kitchen...
- But we smoked on the sofa...
- That was an exception...
- What?
- Nothing changed...
- What do you mean nothing changed...Of course something has changed...
- You just said nothing has changed...
- That was different from smoking in the studio...
- What is the difference between smoking in the studio and having sex?
- You are a big bastard ....
- No, you tell me...What is the difference?
- ...
- ...
- ...
- I am going to smoke...
- Wait I am coming too...
- ...
- ...
- ...
- Do you like me?
- I told I did, yes
- Can you die for me?
- I don't know...
- So you don't like me...
- Why should I die for you?
- Because you like me...
- Why should I compromise?
- Because you like me...
- But nothing changed...
- No, something changed...You like me now...
- So what?
- Now you should die for me...
- I am not playing your games anymore...
- So you don't like me...you wanted to have sex and that's it...Happy guy...You scored, ha? You are nothing but a piece of shit...I am leaving...
- ...
- Bye
- ...
- I told you I am leaving, bye...
- ...
- Byeeeeeeeeee
- ...
- Are you deaf?
- ...
- Fuck you!!
- ...
- ...
- e
- What? :)
- e
- Say it again...
- ;)
- please...
- ....
- EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
- You can't imitate me chicky monkey...
- Say it please...
- No...
- Pleaseeeeee
- No...
- I am leaving then...
- OK...bye
- Say e before I go...
- I am not saying...
- :((((
- Don't cry...
- :(((((((
- please...
- You broke my heart...
- You had broken it before...
- Sorry...
- I am sorry too....
- Say e please...
- Do you like me?
- Say e please...
- I asked you do you like me?...
- You are a big bastard...
- Why?
- I begged you to say e...How cruel you are?
- I just asked you one question…I told e million times…
- Say it again
- I just said it again...Are you deaf?
- No, that was not special
- What do you mean?
- I want a special e for myself
- But I am not special for you
- Yes, you are...
- No, I am not…Nothing changed
- You are driving me crazy
- You said so…I am sorry
- I like you but I can’t compromise…
- What does that mean?
- I like you but I am not in love with you…
- So what?
- I can’t compromise then…
- And I should?
- Yes…
- Whyyyyyyyyyyy?
- Because you like me…
- You are driving me crazy…
- :)
- :(
- But, I like you…
- …
- I said I like you
- :(
- Come on, don’t be a kid…
- I am not…
- Yes, you are
- You are so selfish
- You too…You want me to compromise…
- You want me to compromise too…
- But you don’t have any choice…What else do you want to do?
- I don’t know...
- Here you go…
- You are bastard, bitch…
- I am just a woman
- But you are different...
- Why?
- Because I like you
- …
- …
- What time is it?
- It is weekend
- So I don’t care…
- …
- You look even
- I am not
- Are you tired?
- I don’t know…
- Let’s go and sleep…
- So you are not going?
- Well, I am thinking of staying if you don’t mind
- Of course, I don’t mind...
- So you compromise
- You did so
- No, I’ve chosen to stay
- …
- ...
- …
- Do you think we are dreaming?
- I think we are dreaming in our dream…
- What does that mean?
- I think when you are dreaming in your dream it means that you are in real reality but timeless so past and future can happen now or now in past or past in future…
- I can’t understand…
- Never mind
- But we are with each other now...At least I see it so
- Yes we are...I see the same...
- I have a strange feeling...
- What?
- Your pet is hungry...
- Shit, I forgot…Now, he doesn’t let us sleep
- He?
- pet I mean...
- Let me feed your pet...
- I can do that…
- No, I want to do that…
- OK
- :)
- :)
- I think she is sad...
- She?
- Pet I mean
- You think so?
- Yes, her eyes are so sad
- How do you know?…I can’t see anything
- Because I am a woman…
- …
- I think she needs a company...
- I can’t afford two pets, come on…
- Let it go and find her soulmate then... outside of this cage and studio
- Then I’ll be alone…
- So you want someone sacrifices for you?
- It is not someone, it is just a pet…
- But it has soul…
- I have soul too…
- She can be happy outside...
- But I can’t...
- You can too...
- How?
- You’ve already changed…
- You said nothing has changed
- But you have changed...I can see it
- How?
- You like me now, don't you?…
- So?
- Look at the picture on the wall….What is in the picture?
- Which one?
- The portrait that I asked you...
- It is me…When I was student…
- Look at it again...
- Whattttttt!!!...It is not my portrait anymore...It is a studio with a cage in the middle...and a faceless couple from back...
- Who is beside you?
- Me?
- The faceless girl sitting on the sofa?
- It is not for now....I mean it didn't happen in a studio!!!
- What do you mean?
- It wasn’t there… I swear it is a miracle…
- Who is that girl?
- I don’t know
- Are you sure?...
- I know, I knowwwwwwww, It is you…When we were student…
- You see…You couldn't have seen me in your portrait before....
- What happened after we took the picture?
- You don’t remember?
- No
- Nothing had changed? Ha?
- ...
- You left me...
- No...
- I told I like you, I can die for you…You told me I can’t compromise…
- I said so?
- Yes, you did
- So you are taking the revenge out of me…
- No
- That’s why you don’t want to compromise now?
- Not at all...Because I like my choice…
- And you didn't like me choice then?
- …
- Do you still like me?…
- I don't know
- You don't know?
- Yes, I do…But not more than I did when we took the picture…
- I could see your face in my portrait…You are much more beautiful now
- I told you the same…
- You said so?
- Yes, I did…
- I don’t remember…
- Never mind
- I love you…
- But I have to leave…
- It is weekend !!!
- I don’t care…
- But you said you have chosen to stay over…
- Yes, but I've changed my mind…
- You can’t…
- Why?
- Because you said so…
- I didn’t close any choice…
- You are breaking my heart
- You did it when we were student…
- I am sorry
- You said nothing had changed…
- I am sorry
- You told me compromise is not like paying for a t-shirt
- I am sorry
- Never mind
- …
- I want clean the kitchen, feed your begore I go
- You don’t need to do so…
- Never mind, I want to remember how much I liked you
- But it hurts me…Memories hurt me
- At least we have enough memories to wash all the kitchen, don’t we?…I mean both of us individually and together....I can't stand this mess in your kitchen anymore
- But you are leaving, aren't you?
- And?
- So why do you care?
- I care for my memories...
- I can help you…
- You feed the poor pet for god seek…
- OK
- Here is so dirty…I wish I could have cleaned it long ago…
- I know, but I told you....I don’t have that much visitor…
- But you should be prepared for visitors at any time…
- My pet is happy now…
- Make her happier…
- How?
- Release her…
- …
- Make the bottle of wine full of our memories and put it instead of the pet in the cage…
- What???
- Yes, that reminds you how much we used to like each other at some points in our lives…Although it was not in a same time…I think these memories should better stay in a cage...
- But it is so sad…
- It is not sadder than this poor pet...
- I will…
- When?
- She has already left…The cage is empty, you see?
- She should be happy now...Thank you...
- Why are you looking at me like that?
- Shall I stay?
- Yes, I love so
- I think I love so too
- Let’s go and sleep then…We are tired
- OK…Hold my hand...
- :)
- But before going to bed say e to show how much you love me
- e
- Again
- e
- I think I love you
- I am sure I love you too…
- We are dreaming, aren’t we?
- We are dreaming in our dream…
- So time is not important? You said so?
- Yes...
- So we might be dead...
- We might be, Or one of us...Or even we can be both alive but in different times...
- Whatever, I like what I have now...
- I just love it…
- Good night…
- Sweet dreams…
- ...
- ...
- ...
- ...

