Judge-Vahid©2002-Odense

ANAGRAMS (14)

Hexagonal WOW!

There is a Worm-eaten, Wooden WindoW in the back of my tongue's WidoWerhood, opened to the melancholic revenge of your eyes sunk in deep ocean of Wooziness.

ANAGRAMS (13)

God is lost in the outskirt of Human knowledge.

"People ask me if I play modern music and I say yes, I play Bach."
-Misha Maisky

Sex is like a piece of cloth that gets smaller and smaller as you wash it each time.

ANAGRAMS (12)

[Ultimate Home ]

One day
All of us will arrive home
With our mothers' shadows upon us
Weeping on a piece of stone.

ANAGRAMS (11)

Last night
For the first time
I shared my bed with my soul
There was only one blanket
Which I gave it to my soul
And when I got up in the morning
I had caught cold.

Just shit. Deep shit. Look what the fuck these "liberated" people have done with their own country. For years I asked many of my Iraqi friends whether they believed Iraq could still remain a country without Sadam. Even though he is said to be the "bad guy". No body had an answer. Here it is; This is the answer!

Read it in Persian

Comments

"Asked later if he liked rough trade, Francis {Bacon}said "Yes, and marride men too".

-D. Farson, The Gilded Gutter Life of Francis Bacon, p. 39

"You are either with us or against us".
- G. W. Bush

"He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters".
- New Testament, Mattew, 12/13

It sounds that the world is really ruled by true Christians!

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God".
-New Testament, Matthew, 5/9

"The only chance for peace is readiness to war".
-Tony Blair

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P.S. 2 Parvane H. 35-year-old from Iran. Entered and applied for asylum in Denmark and was rejected grant for asylum. She was asked by the Danish authority to leave the country by March 17, 2003. But she just began to leave hidden in Denmark, as many rejected refugees do. One of her friend, S. says that she was seeking asylum because she was a Bahaie. Police says sha had taken lots of pills and that what killes her on the way to the hospital.

P.S. I just heared that She has killed herselfe out of the camp but somewhere called Vivj Sjaeland and she passed away in Roskilde Hospita. Her friends who were in the hospital and the police station say that she was rejected asylum and was going to be deported. Some say that she killed herself because of some personal problem with her boyfriend. So it DID NOT happend in Fasan and therefore has nothing to do with the Red Cross. I'll write more.

SUICIDE IN THE REFUGEE CAMP
An Iranian asylum seeker has committed suicide in the Danish Red Cross refugee camp, Fasan last Friday. It has been said that she had taken many pills and was dead as she was brought to the hospital. I will follow the story and write more here about it. I hope this time it is not going to be the same as the other time when a guy from Armenia hung himself in another refugee camp called Kongelunden about a month ago and none of the Danish media said even a word about it. Danish Red Cross is disgustingly trying to keep quite in such cases. Although they are responsible for taking care of refugees whom have to live in the camps.

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According to the libration of Iraqis, gifted by the United States of America, people have got the chance to steal and distroy everything. I saw a picture of a guy taking a computer from a hospital. I am thinking to myself how nice it would be if the USA could come and librate us down here in Denmark; You know I badly need a computer!

حافظ به روايت احمد شاملو

I never knew such a marvelious site could exist on the web. It is a lovely great opportunity at least for me whoes books are left back home-probably being food of mice now-to read Hafez's. Thanks to Shahrouz Nabati for the link. I'll be writing on it when I check it out.

آخرالزمون

دستی به زير ِ دامن ِ حقير ِ دلبندم
آه!
آنک يکی مچاچنگ!

In my Web Gallery I had quoted a paragraph from G. Green's The quite American and then found a very similar paragraph by Eugene Ionesco which is lovely!

"To be free, to be outside of History, not to be part of the order of the
world, not to be an instrument in the orchestra or a note in the symph-
ony. Not to be onstage. To see and hear everything from the audiences
if one were outside the universe. If we are onestage, if we are part of the
orchestra, we hear only the tumult, we are aware only of the dissonances."

--Eugene Ionesco, Present Past, Past Present, p.51

شنيده شد قاضي «سعيد مرتضوي» بورس ادامه تحصيل خود را در كانادا گرفته و به زودي عازم اين كشور مي‌شود. Ruydad

So I guess we gotta go to Iran now!!!

پايگاه اطلاع رساني فرهنگستان زبان و ادب فارسي

ANAGRAMS (2)

The simple secret of my victorious fate is
That I am always defeated
When it comes to glory.

