SIGHEH
مشدی کاملاً گیج شده بود. عطرتن دختره تمام فضای بقالی را پر کرده بود.
مشدی عباد اندکی در خود فرو رفت. 15 میلیون پول زیادی بود. ولی وقتی به یاد گل چهره افتاد، دوباره سینه اش آتش گرفت. سرش را پائین انداخت و چشمانش را بست. قباد منتظر ایستاد. مشدی عباد به روی خودش نیاورد. قباد این بار با متانت خاصی قدم پیش گذاشت و گفت: میروم با گل چهره بر گردم. یک تاکسی برایمان بگیر تا برویم منزل تو. البته من وسط راه پیاده می شوم. ولی ... سکوتی برقرار شد. مشدی خوب میدانست که قباد میخواهد موضوع پول حل و فصل شود. مشدی عباد با مهارت یک بازاری مکار از صحبت در باره پول واهمه داشت. خودش را به کوچه علی چپ زد
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GHOST
We were told that her house was the primary residence of Jens and their immediate families
My ominous association with ghosts goes back to my early childhood years. Aunt Sedighe my father’s youngest sister lived in Shoushtar, one of the oldest cities in the world, dating back to Achaemenian dynasty (400 BC). Shoushtar used to be the winter capital of Sassanian dynasty and it was built by the Karoun River. The river was channeled to form a trench around the city. A subterranean system called ghanats connected the river to the private reservoirs of houses and buildings, supplied water during times of war when the main gates were closed. The ruins of these ghanats still exist and one was connected to Aunt Sedighe’s house where my cousins and I explored if we dared to
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POETRY
بعد از آن سودابه آمد سوی شاه / گلرخش سرخ و کمند مو سیاه
در بخش اول از دو بخش این داستان به این جا رسیدیم که شاه هاماوران (یمن) راضی به ازدواج دخترش سودابه با کیکاوس پادشاه قدرتمند ایران نیست چون با این ازدواج دختر یکدانه اش برای همیشه از پیش او دور خواهد شد. ابتدا این دو نفر را با هم روبرو می کند به این امید که سودابه کاوس را نپسندد و راضی به ازدواج با او نشود ولی بر خلاف میل او سودابه و کاوس شاه یکدیگر را می پسندند و شاه هاماور کینه جویانه نقشهء شومی می کشد. پس از مراسم ازدواج این دو، شاه یمن از کیکاوس می خواهد تا برای تفریح و شکار هفته ای به صحرا و کوهستان بروند
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HOLY
Photo essay: Pilgrimage site of Zoroastrians
by
msabaye >>>
IRANIANS
The worse thing that has happened these thirty years is that Iranians have become callous
One middle aged man, came back recently from Iran, I saw him at the July 25th protest here in our town where less people showed up than at my friend’s birthday party. Like many others that day he was wearing a cap, big sunglasses and scarf to hide his face, he stood way back and did not repeat any chants or slogans, he boasted to me of chasing plain clothes men on motorbikes during the recent protests in Iran. I thought to myself: how can this guy, who worked for the foreign ministry under the Shah, who covers himself so much here in the safety of Place Massena, have had the courage to go chasing motor-biker bassijis in Tehran?
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ONLINE
زندگی سیاسی و اجتماعی ما، چه این اعتراضات ادامه بیابد یا به زیرزمین کشیده شود، بدون فیس بوک، یوتیوب و تویتر قابل تصور نیست
با اینکه فیس بوک هیچ گاه شمار اعضایش را در یک کشور اعلام نمی کند اما دو قرینه نشان می دهدکه این سایت در طول بهار 88 محبوب ترین سایت ایرانیان در داخل کشور بوده است، نخست انتشار گزارشی از تعاملات جهانی در شبکه فیس بوک که در مقایسه با فصل مشابه در سال قبل نشان دهنده رشد شگفت انگیز استقبال از فیس بوک در ایران بود... اما این سوال که چرا ناگهان مسئولان سانسور در ایران که در همان حال حتی از فیلتر کردن وبلاگ هایی که کمترین نشانه اعتراض در آن موجود بود نیز نمی گذشتند، سایتهایی چون فیس بوک و یوتیوب را آزاد کردند؟ برای پاسخ به این سوال ابتدا نشانه هایی از استفاده عوامل اطلاعاتی حکومت برای ردیابی، رصد و مانیتورینگ نیروهای شاخص مخالف یا روزنامه نگاران یافت شد
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PERCEPTIONS
Does every Middle Eastern man have to be a wife beater in their stories?
