Hollywood’s war on terror

Wouldn’t it be funny if one day, when all our current political concerns have vanished into the mist of time, we are brought back to life and judged by disheveled archaeologists whose faces are layered with dust? How would we fare if they used our filmography to divine our collective mind the way we use cuneiform tablets to guess at the zeitgeist of the ancient Sumerians? The answer to that question would depend on which shelf of footage is exposed in the dig. We would do quite well if our judges relied on Hollywood’s critique of the American posture at the outset of the 21st century >>>

The man who would be King

There was even a Café on Takht-e-Jamshid called the Havarti Café, I believe, which had a fern grotto and waterfall inside it. You could step in out of the heat, the hustle and the bustle of traffic and noise and there inside was this quiet secret little world. There were other magical restaurants like this as well such as Xanadu and Serena. The latter had a big buffet set up indoors and then you carried your plate out into a fairyland of a garden with landscape lighting softly up lighting the bushes and trees and fountains quietly making it dreamlike in the moonlight…. with the tables and chairs sprinkled about on the grass>>>

Death & Revolution

A death-worshiper sees death as the only solution to all problems of life, and his permanent war cry is, "Kill or be killed." We find death worship not only in the desire of the people for martyrdom but also in the methods and slogans of their struggle and sources of their inspiration during the 1978-79 Revolution in Iran. Especially, when the clergy who officiate the ceremony of death become politically active and after the "outside the zone" movement in Summer 1978 and "the nights of poetry" in Fall of the same year, gradually take the leadership of the revolution>>>

In our face

Human mind, that wondrous grey matter housed perspicacity, given time, has the uncanny flexibility to acclimate to almost any horror it encounters. It is a defense mechanism that the mind through rationalization, beguiling trivialization, begrudging justification or an outright denial preserves some semblance of sanity and avoids what is loosely termed ”loosing it”. The operating factor for this innate mechanism is time. Ingrained value system need time to adjust and go though a series of steps. The fuse box of mind trips and reboots with a higher threshold for yet more horrendous events to be pacified- all along tweaking that which is the essence of what is generally labeled human values>>>

He's not that stupid

I'm a little bit late on this subject, but having in mind the nature of the subject, and that its participant, Mr Ahmadinejad, is still in power, it is not late at all to have another glance. Either this man is crazy, or he is just an idiot (which one is worse for a president?!) is a matter for psychologists to discover. I think all he wishes is to gain some fame while it lasts. Iranian presidents aren't really powerful after-all. I don't think he is so stupid. He is simply playing the outrageous because he doesn't have anything to lose. So, let's go through the statements that made him famous>>>

To Mr. Plasterk

Iranian students are banned
to learn technology
that can
give them the knowledge
of nuclear science.
Discrimination?
"Noooo..." they say!
"It's just precaution"

>>>

Mind it!

Although there are many reasons we should believe that Iranians are very bright, intelligent, and ambitious people as individuals, but based on my limited observation and in contrast to my usual way of thinking I respectfully have to admit that most of us are socially stupid. Forgive me! I try hard not to generalize since it is the generalization that is the root cause of our social stupidity. To know how I have reached to this conclusion I should go back and give you some background materials>>>

Leila and me

We talk about the Shah here all the time but we never talk about Leila. I wrote a poem about Leila once. It was exactly three years ago, at the time when I went under. I went under because of a Persian Male--one of those with eyes of Eternity and kohl, who oozed Hafez from every pore in veiled dank misty rivers. You know the type, but at the time I didn’t, and so I fell in love. And he fell out and I went under. Into a very dark place. And when I came back, I’d written this poem. Or this poem had written me>>>

فرهنگ عدم تحمل

25 سال از جان باختن منوچهرهلیل رودی (ابراهیم شفیعی) گذشت. منوچهر,همچون خلیل ملکی, اسحاق اپریم و دهها انسان آزاد اندیش و آزادیخواه دیگر , ازقربانیان ترور شخصیت در جنبش چپ میهنمان است , و دریغ و درد که آخرین قربانی نیزنیست. در سالگشت در گذشت منوچهر نگاهی گذرا به زندگی , و چرایی و چگونگی ترور شخصیت او می اندازیم , به این امید که این دست روشنگری ها تلنگری شوند برای آغاز دور ریختن اندیشه و رفتار پلشت " ترور شخصیت". >>>

‫آشنا

چشمام رنگ درخته
رنگ خاکه
‫رنگ همون دیاره
‫که سایه هاش از کهربایه
‫من و تو
‫تو که چشمات رنگ آبه

>>>

Mazatlan redux

Mid-December was the time in Mazatlan when the locals told you that the cold weather was not “seasonal.” The longer the cold persisted, however, the more incredulous that claim became. From the corridor just outside of my hotel room, the little cove secluded by the silhouette of the nearby isles shone in the peculiar maroon sunset. The ospreys hovered over in the fading blue patch of the sky. The clouds made the ocean unappealing. The beach vendors appeared disoriented. Their favorite customers, the tourists from the United States and Canada, submerged themselves in Jacuzzis and margaritas. The better part of valor was to explore the land. >>>