The Godfather

He had said "No!" But Mahbube had insisted: "Look how cute she is", and she had that stare in her eyes, that made it harder than ever to say no. "By the way, when did you turn into such a traditional-minded man, you Mr. formerly-intellectual-now-wishing-a-son?"
Wish he'd only been a traditionalist. Wish he'd only become. Wish...
The principal of the orphanage agreed that it is harder to take care of a girl. "Hajji Sir" said Mahbube, "If a boy look at our daughter we'll sort him out, we'll even kill him" and she laughed out loudly.
She is definitely sitting somewhere right now, weeping and lamenting, "I'll kill him"
He had said "No!" But no, Mahbube was not a woman to give in. She did not understand. All through the last fifteen years, she could not understand, did not want to understand. And now she understands. What an understanding! Wish she had not understood it at all - now that it is too late.
Golnaz badly is scared. It seems as if she is just beginning to understand what she has done. What they have done.
"Dad, where do you think Mum is now?"
"Don't call me Dad!"
She too breaks into tears. Everybody is crying. Wish he could cry too. Wish he had wept then, fifteen years ago. Wish he had said his "No" with crying. Crying might have helped to explain. Crying is always an aid for talking, explaining, convincing. Just as Mahbube by crying had convinced him to take Golnaz home; to accept her; to let her be their daughter. Not to be "your private whore, you dirty horny animal" as Mahbube said, and then left.
And now Mahmud cries too. But in vain. What has been done is done. Now, not even crying can help. Wish God had never created crying. Wish God hadn't created anything.


translated from Persian.

پدرخوانده

گفته بود: "نه!". ولی محبوبه اصرار کرده بود: "ببين چه نازه" و طوری نگاه کرده بود که نه گفتن سخت تر از هميشه شده بود. "بعدش هم شما از کی سنتی شدی آقای ِ روشنفکر ِ سابق که حالا دلت پسر خواسته؟"
کاش سنتی بود. کاش شده بود. کاش ... مدير ِ پرورشگاه هم با اين نظر موافق بود که مراقبت از دختر سخت تر است. محبوبه گفت: "حاج آقا هر پسری نگاه ِ بد بندازه به دخترمون، خودمون شيکمشو سفره می کنيم؛ اصلا ً می کشيمش" و غش غش خنديده بود
و حالا حتما ً دارد جايی هق هق گريه می کند. "می کشمش".
گفته بود: "نه!". ولی نه، محبوبه دست بردار نبود. نفهميد. در تمام ِ اين پانزده سال نتوانست بفهمد. نخواست که بفهمد. و حالا فهميده است. چه فهميدنی! کاش اصلا ً نفهميده بود حالا؛ حالا که ديگر کار از کار گذشته.
گلناز بدجوری ترسيده. انگار تازه کم کم دارد می فهمد که چه کرده است؛ چه کرده اند.
"بابا حالا فکر می کنی مامان کجاست؟"
"به من نگو بابا!"
گلناز هم می زند زير ِ گريه. همه گريه می کنند. کاش او هم می توانست. کاش همان پانزده سال پيش گريه کرده بود. کاش با گريه گفته بود که چرا "نه". شايد گريه کمک اش می کرد تا توضيح بدهد. گريه هميشه کمکی ست برای ِ
حرف زدن، برای ِ فهماندن، برای ِ اقناع. همان طور که محبوبه گريه کنان قانع اش کرده بود تا گلناز زا بياورند خانه؛ که بپذيردش؛ که دخترشان شود. نه "سوگلی ی ِ رختخواب ِ تو حيوون ِ حشری ی ِ کثافت" که محبوبه گفت و رفت.
و حالا محمود هم گريه می کند. ولی چه فايده. ديگر کار از کار گذشته. حالا حتا گريه هم ديگر کمک نمی کند. کاش خدا گريه را نيافريده بود. کاش خدا هيچ چيز را نيافريده بود.

April 6, 2003
Ejby
Vahid©2003

An English Translation of this short story can be find here.

"Because of the violation [of Times policy], Walski, a Times photographer since 1998, has been dismissed from the staff."
A matter of ethic and photojournalism; Read more and see the pix.

P.S. Now I thought for a few days. I can't help saying that the "altered" photo is a beter one than the two original ones!!

آينه ای شکست؛ چشم ِ ما روشن!