Who was searching for the president in Tehran?

2008-01-18T00:19:00.000Z

Gold can be found only in darkness. Surprisingly the same, human beings can reach to completeness when they can retrieve their shadow and make it conscious. I prefer to be complete rather than a good man (Carl Gustav Jung 1875-1961)

Things are not always in the way that we want...At least we precept like that...That things are not in the way that we want...

Why do I have to be bothered and write about Searching for the president in Tehran?...

Maybe it is because of this incident:

Once I had a dream about a dead infant...I saw my beloved one delivering a dead baby....She was laying on the bed....I approached to her and held her hand....I told her no problem honey, maybe next time...But she cried and I kissed her tears...Nine month after (this time in the time-space we know as reality) a girl, I don't know if it was the same one, was sleeping in my bed and I was working on my thesis....When I looked at her, I remembered that dream after a long time....The dream was born again....

Sending for the president in Tehran: Well, it can be...but this is just part of it....Is there anything else you want to tell me?...More cases?....More tangible memories for our therapy?

Maybe it was that time....It was a hot early July day...Tuesday, 4 PM, The Artists House, Tehran....The creative writing workshop....

I still remember the story discussed in the class...But it wasn't that important, I suppose....Just the thing after, made the whole....

- So you just write in English?
- Well, I try to...But obviously not always of course...
- What did make you to do that?
- Because we should narrate ourselves with the medium that can be realized by the others who are interested to our narration...
- So you don't consider any interest here, in your motherland?

After he left, I forgot his name...It has been just wiped out...That was the only thing I can't retrieve from that day...what was his name? Searching for the president in Tehran?

No, it can't be...This is out of question...

Searching for the president in Tehran: Never say that....What do you mean out of question? Sometimes I believe that you are kind of interesting guy....But you just disappoint me.... Let me help you a bit...I can remember that day when I was driving you back home....You were in MAC and I was driving my cab...You stopped me and asked me: Harborne, brother?

Brother is a word used either by Muslims, monks or hippies...You didn't look like any, but I took you...You were reading a book....I asked:

- What is the book you are reading?
- It is not a book, it is a report...
- What's that?
- Women enlightenment in Iran: The basis of the 1,000,000 signature campaign
- What is it about?
- About some paradox in the law
- Are you studying law?
- No, I am studying engineering...
- So, why are you reading that?
- Because...
- You know man, You like women, don't you....Let me tell you something about women....women like to laugh...I mean, real laugh...That's the only thing they want...And you are a successful guy if you can do so....By any means, I mean...
- ...
- Sometimes, you think you should write essays in philosophy rather than doing engineering...Ha? is that the case?....But well, I think you are not ready...Why we love at most, when we hate?...Why we are limited, although we are the whole? ....Never try to find the answer, young man....your answer will come immediately after you learn your question...

These things are not attracting me anymore....I didn't answer you....You drooped my in Selly Oak...I went to my office to check my program's outputs....

Apart from the research that I am getting paid for, I am doing some other crap with my numbers...I don't tell it to my boss because I don't get paid for it...

Genealogy of numbers...An Introduction to simulation of history: Genetic Migrating Algorithms....Some issues in psychology of numbers....Number's sexual aspects: Different ways for crossover...

When I don't find something in the outer world, I look inside...Inside myself or inside my numbers....Maybe I've been raised like that...You childhood effects....But once, not long time ago, I find a Gene in one of my output files....It was obviously an odd one....We call it shining baby....That's why it has attracted me....I analyzed it the whole night up to the time that some one woke me up....

- You didn't sleep well last night, did you?
- I am searching...
- Who are you looking for?
- Searching for the president in Tehran...
- Is it your PhD about?

I opened my eyes...No one was there....A second after the door was opened...Nancy came in with her smile...

- Oh, poor son...You were again in the office the whole night...
- Hi Nancy...Who was in the office before?...Someone woke me up....
- I guess it is my duty to come first in your office to clean up....I am getting paid for that....Is there anyone who wants to get my job?
- No Nancy, I think I dreamt...
- Oh, sweat heart, you are so sleepy...

Nancy left and I checked out my results...I could have managed the retrieve the information of a birth:

Searching for the president in Tehran: Carry on, I am keeping notes....Just a moment, please....I have a patient for god seek, Miss Drinking Cafe in Paris....Are you stupid or what?....How many times I should tell you that I am not answering any phone whatsoever when I have a patient....Don't switch the calls here again little girl....Sorry...Continue...

"Today is 20th of March 1918...It is 7:30 AM local time...Here is Tehran, BBC office, British forces head quarter in Iran...Breaking news...The head of Iranian Royal Army, General Reza Mirpanj, interviewed with BBC representative in Royal Palace, Golestan...."

- So there is no king anymore?
- Don't worry, this county without a king is like my woman without husband...You have a husband honey, don't you?...

Man told that and continued shaving his beard...It was just a couple of minutes before, when he had finished his morning singing in the bathroom and listening to the drops of water falling from the shower...Then like every other mornings, he had looked how water was drooping from his skinny body...Water had hugged the man like a baby...He remembered, like all the other mornings, his infancy...When he was in the body of his mum...He felt how the water was enjoying him in its body....Why can't his wife have this pleasure?...

They did all the treatments....They even had gone to Mashhad and asked the Saint over there to help them....They started to do charity for the poor people in order to convince God that they deserve a child....Only a child....but nothing....No baby....

- Watch out...I opened the window, you will get cold
Woman was in the kitchen preparing breakfast....The radio was carrying on the news...

"General Reza Mirpanj announced that a temporary government will role the country up to the time that the Parliament change the constitution to a Republic..."

Friday was out, in the street...With the same surprising similarity to all Fridays....A bird was flying above the carpet of snow and the fireplace was burning with the sound of the bird....

- Listen, I think there is something going on outside...

She looked at him...

Their house had a balcony opening to the street....Some days that the man didn't have the feeling to listen to radio or work, he was going to the balcony and looking to the street...He was waiting for a miracle but not in the street....His miracle was like a train which never passed the village...

- Hey, I am with you man, go and see what's going on...

Some people were running ...

- What's up? Why are you shouting at me?

He looked at her...

She was around her 60...Slim and beautiful lady but deeply smashed....Her lips and her eyes had the curve of every day crying....

- I don't know...

They looked at each other...

- Like always...you never know why you are like that....
- Maybe again a dead body? I bet they again found a shot one...

Man went to his room...He was working on his last book: The history of Iranian revolution in 19th century, book II, the Tabriz movement....He was trapped on the last section...It was nine months from the time that he started writing the last section...But even a line....Whenever he wanted to work he felled sleep and and a same nightmare repeating...

- Why me? People have 12 children in this village and we shouldn't have just a one??!! I know why she is like that....I know why we are like that....I know....I know...I knowwwwww....

The woman came in and said:
- They said they found a dead body under the bridge...
- What?
- A dead body under the bridge...Let's go and watch...
- Why?
- Maybe we know him or her..
- So?
- We can inform him or her relatives...
- Maybe we are the relatives, let's go...

They walked to the bridge...Almost all the village were there but it was absolute silence....kids had climbed over the tree and were looking down the bridge anxiously....

The woman asked a young lady: Who was it?
- I don't know...
- Was he or she young?
- I don't know...
- You couldn't have seen?

I could have seen it ma'am....The body was turning to blue...Told the young man beside the young girl...The girl looked at him, smiled and turned to red...

It was a baby, ma'am...It was a little baby...

Man took the woman and went to the other side...

