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October 19, 2005
I belong to you
I think to myself, Hey why not. The waters are quiet now, there a quiet breeze passing by. I can always find the sun, and know where the moon is. Why not. the planes are flying all over the world, and tired passengers are happy to get to their destinations. there are hands holding hands, there is love growing in some dimension somewhere. There are friends deep in discussion over the price of bread while sipping their teas. A girls lips is being kissed for the first time somewhere. There are cars being driven in crowded roads, and a boy is learning how to ride a horse for the first time. and eager hands of a Doctor somewhere is holding a new born baby.
It is not that complicated, It is simple. so let the birds go and cherish the depth of a sky. let the sun rise and the moon glow. Drink the water, eat the bread, and smile. there would not be another day like this to celebrate life. I envy the simplicity of his ways, his quiet knowing and his patience. I envy how he sees the blacks in all their severity and the whites in all their kindness. When the birds fly he turns his head, and watches them hurry to the end of the sky with wonder in his eyes. and I think I am so very lucky to know him, and learn from him.
Let's not lose the wonder, allow the kid to stay in play, and allow him another day of innocence. open the door and let the quiet spider to crawl out, allow it another day. and practice how to smile inside your head. There are angels every where, you just got to see them, and when you do they will touch you light as a feather, reaching as a knife in the water, soothing like love at its most quiet glorious moments.
Walk outside your life and take a look, a closer look at all you are getting and how much less you are giving and remember its the balance that brings peaceful sleep at night, the equilibrium of your trades. Ask for it, the same way you ask for sustenance, the same way you ask for water, ask for it and get it and in order to get it you will find you have to give, its an even trade that pays so high a dividend.
A close hand is only a fist, and open hand has many possibilities. The gate to you and all you feel, like open eyes, and open arms. ask for it, wanting is never enough, ask for it, its there for you to claim, close at hand. Hey why not?
I follow her with my eyes these days, touch her on her shoulder, kiss her arms, I call her, and smile, she become the mirror and smiles back, I hold her in my arms and hold a lamp in my hand and the light comes, that's the way I see it and it makes her smile. He fills my arms these days much more than ever and holds me closer, that is our space within our lives, inside each others arms. She can still sit in my lap and hangs by my neck, she is growing, and I am planning to love her more every day, more for ever, she smiles when I pinch her butt, she knows we are connected in so many ways and we will find more.
Belonging is such a reassuring sense, I belong to you of my own desire I belong to you for you make me a better person by belonging to you. You give me a sky and I will shine, you give me life and teach me how to live, I belong to you, for you have bargained for me with all the love you give me every day of my life.
Lets paint the sky Blue again, lets have a golden sun, green trees, and hills, flowers in all hues and a quiet breeze. and lets put ourselves in that scene, hang it on the wall in the foyer, or maybe in the family room where we live more than anywhere else. and in a few years I will buy us a bigger frame and paint again, knowing you are here and I belong to you.
Posted by Idinraha at 01:14 PM | Comments (0)
Musing
Winston Churchill had a speech in London. After he finished, a woman got up and said, "Mr Churchill, if you were my husband I would have fed you poison and killed you,".
Churchill replied: " Lady, if I was your husband, I would have taken the poison,".
Posted by Idinraha at 01:08 PM | Comments (0)
Advertising in NYT
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just got married , the fucking wife knows everything.
Posted by Idinraha at 01:04 PM | Comments (1)
October 18, 2005
cover your eyes, and walk with me
Me and my movies. I watched sweet hereafter the other day. It's a movie by the Canadian movie maker Atom Agoyan. It's mesmerizing. It just pulls you in and holds you captive. There is a serene quietness to the sceneries and the location which has such a contrast to the severity of the tragedy that has happened there. The acting are flawless and the subject matter of the balance in the world and how we invite tragedies to our live in the way we live, is so very close to me. Probably one of the most quietly harrowing movies I've ever seen.
There's a need in me that doesn't get satisfied by my every day living. I live a good life, much more than I ever asked for and could dream of. Most of you know that. But I need inspirations, I need jolts and directions, I need to be awakened and brought to life, I need to dream, so I can write, so I learn, remember and find a new way of saying it within my own experiences and crooked words. Movies do that to me, new introductions, new experiences do that to me, the colorful horizon at sunset and the magic of simple living in the land I've never been depicted in scatter pictures do that to me, love does that to me...................
I am back to editing my book and have started to enjoy the work more, by changing some of the texts and adding to the story within each chapter, and the process of addition makes my juices going, so you see it's finding the way that is the solution. I eat strawberries in the morning these days, and a lot more fruits. My body likes that, my body is becoming aware of the limitations of aging and it is trying to find a way to get around it. I love Autumn, its the transition that I enjoy and the layers of clothing. Summers are sometimes too bare and vulgar to me, but hey that's me, and as usually everything is exaggerated, and illuminated. So cover your eyes and walk with me.
