WAR
A short story about scuffle between famed peace activist and reactionary media
I first learned of Howard Zinn’s arrest by noticing his photo in
Boston Globe’s front page, next to the headline: famed historian, activist jailed for punching a man -- and knowing Howard’s life-time credential as a non-violent civil rights leader, I was naturally curious, to say the least, actually down right skeptical, and then, when I read the news story and discovered that the “victim” was a "distinguished" member of right-wing Fox TV, I allowed my suspicion a couple of notches down yet sufficiently in gear to warrant a healthy doubt about the veracity of the story – that Zinn had “attacked” him after a heated, accidental, exchange over wars in the Middle East.
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LIFE
I believe that pledge for justice differs from vengeance for bloodshed
No! I cannot forgive you. I was her husband and comrade, and now as an heir, I cannot shrug off this murder. Ask her to forgive you herself. Go to Infidel Cemetery and find her unmarked tomb by pacing eight steps from the gate and sixteen steps against the wall; call out her name; say that you regret killing her, and beg for her pardon. Perhaps after twenty-one years she will stand up again, rub her heavy eyelids, and look at you. You will notice the bullet wound in her chest, and remember that cold day in January, when the prisoners were brought forward, blindfolded. They were fifty-two individuals: two women and fifty men.
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TRAVELERS
Why are we burying tradition in favour of modernity and new fangled state-of-the-art minimalistic nonsense?
As the sliding doors of the airport opened, the steamy hot air hit me. The warm sun kissed my skin like a long lost friend. I had promised myself that I would try and visit a few countries I’d never been to before, rather than sticking to France, Italy and USA… and so I arrive in Cyprus. Larnaca airport to be exact. Our cocky cab driver was standing there, cigarette hanging from his lips… “Miss Ghayour?.. Ok, we go!” The 30 minute drive to the hotel was a journey filled with stories from the cab driver about his life, past trips to London and his Winter home in St Petersburg, Russia. Character and charm oozed from this new and strange place, but I had a good feeling about it and was excited to experience new things and new people
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STORY
ایرن ملکه برفهای ذهن من است. سرد است ولی گاهی هم با همان سرما مهربان می شود. به قول حافظ "عشق سرد"ی دارد
تا چشمم به او می افتد عقب عقب می روم و در جستجوی راه نجاتی هستم ولی فایده ای ندارد امروز با هم در یک طبقه و در یک محل هستیم و بایست کنار هم کار کنیم. یعنی خبر ندارد؟ خبر دارد؟ مگر می شود بی خبر باشد؟ ایرن مثل همیشه، مثل ملکه دانمارک پشت صندلی نشسته و مثل هر روز که روزنامه لوموند را از صفحه اول تا صفحه آخر می خواند، الان دارد کتابی را می خواند. یعنی او هنوز خبر ندارد که متعصبان مذهبی به خاطر چند تا کاریکاتور سفارت دانمارک در تهران را اشغال کرده اند؟ حالا من چکار کنم؟ بالاخره دل به دریا می زنم و بی خیال -انگار نه انگار - یک سلام می گویم و فوری پشت آن یکی میز می نشینم. همانطور که دارد کتاب میخواند با سر جوابم را می دهد.
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POETRY
تا ظلم ِ رفته دیگر به یادم نیاید
به کشف زبانی نو
در تو مینگرم.
به جستجوی گرمایی ازلی
در شيارهای زمین
بر تو دست میسایم
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