- Did you hear that? He told me mum...
Man didn't reply

She continued:

- Now, where do they take it?
- I don't know
- Do you think that someone killed the baby? Or maybe he or she just went to play in the river and got drawn?
- I don't know
- We didn't ask for the baby's age...
- Do you want to take a rest for a while?
- I think they will find the parents...Poor parents...
- At least we are not the parents...
- I wish I could see it
- See what? It is just a baby...

Man looked at her...How she was beautiful 40 years ago....He was always wondering how she could deliver a great part of her beauty to this age....It was not long ago, when they were laughing in their bed to the boys in her class who fall in love with her....They knew even a father and son who were both in her class after 25 years and they had been both in love with her...

Poor village...But They had never cared....In their bed, they were the most selfish couple ever known in the village...The poor villagers could not have even imagined that, because simply they didn't have even a baby....That's why they were thinking that they had a chance with the woman....

But the chance was like a train which never passed the village...

He was always proud of that....His wife was the most attractive woman in the region and she had chosen him not because he was rich or landlord....When he was 23, studying law in Paris with the king scholarship, he came back and fought for freedom with Satar, the national knight and Bagher, the national hero....He was one of the first revolutionary guys who reached to Tehran....After a year, he started publishing a newspaper....Then after 5 years he became a member of Parliament....In 6 months time, he resigned and was sent to the military jail for a 10 years sentence....The judge was one of his soldiers during the revolution...If not, He should have been hanged....He came out after 6 years because his friends again came to power....But he never came back to politics....They went back to his village of origin to educate the kids...That was the only way to achieve freedom....But, they didn't have any of their own....Even one...

- I am with you man....Shall we go?....I want to see the baby....please...
- Let's go...It should be now with Dr. Amiri

- Hi, mrs. Ziba, are you sleeping well these days?...
- Hi, not really Dr., but I want to ask something else...
- Do you have any ache some where in your body?
- Dr. Amiri, I came for different reason....they found a body...Have you heard about it?
- Yes...
- Where is it now?
- In the works...They put it in the wood storage...
- In the storage? A baby in the storage? How cruel you are!
- You know Ziba, the parents didn't come up...What can we do?
- So what will happen?
- We will wait till tomorrow....If no one comes up we will bury the body...
- If no one comes up, may you give it to us?
- What??!!!
- We will bury the body...

We will Bury the body Ziba??!! The man said surprisingly...

- Yes, of course....We will bury the baby so we can love it like our baby....I already love it...Was it boy or a girl, Dr. Amiri?
- A boy, around 4 years old with blond hair....That's the only thing we could say....The body is completely smashed....
- You see man? You always wanted a boy....My mum also had a blond hair....Do you remember when I was younger, the time that you felled in love with me, I also had a kind of blond/brunet hair....You remember, don't you?...Please Mazdak...Please....maybe this is our last chance...

Dr Amiri was looking at them with a couple of eyes like saucers...But for him the time was stopped....Mazdak felt that he could have heard something...The train which never passed their village....

And then, it was Saturday....With the same surprising similarity to all Saturdays....The same bird was flying over the gray sky and they were walking over the carpet of snow which was imitating the sound of a crying baby....

- There are many names...But, at the end I like none of them...I want my son to have a unique name...
- But Ziba, he should have a name if we want to love him...
- OK, we will find a name...don't worry Mazdak...Come on...It is getting late...

Mazdak was carrying the coffin on his skinny shoulders....They were going to cemetery but they were not in black....They passed from the village square...A man took his hat off when he saw them....A lady closed the window when they were passing in front of her house....and kids were playing carelessly like always...

- Let's go Ziba, it's enough...you have cried for the whole life of our baby....Leave some when he is getting older....When we have real problems....With his education, with his friends, with his girlfriends....with his marriage...with his children...come on....Let's go...
- Take my hand my dear...

They were twisted together like milk and sugar....No one in the village, or even in Tehran, could have said which one was Ziba and which one was Mazdak...

- Now, it is for us Mazdak, isn't it?
- Yes honey....It is ours ...
- We have to put a stone on the grave...
- Ok...
- We have to find a name for him...
- We will...Let's go...

They were going back to the village like a unique body....it was Saturday evening....With the same surprising similarity to all Saturday evenings....It was lots of noise coming from the village....They thought that the villagers should have heard about the changing of the government; however, the ringing of the villagers' fear was not that high for them to not hear the train which never passed their village....

Searching for the president in Tehran: ....

A flashback to "Searching for the President in Tehran: A prelude"

2007-12-09T21:42:00.000Z

The genesis of mathematical creation is a problem which should intensely interest the psychologists. It is the activity in which the human mind seems to take least from the outside world. But surprisingly, it is the most successful way to discover the phenomenon which it has used least, i.e the outside world. (Henri Poincare, 1854-1912)

Many times and still, I have thought about that particular day, a moment in the history, we, I mean human beings, have realized how to use our thumb. Without any doubt, that was one of the most crucial discoveries of mankind in the history. We had come down from the trees and started making tools and means which ended at some points to wheels, swords, cultures, porn movies and finally nuclear energy.

Maybe my examples seem to be wired but I am the son of my time. Nothing more, nothing less...At most, if I am successful, I can narrate my time...

I am sure it was the history, the whole sequences of parallel time series in time-space coordinate, which made me to do something or confront with something or to be something at a particular time...

I, the son of my time, have different faces...

One face is a mathematical modeler...Kind of bullshiter...I am sorry for my language, but I am absolutely right...we are trying to model something that we still don't know what it is....Predicting the behavior of an unknown concept that we haven't realize what it is....Is it not a lie? But who cares? We get paid for it....

That's why we have many things...Airplanes, fancy cars, drugs, stock markets, wars and for instance computers...

I am using computers...

For me computers are like the mirrors for the ones who are truly using them...Kind of post modern dogs....I observed many synchronization between computers and human behaviors...

Because I had realized, long ago (is it important long ago or just a second ago? Memories have no dimension in time...They are just memories, a series of timeless images from the myths, dreams or past lives) that I still haven't been sure what should I model, I've started searching...Like a one trying to full a bucket with a hole...but I am still searching....I have been looking around for a long time....Sometimes in my computer, sometimes outside my computer....Sometimes in myself, sometimes out of myself....

But I still don't know what should I model. Moreover, I am forgetting many things related to my past:

As a child when did I first hear about puzzles? And from whom?

I still can't retrieve....But, sometimes hopelessly, I am keeping on observing....

A comment by "Searching for the President in Tehran":
From the time that my wife has left me, I am absolutely lonely...We lived the all our life together up to the time, some years ago, when her picture had felt down from the wall. I died and she left me alone....We didn't have any child but we were so happy with each other....Now, it is just me and bunch of memories which are fading from my mind gradually....A man, when he doesn't have a company, has to talk with himself or stay silence some where in a park or a pub and look at the people...I have chosen the second one, but people are passing without any attention...I am in between them but my mind is somewhere else....I am observing something but receiving something else....I have been always like that....I don't know anyone who is lazier, sillier, or more inconsiderate than me....I want always to be somewhere else....I can't get settled somewhere, just like gypsies....It is not dependent to my age or circumstances....I think it was a fundamental issue in my life and now in my death....For instance I don't know my exact name or my relatives....I don't know what I have or what I don't have....I have never looked at a mirror....So I am the one whom observed just by the others....The ones who can bother, turn to me and see who I am....Me, The one who still doesn't know many things....

But who cares?....I am alone and will be alone for ages, although I am dead....