Posted by Idinraha at 02:12 PM | Comments (1)
October 16, 2005
Far away places
The sun is back, but there is a bit of chill in the air, the way I like it. I was at Choob's site this morning, and I checked out his new set of pictures from his trip to Italy and Morocco. I was taken by them, and it was such a delicious treat, the colors the simplicity, the images all raw and natural, I know I would be keeping them in some corner of my mind and in time, they do to me the inspiration I need, and give me so much to write. I am greatful that he travells and so greatfull that he shares since I am earthbound here, he gives me the eyes to see, and I klike his vision. He does have his own voice in his images that he could probably publish a book of his photography.
The girl with green Apple hair, I watched CLOSER again last week, and I enjoyed the acting, specially Alice, there is such a truth to her acting, so clear and seamless. I have the new CD by Fiona Apple also, I read a good review about it and bought it. if you like music that is not the same old thing, if you like refreshing tempos, and lyrics, the arrangements, its fabulous. specially the first track.
I have so much fun helping my son with his projects, my wife thinks I enjoy them more than he does and take over and before you know it the project is mine, and has to be done the best I can. NO I do not do them, he does, then I go over them with him and polish them, and nothing is better that the satisfaction of a job well done. He wants me to finish the basement for him and his sister, so I suggested that he should find a site on the Internet on HOW TO FINISH THE BASEMENT, get us the guide and we can do it together, the four of us, I always wanted to find a way for him and I to make something together and this would be a fabulous idea, I will pursue it and may be this spring and summer, yeah why not. I am a klutz and so is he, and that should make it more fun.
I miss so many things these days, and then I try not to think about them, and just be happy for all I got and god knows I got a lot. I miss writing my story, my characters, Malcolm, Sara, Choob, Sophie and Brian. She wants me to finish the rewrites, and now He also is nudging me, he knows I need to be pushed, I'm a tempremental artist after all.
There's a shiny coin in my pocket, and it feels good when I rub my finger against the smooth surface of it. I have images of a bird inside her nest on top of a tower in my head, and Blue mosaics, and the dust that engulfs the ceramics, and the simple pleasures of colors, specially oranges and rusts and the medium blues, life is close, and the noise and warmth of the Bazaars are so soothing, I see the sunrise coming across the blue sky, and then I carry the day and let the sun melts in the ocean as the colors justify the beauty of the sunset. I miss the scent of fresh baked bread, and the taste of tick yogurt. I miss the tinge of raw milk on my tongue, as it smells of the skin and the wool, and the warmth of the life that has brought it to me. I dream of far away places and the hues of Saffron, and aqua blue, the taste of ginger and honey, and the heavy scents of the bazaars in far away places. I am awake dreaming.
Posted by Idinraha at 01:01 PM | Comments (1)
October 10, 2005
Accidental living
Has it always been like this. It's a bit too much, everything that's happening around the world. I read the other day in a scientific magazine that the inside nucleus of the Earth is moving a bit slower that the outer parts. I believe in Balance, equilibrium, Yin and yang, black and white. It seems though we have been dwelling in grays for a long time. I tell myself it has always been like this, but we were not exposed to it as much or exposed to as much of it. We used to read news papers and maybe get a glimpse of the latest tragedies, while we read about them. Then we could put it aside and forget about it.
Now we are bombarded with the images and the anchors on the cable news shouting at us, giving us all the details; So we can be informed, and live a very informed life. I rather not, somehow the idea of living my life in a faraway farm in Arizona or Montana sounds much better to me these days. There's nothing I can do about the Earth Quake in Pakistan or the mudslide in Guatemala. I am tired of hearing about The Road Side Bombs, and Suicide Bombers. I know it might seem insensitive, but there's nothing I can do about what happened in the Gulf with Hurricanes, or Who is to blame. I am middle aged, with a soft belly and a family that I adore. I have long given up on the ideas of saving the world and I am more concern with saving my skin, to be a good man, a good husband, a good father and maybe even a good friend, that's it.
I used to think that I am a religious man too but after everything that has happened in the last three decades of my life, with the Iranian revolution and the thievery that has been done to my birth place, and its culture and any values we ever respected. I could say I find myself rather jaded, and I know there are many Iranians like me, in my age group and even older than me who like me they have lost their religion too. Well let's not be hasty, I do believe in God, and probably Mohammad, but the rest of it sickens me, the whole political side of my religion, the British Version, the whole Shiite, sunny, the division, the mullahs, and the deceit of any organized religion. I have a picture of the last pope in my office, I liked the man, there is a wooden small cross I keep with the pictures of my family in the front office, I have two statutes of mother Mary in the office, I have a Quran there too, and I do pray every day five times a week. I do believe in faith in believing, in a higher being, but more than ever I know that there's so much I don't know, and living as long as I have had that knowledge hurts me, for I expected a lot more from myself.