کاوه گلستان هم مُرد. اين يکی به ديگر ِ مرگ ها شباهتی نداشت. کاوه گلستان پايش بر روی ِ مين رفت و کشته شد. ياد ِ بهرام بيضايی می افتم که می گفت روزگاری رسم بر اين بود که همه می گفتند اگر فلانی نويسنده ی ِ خوبی ست پس چرا ساواک دستگيرش نمی کند؟!
ما سال ها کاوه گلستان را متهم کرديم که چرا هنوز زنده است؛ چرا جمهوری ی ِ اسلامی کلکش را نمی کند و از شرش راحت نمی شود! و نتيجه می گرفتيم که "خُب حتما ً اين بابا اطلاعاتی ست!" بله ما؛ که دوستانش هم بوديم. گويی اين همه سماجت را نمی شد باور کرد. نمی شود. اما او به ما آموخت که سماجت دلداه گی ست. چه باک اگر اين دلداده گی تصويرگر ِ چيزی جز زشتی نباشد. کاوه گلستان تصويرگر ِ زشتی های ِ ما بود، تصويرگر ِ خون و زخم و عفونت، تصويرگر ِ درد و توهين و گم گشته گی، شناعت و شقاوت و حماقت و کثافتی که زنده گی ی ِ ماست. زنده گی ای که همه به نحوی در صدد ِ پنهان کردن اش هستيم.
کاوه گلستان زنده گی را عريان تر از آنکه بتوان تحمل و باور کرد در برابرمان گذاشت. دريغا که جهان کور است و نديد: آن فاحشه ی ِ تنها را در کنج ِ اتاق ِ محزون ِ شهر ِنو. و نديد: آن همه اعدام را در کردستان. و نديد: سلول های ِ خفقان را در اوين. آن پناهنده ی ِ افغان ِ تشنه لب را که لب ِ مرز با تيپا رانده شد. آن آسايشگاهی که بيمارانش را به تخت زنجير می کرد. آن خاکی که تن ِ محمد ِ مختاری را در خود کشيد و شرم نکرد. جسد ِ عريان ِ خمينی را بر خاک ِ بهشت ِ زهرا. خشم و اشک ِ انقلاب و شادی ِ زودگذر ِ پيروزی را. ناله ی ِ مادران داغ ديده را بر گورهای ِ دسته جمعی. اين جهان نديد: قربانيان ِ بمباران ِ شيميايی را. قتل و تهديد و توحش را. نه حتا آن رفتگری را که با موسيقی ی ِ بتهون آشغال جمع می کرد. اگر ديده بود شايد کاوه هنوز زنده بود.
کاوه گلستان سال ها در يک قدمی ی ِ حادثه، حقيقت ِ موحش ِ اين جهان را از دهان ِ کثيف ِ واقعيت قاپيد و به تصوير کشيد.و حال او يک بار ِ ديگر ددمنشی ی ِ اين عصر ـ که مدرن اش می خوانيم ـ را به تصوير کشيده است. اما اين بار نه بر قطعه ای کاغذ يا بر صفحه ی ِ تلويزيون، بلکه با مرگ ِ خود؛ و رفت تا انتهای ِ ذهن ما آن جا که بر پرده ی ِ غمگين ِ خاطره ديگرنمی شود تصوير ِ گامی که بر روی ِ يک مين فرود می آيد را پاک کرد. آن مين ِ لعنتی به شماره ی ِ زشتی هايی که کاوه ديگر نخواهد توانست ثبتشان کند، منفجر خواهد شد و زشتی خواهد زائيد.
تلفن زنگ می زند. گوشی را بر می دارم. کاوه است. مثل ِ هميشه می گوييد که بايستی برای ِ تهيه ی ِ گزارش به جايی برود و عذرخواهی می کند که مجبور است باز قرار ِ ملاقاتمان را لغو کند.
با صدای ِ مهيب ِ انفجار از خواب می پرم. گزارش تهيه شده است: " کاوه گلستان کشته شد." اما کاوه اين بار هيچ تصويری از اين حادثه در دوربين اش ندارد. و من مانده ام با بغضی تلخ در گلو که کاش کاوه ی ِ ديگری بود برای ِ ثبت ِ اين زشتی ای که متاسفانه آخرين نيست. نخواهد بود.

Fisrt published on Gooya.

P.S. I was just sending a group e-mail few minutes ago (April 7th) and as I was choosing the adresses I reached Kaveh's. I selected it; Surprisingly remembered he is dead now; So I deselected it; Thought a minute and again selected and sent the e-mail. So he has the e-mail now!

ANAGRAMS (1)

Human beings make me sick
I do not want to be one of us
I just want to fly.

شرور معروف كرج، سوار بر الاغ در خيابان هاي شهر گردانده شد"."
كيهان

I am sick and tired of news, of Internet, of the war and everything. It is creepy and unbearable. Half of the world is involved in the shit, the other half is asleep!

P.S. It's not only me!

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