The message sent to "Searching for the President in Tehran"

2007-12-09T13:10:00.000Z

She wouldn't believe
This pencil has
A magical eraser
She said I was a silly moo
She said I was a liar too
She dared me prove that it was true
And so what could I do-
I erased her

(Shel Silverstein, 1932-1999)

1.
Hi dear "Searching for the President in Tehran"

How are you? Have you catched up on replying to all the messages you had to reply whilst you were in "Searching for the President in Tehran"? Are you still living in "Searching for the President in Tehran" or are you relaxing in paradise?

Well I basically write to say I'm leaving "Drinking Coffee in Paris", kind of saying goodbye.. (though we can always keep in touch by internet is not the same feeling as knowing you're on the other side of the pond). I'm flying back home tomorrow. I don't regret of having done this experience. Sometimes we can plan things but "Drinking coffee in Paris" is one of those shaky terrains where we can find too many surprises. I came here not to teach Spanish as I knew from the beginning but to try to find "Drinking Coffee in Paris", to bring about closure in some areas of my life and I have done that.

I like "Drinking Coffee in Paris", it will always be beautiful, but for different reasons I didn't enjoy so much living like this. I will go back to "Being a mom in Mexico" and start there without dwelling too much, because I have closed a cycle and I'm ready to begin again, with my mind cleared and calmed.

Well darling, take care. Wish you the best. Do you celebrate Christmas in "Searching for the President in Tehran"?? (guess not... Christianism is not very welcome in "Searching for the President in Tehran"...) Anyway send you a big big hug and my best wishes for the end of this year and for starting 2008.

Smooches!!
Being a mom in Mexico

2.
Life is a trip which you neither know the destination nor the path. You just travel into it and get wondered. A scientist is nothing more than a wondering addict traveller (Bible of "Searching for the President in Tehran", book 30: The messages)

Hey "Being a mom in Mexico"

Hola, ketal?

Well, technically I am living in "Searching for the President in Tehran" but I do have my return flights to the paradise every now and then.

My dear little "Being a mom in Mexico", that was a good stuff that you felt having enough balls to give a try to "Drinking Coffee in Paris". I am proud of you. I am also happy that you closed the circle and want to start from sketch....It is such a freedom, isn't it? I just love it....

It doesn't make any difference where we are or what we are doing. Fuck the nonsense. The important stuff is that we are friends forever, either we are in touch or not....

Internet is always there and maybe other occasions that we might see each other again. So I am not saying you goodbye: Just see you later

Peace,
Searching for the President in Tehran

P.S. I wish you a warm cosy Christmas with your family and friends in sexy "Being a mom in Mexico"....Kisses

Searching for The President in Tehran: A prelude

2007-12-09T00:54:00.000Z

In the name of mankind, save Persians from enemies, drought and lie (Cyrus the great, 590-530 BC)

As a child when did I first hear about puzzles? And from whom?

I can remember something about my grandpa...

The old ex-nationalist guy used to solve crossword puzzles. I can remember him without socks or slippers whenever he was home. When he was happy he was trying to tease me by showing his dirty foot and I used to complain to my granny that grandpa is so dirty. In contrary, my granny was such a stylish woman. Regardless if she was home or not, she was always with high hills and make up.

Grandpa is now dead and granny is in the queue to have her funeral. Like Ellie’s granny…Her funeral was in Manchester yesterday. They burnt the body. I was not there, but a friend was. I haven’t met her yet, not only Ellie but also my friend. However, I know much about her; actually a little bit too much...

But how come? Just an incident: Everything has started with a single click and then a particular day: 13 October 1977, my birthday; although, it has happened on 4 December 2007. I know...It is a total mess. Maybe I write about it more while "Searching for the President in Tehran", maybe not...Let's see...

She just asked about the name of my story and I replied her: “Searching for the President in Tehran”.

She thinks I am bit wired. She said: If it was me I would call it “You are dangerous”. And she laughed.

She meant I am dangerous.

But, it doesn't solve my problem: I still can't recall... As a child when did I first hear about puzzles? And From whom?

A comment by "Searching for the President in Tehran":
I would like to draw your attention, with wonder and particular amusement, to a bunch of monks in Persepolis on the year 560 BC celebrating the first human right constitution by drinking wine and flirting with Babylonian girls arrived to be used as sex toys in Cyrus’s crowning ceremony.

Annual accounting

2007-12-01T01:10:00.000Z

Number of times that I've been born: 1. Number of my parents first landline in Iran: 21 85 9710. Number of shoes that I’ve bought this year: 3. Number of eggs that I’ve eaten in this year: 195. Number of times that I’ve hugged a baby in this year: 26. Number of houses that I’ve lived more than a week this year: 4. Number of nights that I’ve slept properly this year: 214. Number of the words that I’ve written this year: related to my research: 30456 unrelated to my research: 89932. Number of times that I’ve had sex this year: 15. Number of times that I’ve been really angry of myself in this year: 3. Number of times that I’ve been kind of angry of myself in this year: 145. Number of times that I’ve smiled to someone: 961. Number of times that I’ve received a smile: 789. Number of times that I’ve been in Toilet: 1460. Number of times that I’ve lied to people this year: Important stuff: 3. silly stuff: 387. Number of times that I’ve decided to do something really important and I have done it in this year: 2. I haven’t done: 4. Number of conferences that I’ve attended: 1. Number of conferences that I should have attended but haven’t: 2. Number of flies that I’ve killed this year: 75. Number of times that I’ve remembered something: 69754. Number of the times that I’ve forgotten something: 3675. Number of times that I’ve forgotten the name of my boss: 13. Number of times that I’ve stayed in the office till morning: 12. Number of times that I’ve laughed at people: 256. Number of times that I made other people laugh: 452. Number of times that I’ve said to myself “that’s enough”: 26. Number of housemates that I’ve had during this year: 17. Number of emails that I’ve received: Yahoo account: 2532. University account: 789. Number of emails that I’ve sent from both accounts: 635. Number of people that I’ve loved in this year: 1. Number of people that I’ve hated in this year: 2. Number of times that I’ve stayed in bed for the whole day: 2. Number of times that I’ve argued with my dad: face to face: 0. on the phone: 0. in my dream: 1. Number of times that I’ve forgiven someone: 31. Number of times that someone has forgiven me: 19. Number of books that I’ve read this year: related to my research: 1. Unrelated to my research: 26. Number of times that I’ve cancelled a meeting: 6. Number of times that I’ve heard “I love you”: 0. Number of times that I’ve told someone “I love you”: 1. Number of times that I’ve been in GYM: 49. Number of papers that I’ve published this year: 1. Number of papers that I’ve not published: 3. Number of hair that I’ve lost this year: 8593. Number of times that I’ve wanted to shout and I did: 4. I didn't: 26. Number of times that I met my second boss: 5. Number of kisses that I’ve given in this year: 658. I’ve received: 472. Number of cigarettes that I’ve smoked: 6935. Number of times that I’ve cried seriously: 2. Number of times that I’ve made someone cry (serious/unserious): 2. Number of gifts that I’ve bought for people in this year: 28. I’ve received: 19. Number of beers that I’ve drunk in this year: 452. Number of times that I’ve been really happy of myself: 2. A bit happy: 134. Number of dates that I’ve had: 3. Number of times that I’ve chassed a girl: 2. Number of times that a girl has chassed me: 1. Number of times that I’ve had Déjà vu: 15. Nightmares: 9. Number of times that I’ve felt really guilty: 5. Number of times that I’ve been really disappointed: 8. Number of times that I’ve taken sleeping pills: 1. Number of times that I’ve been really drunk: 7. Number of times that I’ve had breakdown: 1. Number of times that I’ve put a key into an electric socket: 1. Number of the times that I’ve died: 0.