She told me yesterday that there are classes held in Iran on how to be a suicide bomber, and the attendees are all teenagers, youth, looking for something to believe in. She told me they are rumors of IMAM MEHDI coming out of a well in Chamaran, Iran and there are daily visitors to the site. She told me there is a possibility that one day someone comes out of that well and invite all the Shiites in the world to Jihad. The masses would believe it, and Mehdi has to wage a war on all the infidels and kill so many that the blood rises to the level of his feet while he is riding his horse. It is scary isn't it. And the whole sexuality of these offerings, the seventy two virgins and all such an allowance for all the tensions that has filled the young bones of these teen age Martyrs.
Oh, Satanic Verses, seems so elementary, so simplistic in comparison. How would you sell validations, confirmations, salvations, perditions. How you market it in colorful covers, and sell it. The thoughts behind it, the generosity of Evil, the expanse of it, the horror of its intentions, and the simplicity of the purchase. They have bled Empires, they have brought dynasties to their knees, and kingdoms to dust. The expectations of it, and the path to it. there are no Gold Calves for Moses to bring down, and no money changers for Jesus to accuse. They have caught us where we are with ideas, symbols and images. They nest where no one else can reach within the passages of minds.
And the doubts that weeds within us, the uncertainty of beliefs, the cultures of Anti- Heroes, cynical perceptions, no black or white hats, only shadows and instincts,
govern the games they play. I envy the ones who can truly believe, and that's where the youth becomes the victim, the glassy eyes of youth and idealism, I am scared, very scared.
Posted by Idinraha at 03:17 PM | Comments (2)
October 09, 2005
Fatima, brooms, and clutter
Cleaning the clutter, brooms, not vacuum cleaner, they are too efficient and noisy, brooms are more romantic, they actually touch the surface they clean, and there is also a sense of caressing the surface which could be therapeutic. we could all use a bit more touching, caressing, and maybe less clutter, so the cleaning tool of the choice will be a broom. Brooms are also more historic. There is more sense of familiarity with them. eh remember Witches, and the brooms, and they are very utilitarian, and at the same time very simple, and have a handle which help a lot, come in different sizes, so they are adjustable, they are not racist, we see them in most slaves houses depicted in books, and most of all they are useful.
I remember in the old days, the home owners in the cities, used to broom the front of their houses and then even pour some water to clean further, and the smell of the dust hanging in the air would get into you. I liked it, the same way I am not turned off with a bit whiff of a skunk, I think there is a interesting dull tinge to it, maybe a bit like coffee. Any way in the old days in the city you could clean the front of your home, the stairs, and most every one used brooms. and afterward you could sit on those stairs and shoot the breeze with some one............... it was nice.
I remember how Fatima used to broom the rugs in the house. she would open the window, and tell us kids to go away while with her body ben, she used to brood the rugs, going with the nap, and then she would pick up all the dust that was raised by the end of the rug. she would make sure the windows would bee open on both side so there would be a nice current taking the dust away. and then she would do the yard, the stone, broaming the dust and pouring it inside the little patches of greens, and after ward she would hose it down with water, it felt like spring, every time Fatima came to clean the house.
And then she would put the large round flat metal container that used to be called Tasht, usually made of tin, or copper, with around sis to eight inches of rise all around its side, making it like a very little round pool. Fatime would put warm water in there and then some kind of soap, and this blue lavender color potion in the water and then she would stair it so it foams and then soaked the dirty clothes in it and washed them, while squatting by the little pool, sometimes for hours. until everything was washed, she then would drench, and squeeze the soap from them, empty the dirt water in the toilet, and pour clean cool water in the Tasht, and rinse the cloth in them, till all the soaps were out and then she would hang them on the band that was stretched across the yard. After ward she would sit in the shade, all sweaty and tired, rubbing her hands while some one would bring her some hot tea with sugar cubes.
They didn't make many colorful shirts those days. Men used to wear mostly white shirts, with a Navy, or gray slacks. so when the shirts got dirty they were easy to see. the rims around the color, the tea stain. so they would be washed with soap and lavender. Most of the picture I see of men in those days, shows them with clean shaven faces and trimmed slim moustaches. their hair short on the side, and a bit more on the top. there was a preciseness to that fashions, a cleanness, not much clutter. but I guess this was all before color TV's and Eve Sain Louren. There was a sparseness about everything, you would not fill the cup to the rim. Men carried handkerchiefs. and there was a nice predictable lines in their flat, not pleaded pants with their narrow bottoms, ending right on top of their polished simple lined shoes.
