Crying Under Sheep Placenta

"Regrets are a waste of time. They're the past crippling you in the present." says a light-soul-actress with a thick faux fur around her neck partially covering her bare chest...

I consider myself lucky, by the way, to live in the age of camera. Lots of faux lives parade before my eyes constantly reminding me of the life itself and that there are magic moments in each day, maybe more some days, just like this epiphany received in a most awkward situation:

While trying to prove that spring stopped by my face, under a facial mask made of sheep placenta, it actually settled in my heart replacing some tears that had long been waiting for a rendezvous with my eyes.

Yes, there is a giggling truth in this!  Cashmere touch of an unexpected rush of joy...

The idea of letting go of everything and realizing the real, naked beauty of life, the universe, the creation lightens me up.

There is a refreshing manifestation in this!

A newborn baby with plump lips,
tulip petals, wild strawberries and

submission...

 

Oriental Spring

Like an old Arabic song elevating in the air
Along with spice market humming
The earth takes off its pelerine here

Imagining bouquets of lilacs
How I wish to see you in my dreams
At least

Emir's Mediterranean Cafe - Part 3

Elma fastened her eyes on Emir's adamsapple, still trying to catch her breath. And he started to uncover his medium rare idea after swallowing his palate's juice rushed suddenly into his mouth:

"Okay, what was I saying? Yes! We'r gonna rock guys, this cafe's gonna turn into a temple!"

Calcuta crossed his arms, the Chef shifted his weight to the other leg and rolled his eyes, Elma didn't move.

"A camera right there (pointing with his index finger, through the beaded curtain, at a dark corner inside), on all day long, for an entire week! how about that?" his eyes scanned everyone's faces to find sparks of excitement: "I will send the recording to the producer of that famous tv show with this weird name, gibbs or gibbos whatever". "Waning Gibbous" corrected Calcuta playing with the soon-to-be-lit cigarette in his hand. "Yes, that shit!..Imagine guys, if they like the atmosphere and what we go through they might shoot a few episodes here!"

 

The Chef started to rub his chin. Elma had already eaten the strawberry gloss off her lips when the old lady, a regular customer, sitting at the table behind the mac guy called her name with a piercing voice: "Elmaaaaa, pour some tea for me, pleeeeaase" and song#7 started: Petit Pays by Cesaria Evora.
 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbN8bk9ljQw

Interactive Media: The New Mic

Human rights petitions, environment polls, anti-war / pro-peace campaigns, shared quotes to inspire one another,  humanitarian solidarity acts, rallies against rape and gender-based violence, anti-corruption movements...These occupy our minds and lives a great deal in recent years. The nature of civil reaction /resistence/interference has dramatically changed parallel to the technological progress.

 

Now, the themes circulating in global wires have a touch of goodwill, a cool rebellion, caused by the feeling of togetherness, connectedness and common destiny. Even ideological messages, which are still being exchanged extensively, are envelopped by this wave of trans-ideological, trans-religious verbal and imagery pokes that almost create the feeling of "rectifying the world".  A brave, perhaps beyond its depth, rhetoric baked everyday collectively and effortlessly by millions of "users" whips the creamy world agenda.

 

Internet, particularly social media, is the primary tool and medium for connecting, participating and recording where people easily and rapidly react to anything that bothers them and find many who share the same sentiment or thought as theirs. Any individual can start a cause or action that snowballs and becomes one of the "public" voices. Easy access to information, ideas and thoughts makes individuals more opinionated on almost everything compared to the past. "Sharing" itself, as a contemporary urge, is oftentimes more significant than that which is shared.

 

Everyone grabs a virtual microphone, shares stuff, retunes the global vibe and creates a realm beyond politics. More personalization feeds the sense of collectivity, isn't it ironic! Individuals probably feel belittled before the incredible number of "users" and at the same time they constantly construct their personal identities and value systems as they share, which makes them feel big. Again: Isn't it ironic!

 

Well, it's all good...

A deliberate resistence to despair

Neither winter wants to leave us nor am I ready for the summer this year. An infelicitous pain in my lower back, tiring dreams and slacking days...world peace doesn't seem to be achieved yet and I feel I'm floating, it feels like all is floating. Rusty tea taste in my mouth.. trying to blow away the worries, naughty little hooks, in the air, around my head. And two people in my head, two voices in fact... one asks knowingly: "so, what do you wanna be/do when you grow up", the other whistles: "life is still, deliberately beautiful".

Happiness is a laughter away, or a new fragrance, or a dimple..

Cheers!

Again

Oh, how I miss writing, making paper planes and throwing them into the air one by one..

Hope to come back soon...

Secret Chiefs

"that's it...the end of the silky expectations and some melodical moments , don't know how manyth time, of the magical synchronization waving in the air like blue kites..." said Esmeralda while she removed her shiny laughters and hung them above the fireplace where the fire had been put out by some careless bastard.

"Open the deaf chest over there and pick up a warm blanket you have saved for bad winters like this, put some Chaplin movie and pretend that it never happened, was just a dream.." whispered the chimney...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYiESrCDOuo

Persian Dreams

first drizzling, slow and coy

it's the flirting clouds

then splashing even screaming

in delirium

manifesting being alive

it's the waters of the earth

someone picking strawberries

someone being served their juice

some trees growing more wrinkles

manifesting being alive

I am seeing Sohrab in dream

A sweet numbness that is

"didn't I tell you" says he

some waving hands

cold as winter leaves

some stretching smiles

warm as fireplace snaps

or fishermen whistles

first drizzling then splashing

"how many of them left"

I'm not the last

wondering

snow

calling out the cacoon once again

a loud silence

except for some distant music

once shared, to be held onto

once again

white storks carrying hope

from west to east

and vice versa

and me

to be remembered

by myself

once again

Marie has gone

Everytime I called her Marie
like her longgone love used to
she laughed and advised me to have a baby
also made me promise to tell her first
when I have someone to marry

now
her vase in the living room, flowerzgone
her smiling face, laughters
countless ditties linger
in the waters of our minds
grandmazgone