Family crisis

2007-11-30T00:38:00.000Z

“War is not merely a political act, but also a real political instrument, a continuation of political commerce, a carrying out of the same by other means. All beyond this which is strictly peculiar to War relates merely to the peculiar nature of the means which it uses. That the tendencies and views of policy shall not be incompatible with these means, the Art of War in general and the Commander in each particular case may demand, and this claim is truly not a trifling one. But however powerfully this may react on political views in particular cases, still it must always be regarded as only a modification of them; for the political view is the object, War is the means, and the means must always include the object in our conception.” (Carl Von Clausewitz 1780-1831)

I was about to start my night shift when I received his email. After all regular stuff that is repeated in every email, he asked about some old stories that I had not even remembered them. Some crappy family stories from 40 years ago when none of us was even on the earth.

Why is he concerned about these issues, the stuffs that he didn’t take part in any of them?

“…I want to know what did happen when your dad was in Seattle. Why did their relationship change dramatically after they met each other in Portland?...”

I don’t fucking give a shit why. They are two adults and responsible for their own deeds. I’ve not got a clue.

And just look at it:

“…I believe this is our job to find what happened on that summer. This is part of our heritage…”

Heritage!? Do you call that shit heritage? I don’t even consider our 300 years family documentations as heritage…

Nima calls it the book of “Who shagged who” and my father always looks at him irritatingly

I think this guy is too American…

I don’t really know how I should answer him. How could I explain him something that I don’t know or if I used to know I don’t remember it anymore?

I have my own problems.

I am sure he is in front of the screen, smoking cigarettes after cigarettes and checking his email every 30 seconds; although, I haven’t met him in my life.

But I know he is a chain smoker, pretty much like me.

I also know that he was in the first Gulf war in 1990, but he served in Saudi Arabia, in a camp which was exploded two years after.

They said that the explosion was made by Iranian IRGC. No one has proved it yet.

I know other stuff about him as well. For instance, I know once in 1987 he left the house and no one heard about him for three months. After three months he called his mom and informed her that he got married, living in Montana.

Montana?! Yes, Montana.

Four months after he came back home on Thanksgiving Day. His father didn’t talk to him for two months.

Then for his birthday he bought him a pickup truck and told him: Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday too daddy!!...

Because they were born in a same day; with 35 years difference though.

Sometimes, I am thinking this guy is not only in a kind of identity dilemma but also his genes are in paradox too. I mean his cells, his organs.

But you can say all of us may have such a physical paradox. For instance I do have paradox between my brain and my heart or even when I am drunk between my legs and tongue. But I think his case is a real one, not a Mickey Mousy stuff.

I can imagine him lighting up another cigarette, standing, going toward the hi-fi and turn the volume up. It should be after his work.

He is working from 7:00 AM to 4:30PM. That’s why he is still dependant to his dad financially.

I can imagine him now going in front of Tele, sitting down beside Emily. Emily is asking:

- Has he replied?
- Not yet.
- OK, it is late in UK now. He is sleeping.
- No, he is living like a rat.
- But rats can also sleep.

Emily, as every one said, is a nice blond Californian girl. They met each other in UCLA after the Montana story and Gulf war, I think in 1993.

I can imagine her chubby legs on the table, changing the channels on the Tele and she is now stopping on Fox News.

I think Fox News, because she voted for G.W. Bush as his dad did.

“And finally from Tehran, Iran — Iran's military said Tuesday it has manufactured a new missile with a range of 1,200 miles capable of reaching Israel and U.S. bases across the Mideast, the official news agency IRNA reported. The defense minister, Gen. Mostafa Mohammad Najjar, did not say whether Iran had test fired the Ashoura or had plans to do so…”

- It is all bullshit.. Change this shit. They want to send us to a new war. If they attack Iran I will burn myself in front of the White fucking House. They can’t do it. There are 2 million Persians just in California. We don’t let them to invade our country.

Emily is changing the channel unwillingly.

He is standing again, going behind the computer and checking his email….Still nothing, nothing as nothing…

He is lighting another cigarette. He is thinking, perhaps, that I am not taking his email seriously.

- I am not in their game. I am simply not in. They don’t let me know. He was my last hope. But he is the same, absolutely the same. They don’t consider me as one of them. I have the same blood. But they don't want to believe it, because I just can’t talk the language. But what could I do? My dad has never taught me.

He is whispering with himself.

- Come on honey. Let’s go to Music Pub. Today is fusion night.

Emily is saying

She is right...9215 W Olympic Blvd, Beverly Hills, CA is just in walking distance. Go man, go…Don't kill your time like this.

Kill it like that...

He is turning back and Emily can see a couple of tears on his chin.

- OK, I am calling Julie and Dean to join us. I think Dean is working till late but Julie is off today.

She is going to pick the phone and give a call to Julie. He is checking his email again.

- Nothing, still nothing…

He is lighting another cigarette, sinking in the sofa, staring at the computer screen and floating in his dreams about his identity.

“…In Tehran, Gen. Mohammed Ali Jafari, the head of the Revolutionary Guards, warned against growing pressure on his country in comments obliquely directed toward Washington. The ocean of the Iranian nation may sometimes look calm but if it becomes stormy it will create tsunamis, Jafari said...”

Emily is turning the Tele off and looking at him from the corner of the living room anxiously. She is so worried for him and of course for herself.

She is pregnant.

Photo threat

2007-11-26T20:47:00.000Z

"... Farzad is right. Put on a dog photo on your profile! or should I send you a picture from our school trip in 1996?!..." Part of a friend's message in facebook (19 November 2007)

1.

There is something invisible, like a hand, which I cannot see, but I can feel, I can comprehend. It pushes me this way and that.

2.

Okay! Raise your head a little. Open up your eyebrows. Smile. Look into the camera. I’ll count to three. Be careful not to move. Otherwise your portrait will be no good. Ready! One, two, three…

3.

Two nights later, he was going up the stairs of the photo shop to collect his photo. He was playing in his hand the receipt given to him by the photographer. He remembered that two nights earlier the photographer had asked,

—Your name? And he had given his name.
—Regular six by four? How about a postcard size as well? And he had answered,
—Just one... as a sample.
—It’ll be ready the day after tomorrow... eight in the evening.

Before opening the door, he looked at his watch and saw that it was already past eight. He whispered to himself,

—It must definitely be ready by now.

The photographer’s assistant, who was sitting at a desk, stood up for him. He sat down on a chair after. He looked at the assistant without recognition.

—It would seem that he’s not in?
—Yes... yes... he was here just now.
—This receipt...

He took the receipt out of his pocket and put it on the desk. The photographer’s assistant picked it up read it and said respectfully:

—Yes, sir, it’s for tonight…But you have to wait for him to come.

He was about to say, “I’m terribly busy”. He only managed to say, “I’m terrible …” and sank into the chair. He found it better to busy himself with something. He started to turn the pages of an album.... He asked again,

—Isn’t he coming?
—Of course he is. In a few minutes...

He made himself busy looking at the photographs on the wall.

4.

After a quarter of an hour, the photographer arrived.

—Welcome, sir.

And to his assistant:

—Has the gentleman been here too long?

And again to him:

—I’ll give them to you right now.

He rose from the chair, and went to the desk. The photographer took the photo from his workshop:

—Let me see, are they here? Yes, there they are.

He held out his hand and took the photos. He took a look at them, and then said:

—Not these. You’ve made a mistake.
—How come? What do you mean... ?
—You’ve made a mistake. I don’t have a moustache; these photos have a moustache... Besides, I don’t wear a hat.