On one of my recent trips to the Middle East, a friend and a business associate, Hesam, invited me over to his house for dinner. I eagerly accepted. The dinner was plentiful, the host and the hostess extremely gracious, and as the tradition goes, some relatives, including Hesam's parents and his wife’s two sisters and their husbands, were also present. Everyone was dressed in western-style clothing except my host, who was wearing a long while dishdasha. The house was sumptuously furnished with European sofas and chairs, artworks from the surrounding Gulf countries, expensive Persian rugs, and lavish, beautiful curtains, which dressed the bay windows that faced the Persian Gulf across the street
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MOTHER
Where's my humor when I need it the most?
Humor and practicality have been my safety net through life’s ups and downs, especially the downs. Years ago, I used my imaginative mind to change those wasted summers of youth at my father’s farms into an education. While my older sister nagged incessantly about the unfairness of missing the city fun, I took the three months of life in Abbas Abad as a learning experience and tried my hands on a few native skills: field work, tending to livestock and weaving baskets. During school, whenever I came across a subject too difficult to memorize, I made lyrics out of such subjects as the table of elements, names of fossils, or human nerve passages
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POETRY
To unlock the lock, I must endure this pain,
To harness the journey’s craft, I must negotiate with
The stones on this path,
To kill the monsters, I must be willing to die first
And then watch how my ashes shall rise against
Another day's sunrise.
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POETRY
by Mohammad Javid
در كمال صحت و عقل و شعور
خالي از هرگونه جبر و ضرب و زور
مي نمايم نزد مردم اعتراف
تا شوم از درد وجدانم معاف
عامل اخراج آدم از بهشت
كشتن هابيل وصدها كار زشت
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HUMILIATION
History of rape in Iranian prisons
Raping a man is a definitive act of callousness which breaks his spirit and completely drains him from self respect and worthiness. It so badly screws up the man’s mental state that “overthrowing a government” will be the last thing on his shit-list. A man with no self-worth is no danger to society. That’s why addicts are considered no threat to countries’ national security. The acts of gang rape in Iranian prisons should not come as a shock to anybody. I’m baffled at how Iranians act so staggered about this everyday occurrence.
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BAHAI
For my child, the excitement of the back-to-school month is one filled with great fear, disappointment and grief
by Samandar Mishkibaf
I call out to you… to those of you who enjoy utmost liberty in your lands … those of you who have the freedom to register your child at any time, at any school, and to send him/her off to acquire knowledge of all that she/he desire… To those of you who sit back in your armchairs at day’s end and give ear to the news of the world … such news as is meant to inform you of patrol resources and of its price fluctuation in the world market … of the rise and fall of stock from this firm and that factory… or of rocket-science research and countries that have developed nuclear power
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STORY
He nods, picks up his cup and walks inside the café. Before I know it he is at my table.
As soon as a nice coffee shop opens up around here, hordes of Gucci knock-offs and disaster nose jobs descend and take away the ambiance. August in LA is stifling. I need to get out. If you drive west on Highway 101 towards Santa Barbara and take the State Street exit, the road twists and turns through the mountains and eventually brings you, in the middle of nowhere, to a slice of Scandinavia – a place that goes by the name of Solvang. Patisseries, ice cream parlors and cafés abound. Once there, it is quite possible to think that one has died and gone to java heaven
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