The photographer took the photos. He looked at them carefully, and then at his face:

—Strange... but they resemble you very much.
—Resemble? I don’t see much resemblance...

The photographer hesitated a little. His assistant had left a while before (he had found it better to leave because he did not know what to do). He went into the workshop, took another bunch of photos and put them on the desk. While examining, he was whispering:

—Couldn’t be these.
They were photos of a girl.

—And not these.
Of a woman.

—Nor this.
Of a child.

—This?
He looked at the photo and the man:

—This one’s very much like you. Hasn’t got a hat... But still it’s got a moustache.

He bent his head forward:

—Let me see... No hat...

And he added:

—What do you mean, it’s very much like you? How could I think that’s my photo? Can’t I see my own face? Can’t I remember what it looks like? Don’t you have an order number to make sure the photos don’t get lost? Don’t you put numbers on them?
—Yes... We attach numbers to them, and we do have an order number. But what’s to be done with a careless assistant? It’s this assistant’s problem. He’s mixed them all up. For example, look at this: there are three series of photos all having the same number as on your receipt... What a mistake to employ an assistant after all these years! As if he’s on drugs or in love... He hasn't got a clue...
—What am I to do then? How long have I have to wait here, Mr. Photographer?

The photographer was still examining the photos.

—Not these.
It was the picture of a historic monument.

—Aha... that’s it.
He grabbed the photo.

—How could you say that’s it? There’s nothing about it that looks like me. I have never worn a jacket like that.

The photographer sat down:

—It’s not my business anymore. Maybe you had a jacket like that two days ago, and have changed it since.
—Impossible.

The photographer stood up again. He mouned:

—We don’t have any other photos here. It must be one of these...

He pushed his teeth together. After he calmed down a little, he said:

—These aren’t my photos. Six six-in-four photos and a postcard size, you’ve received the money, you have to give it to me...

The photographer put the photos before him.

—There you are, sir. There’s no reason to get angry. I really don’t understand. All three look like you, they’re your photos. One with moustache and a hat, one with moustache and without a hat, and one without moustache and without a hat. You can pick whichever you like.
—Whichever I like? What’s it got to do with liking? Mr. Photographer! You’re either nuts or trying to make fun of me. Haven’t you ever had customers? Don’t you have a job or life? Where on earth when someone goes to collect his photos, is he given three different photos, made a fool of, told that all three are your photos, pick whichever you like? Were you blind two days ago when you took my photo? I neither had a moustache, nor a hat and my jacket was not like this.

The photographer was angry. He rubbed his hands together and tried to keep himself calm. he replied:

—It’s all true, all logical, I agree. I swear to God that it’s all the fault of this stupid, foolish assistant who’s mixed them all up; who’s confused the numbers. Otherwise, I would’ve given you your photos at once, without all this fuss and argument. But I’m totally astonished at how much these three photos look like you. As if it’s you yourself. I really don’t know if they belong to you or someone else look like you... I don’t know what’s happened to your photo... How is it possible? ... How couldn’t you recognize your own face?
—Could you recognize it yourself?
—Why not? Just show me a photo of myself, no matter when it’s been taken, and I’ll tell you whether it’s mine or not. I’m amazed?...
—Amazed? Are all the people in the world have to recognize their own pictures? Now you’re a photographer, it’s your profession. But which hen could recognize its own egg? Look how they cheat people... how they waste their time for three or four days, keep them from their life and business, and then answer like this...

The photographer was about to explode. He took a mirror out of his pocket and gave it to him.

—It’s quite easy. Look! See if you look like these photos or not.

He took the mirror and looked into it. And then, holding the mirror in his hand, he sat on the chair. He was whispering below his breath.

And then he suddenly gave the mirror to the photographer, held his head in his hands, pressing it. The photographer asked in a low voice:

—You see?

He stood up. He walked to the desk again. He picked up the photos, looked at them, and gave them to the photographer. The photographer said:

—If you wait, the owners of these photos will come. It’s not bad to get known to your look-alikes.

He moved towards the door:

—It’s all bullshit. None of them are my photos. It’s not clear what’s happened to my real photo. Maybe you didn’t take my picture at all. Go to hell with your photo shop.

When he left, the photographer started walking round the room like a mad.

—Oh God, I’m getting crazy. How could he not recognize himself? How come all these photos looked like him? I’m about... I want to throw myself out of the window.

His assistant came back:

—Did he get his photos? I saw him going into the photo shop opposite here.

5.

There is something invisible, like a hand, which I cannot see, but I can feel, I can comprehend. It pushes me this way and that...

There is a hard rain going to fall

2007-11-22T23:58:00.000Z

" The UN atomic watchdog said Thursday it was in the dark about Iran's disputed nuclear programme, as its 35-member board seemed divided on how to get Tehran to shed more light on its activities..." VIENNA (AFP), six hours ago

I read this news behind this desk, like most of the news. Regardless if they are good or bad, personal or professional, local or global...

Actually, I have been sitting behind this desk for hours, staring into the darkened of evolving numbers. I love their presence, the gentle way they honor the screen they rest upon; although they vanish in a flash, so early.

What do they realize from life? How do they meet? Why do some survive?

I was kind of ignoring them for a while, like God ignoring his creatures. But they are as nice as before; genuine, honest and simple for the one who know their language.

It doesn't make any difference where a set of evolving numbers is placed in my computer, because nobody ever checks them out and nobody ever comes here to explore them. They are not that kind of numbers. They are another kind of numbers.

They are my numbers...

Sometimes my numbers are singing. But before anyone could hear them, they are dying. I know because I’ve been monitoring them for more than three years.

Three years in my scale means the whole history in their scale.

And someone is paying for it. That’s why I can do it.

I know it's going to rain, although it is near midnight. Clouds have been playing with the blue style of the sky all day long, moving their heavy black wardrobes in, but so far nothing rain has happened.

But tomorrow is going to rain. If not tomorrow, the day after or the days after…My numbers all sang before “There is a hard rain going to fall…”

So I am sure about that...

I turned off my computer and took the way back to my house, which is shared with two builders, one German and one ghost. I knew the path so well that I could do it in the dark; inner or outer doesn’t make any difference. I can walk through the darkness, I did it many times and I am still alive.

As far as I am alive, why do I need to know many things? Is there any morality apart from survival of the fittest?

Another day means another dollar…No dollar means no day...

The dark returning path to my house was made comfortable by thoughts of good times that I had, my unknown future and my numbers sleeping like a photograph somewhere in my computer, which is their local.

How do things work in their local? Is there any kind of Democracy? Are they also worried for the war?

I am about to sleep while so definite about one thing: “There is a hard rain going to fall…”

Numbers funk

2007-11-22T13:33:00.000Z

"...This is jut to let you know that I think I am totally in love. At least today I am. :)))))))) (and I reaaaaaally needed to share it!)..." From a friend's email

"...Maybe a better visualization of results can be found in Figure 5-25 which shows the histograms of best parametric convergence for NSGA-II, SCEM and MOSEM regarding RMSE(FDH) through 30 different runs. As can be investigated, for all parametric values, the support of the best parametric histogram related to NSGA-II is smaller than the corresponding one resulted from MOSCEM. Moreover, NSGA-II has more chance in reproducing the most likely best parametric values captured by SCEM comparing to MOSCEM. The same conclusion can be made for other objective functions. Therefore, it can be summarized that NSGA-II is more robust in terms of best parametric convergence than MOSCEM..." A part of my thesis

10...kiss me on the lips
9...Run your fingers to my hair
8...Touch me....Slowly...Slowly
7...Hold it

Let's go straight to number 1

6...Lips
5...Fingers
4...Play
3...
...Slowly

Let's go straight to number 1

5:10 PM

2007-11-15T23:27:00.000Z

Tripped...Ejaculated....Wiped out...

A female smell just a couple of feets far....I don't want to see her smile...No I don't want to hear her words....I want to be alone....Please...

Something can never ever be written or said...Specially important things...

I am sick of pretending...doubt...and my role with this piece of meat...dominancy...

I can't take it anymore...

I am tired of sex, alchohol, dope, research and everything else...
I wish you were here...You, I mean my only friend, who had rejected me and left forever...

Leave me alone...I even don't want to be with myself...I have no answer for my questions.... What about yours? I think you are just have blind hope, a stupid one...

But I have no way to smile back...

And this scene is just repeating, repeating, repeating like the cycle of life and death...

And maybe that's why you had left...

Foreplay, play, afterplay

2007-11-15T23:02:00.000Z

Creation…Audition…conviction…negotiation…exploitation….expectation…sexual satisfaction…confliction…manipulation…brutalization….computation …migration…desperation….excitation…generation…Signification…recognition…determination….consumption….integration…representation….impression….patronization….reproduction….visualization….reflection…optimization….confusion…industrialization... domination….communication….procession…. globalization….possession….insulation…. information…documentation….temptation…corruption….implementation…transformation….observation….tradition….

Materialism…anti-fascism…infantilism…alcoholism….fetishism….structuralism… realism…nihilism…druidism…fundamentalism…Satanism….futurism…

Heartedness….endlessness….vastness….shallowness…loneliness…darkness…sharpness…tepidness….craziness….peachiness….warmness…nothingness...endlessness…timelessness… randomness…madness…

Interchangeable…obtainable…dialyzable…swappable…enlargeable…eatable… responsible….disguisable…amusable…enjoyable…forgettable…

People….Cash…power…dope…society…illusion...identity…role…....love...belief….opportunity…. extreme…chance…popular….spirituality….recovery…dilemma…background….scandal…funeral…rumors …blood…tragedy…idea…disease…revenge….accident….muffin…plot…archetype….substantial…religion….justice…agenda….Efficiency…diminishing….functional…under taker…settlement…digital…pathetic… notion….supportive…dying…

Empty frames

2007-11-11T22:21:00.000Z

1.

I know. I know. It is not a good habit. It's so disgusting to look into the other houses and try to find out what other people are doing in their own privacy. I know. This is total ignorance and carelessness. I can be criminal. But I can't help it. I know, please stop it. Yes, I can lose all that I've earned in my life: my status, my friends, my PhD and the little bit of money that I've saved. They will kick me out of this country and I have no way but going back to my parents at least for a while, the place that everything started from there.

My parents have been living in one of the high rises in Tehran for 18 years now. It is located in north-west of Tehran in a place called Shahrak-e-gharb, which can be translated as West County. It is a nice area which I quite like it and I don't think that I can live in any other area of Tehran anymore. West County is famous for its high rises, fancy shopping malls, doll girls and muscular guys, and the most important identity that it has: Iran Zamin (Iran Land) street. the long circular street which is all days full of expensive cars and sissy silly boys and girls chasing each other's cars and show off their parent's wealth. Sometimes the Basij paramilitary forces close the street and stop the cars. They might make a couple of buses full of these guys (one for girls and one for boys, a common sexual discrimination) and take them to their headquarter and release them afterward by some money (and of course hassles), to arrest them again sometimes in near future and this circle will continue again and again like Iran Zamin street.

But it was not as bad it is now when my parents had moved to the area. I was 12 years old on that time and we were like 15 boys and girls with 1 or 2 years differences in our neighborhood. From that group just three are still living in Iran. Although president Ahmadi nejad announced that we have no homosexuality in Iran, I should reveal that one of them is homosexual and she was very good friend of mine but I haven't known about it till just 5 years ago, the last time that I met her in a party. We were both shocked by seeing each other. We talked a little bit and exchanged our numbers but we never call each other. I just know that she is still in Iran.

In 2006, I heard about another girl in our group from a mutual friend in Canada, who is a very good friend of mine. He was mentioning a friend of him who is now a homosexual activist in Iran. In the middle of our talk, suddenly I discovered that she is my old lost little girl, the first girl in our teenage gang who had left home. I don't want to put her in trouble so I will call her by her initial which is S. S is 2 years younger than me and she was (and still I think) so so beautiful. When I was 14, we had a football team and we were playing with nearby areas teams and she was always one of our hooligans coming to every single match that we were playing. Many times, the match ended up with fight and I am sure the most important reason was her. When I was 15 we went to sort of regional football league. I was the captain of that team because I was the oldest guy. We did three games. We lost 7-5 and 5-4 in the first two matches. The last match was between us and the first team of the group which had won both teams who had beaten us. They had a forward who was at least 18 years old but the organizing committee had assumed that he was less than 16 because his brother was one of the committee members. We were already disqualified. I hated this guy and I really wanted to win the match. The reality was something else and we lost it 3-0 but I could have satisfied myself by sending him out of the pitch with a very nasty foul in the beginning of second half. I just got a yellow card but he couldn't have played in the tournament anymore and their team disqualified in the next stage.

When we were coming back from the match, S for the first time took my hand. Her hand was so soft and small. I had liked these hands from the summer before when I had started looking to her room from our balcony during the night. Her room was in opposite side, in front of our balcony, in the same level. I had thought that she didn't know about it but she told me at one of our earliest meetings (just 2 of us sort of meetings) that she had known that from the beginning and actually she confessed that she had kind of liked it. I think her feeling was like this sort of girly thing that I can never ever manage to understand. From that time up to the time that her parents moved to another place, it was something very private between us. It had been started by my suggestion and then her approval after a week. It was a pain in the ass, but I could have convinced her to switch on her lamp while I was in balcony. The yellow light of the room was converting her to an angle in pajamas laying down on the bed. After a while, we started to talk with the phone as well during our nightly hidden dates from distance.

She moved from C2 building when I was 16. She stopped calling me after 2 months, when she had been informed that I was flirting with a 17 years old girl who was kind of her first enemy in the building. She was so jealous of S from the beginning that she couldn't have stopped teasing her; although S was always respecting her at least for being 3 years older. But she had an advantage for me that S didn't have. She was one year older than me and that was the main reason of my attraction toward her. I was so passionate to discover an older girl. So I sold S to her. The last time S cried on the phone and she told me that I have to select one of them, either her or that old witch and I replied her that I have to think. She hanged the phone immediately.

She had never called back again. 6 months after I heard that her parents had sent her to France to study in a private art high school in Paris and we completely lost contact and it was the time that I terribly had missed her. The new girl that I had been flirting, ended up 1 month after S last phone call with a 20 years old guy who was the Don-Juan of the whole West County.

The new owner of S room used to close the curtains in the night. After 6 months, I was again in the balcony but this time staring at the closed curtains and imagining her marble body in a room which was occupied by a 7 years old kid.

This kid is now 21 and he is a friend of my brother's ex-girlfriend. My brother told me in July 2007 during my last travel back home , that he heard about S through his ex-girlfriend. Apparently, She is not any more back home but no one knows where she is. She had no way but to flee.

During these years that the 7 years old kid has passed to become the new Don-Juan of Shahrak-e-gharb, I have been looking in the other people's house wherever I have been living. Up to 10th June 2007, I completely had forgotten the origin of my anti-social behavior, the day that I dreamt S just in few minutes that I could have slept.

2.

The room was so simple and a bit dark. Apart from a simple desk, simple bed and a simple jar was nothing in the room. It was early November and it was already snowing....No one was in the room apart from her picture in an antique frame.

3.

She turned to the main street. The street was full of cars and people. She was going to see the room, but she didn't know that up to the time that she saw the corner cafe.

It was long time ago, when she was still young and slim. She was still junior student with lots of hopes and emotions and more over, she had been starting to have a feeling, something mysterious and strong.

He used to play in the corner cafe on Fridays from 6 to 12 which was mostly continued till 2 AM. He was 28 young post-grad musician from NYU, but she didn't know that up to the last time that they've met. It was no necessity for knowing that. For her it was not a big deal if he was a big name or just an unknown Banjo player.

Later on, she has realized that it had been indeed important.

Their meetings were so simple. She was going there all Fridays alone, listening to the music and ignoring men who were flirting with her. She was always the first and the last customer. When the owner was locking the door she was already in the musician arms, going to his place and in the morning when he was opening the place he knew that he is going to see them twisted together waiting for the cafe to be opened.

The Sunday breakfasts were always free.

She looked inside from the window. The picture of the fat owner was in a jazzy frame over the bar with a black ribbon on its left hand side.

She remembered the last time that she met him. It was Friday but the NYU musician was not there. He didn't have a clue either, up to the time that he received a phone call from his mom informing them that he can't make it today because he should meet up with an improtant friend.

- Did she tell you the name?
- Well, I didn't really hear the name. It was something starting with S. Sam?, Sal? I don't really know.
- OK, See you later.
- You haven't finished your coffee.
- Next time
- If there is any

She went out without looking back. The fat owner was trying to memorize her steps, because he has no hope of seeing them again.

She has never realized that.

4.

The room was so simple and a bit dark. Apart from a simple desk, simple bed and a simple jar was nothing in the room. It was early November and it was already snowing....No one was in the room apart from herself and her son’s picture in a cheap plastic frame. She was fixing the holes on his T-shirt with a red S on it.

The boy had a same T-shirt on, in the picture.

5.

When I woke up, Yannis was still sleeping and maybe still is...

I was walking to my office when I remembered the last time, few days ago, when I had remembered S but in the reality and more over in my neighborhood through a random house watching: I saw her when I was looking into her room. She was naked, in front of the mirror. It was early November but it was not snowing.

After some minutes, she switched off her lamp.

The cold british night was flavored with fireworks and huge BANG BANG in the sky, which completely destroyed the Banjo sound from Barrie's house.

I carried on walking. She slept and I think the empty frame on her desk did the same.

Butterfly effect

2007-10-30T00:41:00.000Z

It happens all the time in a same way...A simple glance, a simple touch, a simple smile and then something fly in your stomach...I've been told that they are butterflies from long time ago, when I was a little child...

When I was old enough to confront with my dad, my mom always used to tell me "Take the things as serious as their simplicity"...On that moment, definitely, I was upset for something; so I was shouting at her that she is not wise enough to understand the situation...she was (again for sure) leaving me and I was (100%) lighting a cigarette, smoking it in front of my window and swearing at every single, fucking simple thing in my world and sometimes in her world as well...

It was one of these days. The same conversation with my mom, but that time was with more flavour. I broke her heart and it happened as simple as breaking a plate while washing it. Based on my mom's logic, it should have been quite tough for her; and I've just discovered that it had been indeed...

Years have passed and non of us even remember this romantic story anymore and I am getting on quite well with my dad. It has became a part, a code of our past (sort of unconsciousness) as simple as forgetting the plate that you broke while washing it...But although it is forgotten, sometimes you might dream the plate in such an incredibly symbolic way that your psychotherapist can finally manage to find enough evidences to diagnose your deep Odip complex...

Meanwhile, I've heard again my mom's sentence and even more, I have told it to some rare people that I've loved; but it was something again in common...I've been told and I have told this sentence in a very simple, pure, genuine way that at least (let just talk about myself) I was so serious about telling it...

It was one of these days. The same conversation with a beloved one, and I was mature enough to tell it in its simplest way. I do remember it now cause I just broke a couple of glasses while washing the whole god-damn mess in this kitchen...

We have to make a cleaning router in this shit hole and allow smoking just in front of the window...

Words

2007-10-28T18:46:00.001Z

The Eskimos live among ice all their lives but has no single word for ice. (Man: The first Million Years: By M.F. Ashley Montagu)

When I went to the bathroom, it was just after Andy's shower. The room was full of steam. I opened the window and cleaned the surface of the mirror by my towel. I looked at the mirror and see how my face was again blurred by the water vapors and remained nothing than a phrase in the mirror. A silver-covered frozen image of "That was me". I got scared because it was nobody in the mirror. Without an image in the mirror, who am I? Who do I look like? Am I acceptable? Am I right?

Another phrase came to my mind. I remembered again the most disgusting phrase that I've been told in my life: "I haven't..."

- No, I don't want it again. I can't bear it, I can't...

I cleaned the mirror again by the towel in my hand to see my lost image in the mirror. But it didn't work: no one was in in the mirror. Maybe the towel is not mine. What is mine? As far as I don't know who I am, nothing can belong to me. A towel without belongingness is not a towel anymore. Or let say if it is a towel, it is useless in the hands of nobody.

I looked around. The room was absolutely fogy, much more than before. I couldn't have seen anything. I was so scared. My heart bit was increasing. Everything was so white, like the eyes of a dead body. Actually my surrounding was nothing than white pathway, a mysterious way to ultimate darkness

- I need a mirror. I need a mirror...My voice vanished in the whiteness of the room.

I felt that I had died and I believed that I had done so.

- Mr. A., How are you? No problem. Everything is alright. We are here for help. We are just like a family here. You are like my brother. I told to Andy before. That's why he closed the window. Mr. A., I could have just heard your voice and I ran up because I thought my brother was in trouble... you were shouting. I know, I know. I should have also told you not to open the window. We are fixing the boiler in the garden. It was making too much steam… that's why I told Andy to close the window. Ha ha ha...But why did you shout? Ha? Too much studying? Mr A. even too much sex is not good for your health. But you are OK, Aren't you? Do you want a drink?...

He was continuing non stop and I was not hearing anymore. I hardly remembered the incident which seems to be so far in time-space coordinate. I remembered again that I was A. and I am going to be A. That's good news. But what was that image in the mirror? Who was that scary portrait of nothingness, a fading hope of existence?

I got up with a terrible headache. I looked at the mirror. There was no mirror. The floor was full of glassy particles.

- Oh, Mr. A. Your feet are bleeding. Hold on…Hold on...Andy, Andy...

Mr. Singh was shouting and jumping up and down.

I took a look to the drops of bloods coming out of my toes. The mirror was completely smashed and the frightening image was mixed with the drops of bloods on the floor. I had such a sweet pain in my toes. A crimson pain proving that I am still the one that I used to be: with the same towel, with the same housemates and the same landlord.

Now Mr. Singh is not here. He left and I gave him the rent one day earlier. The house is calm again and I am listening to Joy Division and thinking about the incident happened today.

"I have no escape from my past"...

[My feet are injured badly, but I don't need to go to hospital, not at all...]

"The past is the route to my future".

[Such a nightmare it was. Ah…But it passed, like all the nightmares. I am looking to my credit card. It is also proving that I am A. and I will be A. at least up to expiry date of this card]

"And now is just an illusion".

But unfortunately I have to pass it to realize...