In the streets you could pass by some one, with enough distance so you could see them, you would not swim within the masses of bodies around you brushing against you so close that there is no space to keep your head at eye level, you have to look up as you walk. There were not many accidental happenings, in any form and shape, I guess we all had more space. no clutters, even the sun used to be brighter, and colors sharper, and more attractive since there would always be some whites around for contrasts, and depth. and you could even hear your own footsteps which could be so reassuring sometimes.
Men looked more mature, maybe the way they dressed. those white pressed cotton shirts, the short hair cuts. but it was also something in their eyes. something more serious, more driven, more hungry. they all had these simple round watches with white screens and pronounced black hands that could easily tell them what the time was, and how to keep time, and be on time. There was a certain etiquette to living, a certain protocol. I think it is the order that I am missing, the discipline, the knowing. you walked in your own shoes and found your own image in the mirrors, morning coffee had one flavor, and of course adding milk was the only temptation.
It is like whenever life becomes too cynical for me, I sit down and watch me a nice old western, maybe with John Wayne, or James Stewart. I usually feel better afterward. remembering things can be much simpler, and there is a definite choice between good and bad and you can recognize them with the colors of their hat. We have so many choices now that our kids are lost, we doubt ourselves so much that we feel lost. analyzing everything to the point of even the placement of our couches in our living rooms, we have so much more, and are left with so much less. and we have lost the sense of association and the satisfaction of knowing how things works and the warm comforting sweat after a hard day of labor. we have been separated, we don't see how the broom pushes the dust and the dirt away, we hear the vacuum cleaner sucking the dirt, there is not as much association. and Fatima pushes the cloth in the washing machine, and pushes the button. and never gets that tea and sits in the shade rubbing her hands. We have been morphed, and visualized, and predicted and become so efficient, and I guess that is good.
Posted by Idinraha at 12:14 PM | Comments (0)
Whatever
The girl with apple green hair
coming back from a barefoot summer
all unhinged, not steady on her feet, with
her eyes lost in a clutter, she say ''Whatever, whatever"
as she rolls her eyes, shakes her hair, she got a tinge of sex
on her breath, as she rubs her thighs swinging them left and right
She knows what she wants, she thinks again and again,
but she isn't sure, she bends her head
looking further, shaking her hair
singing the song under breath,
Whatever, whatever,
Posted by Idinraha at 11:44 AM | Comments (0)
October 06, 2005
It really does not matter
There's a beautiful patch of sky right by the lake as I get home every day. These days it treats me to colorful sunsets. The other day I caught the begining of it as I rolled along the lake, and by the time I was in the middle it had turned to an amazing array of Aqua Blue, and the clouds playfully stiil were lit by the receding oranges and ambers. Somehow I grabbed that scene within my head and kept it there, the purity of the colors were enchanting, and I have kept it there inside my head.
This little passage always have given me heart braking images of lights colors and design. I say hearbreaking, since it's like coming across something that is much much bigger than you, and so overwhelming in its presence, that it breaks you and make you cry, which I have many a times. But that day, I told to myself, Why should anything matter, this life we live is so short and passing that nothing should matter, and everything should be okay. You know it is such a religious experience, when you submit, or may be I should say it is such a spiritual experience being engulfed and taken away. You come to understand a certain revelation, a certain understanding that IT REALLY DOESN'T MATTER, and everything would be okay, as long as there are sunrises and sunsets, and I can get to see them and submit to them with a tear in my eyes.
You put the first brick on top of the second one, and then the third, and the fourth, and the walls rise, abstacting your view, giving you a false sense of security. And then you get more stuff within those walls, and you buy windows and then curtains for windows, and then you close the windows with the curtains, and suddenly there is no view, no light, and that fleeting sense of security. Have you noticed there are less walls, and less locks, and bigger windows, and less cements and grid irons, and gates in FREE COUNTRIES. That was one of the first things I notice about America; there are no walls around the houses. I liked that then, and still like it much now.
I think we have to believe that we are connected to this mother earth, and the nature it offers us, and the closer we live within its allowances and offerings, the more we live, not longer we live but the more we live. Birds die in cages, little by little, Men die within walls every day, though they might live a long life, but they live less. We have alientaed ourselves from our core and we wonder why we are dying. Depressions, Dillusions, Deprevity, Agression, Violence, they all have come to us within the walls we created around us and are fed by the angsts of our seprations and alienations.
Take a walk outside, and take a deep breath, and suddenly your whole dispositions change, and you come to realise IT REALLY DOES NOT MATTER.
Posted by Idinraha at 10:26 AM | Comments (0)
October 03, 2005
crashing to less
Well, it was probably a virus. All last week, feeling achy, and weak. Got up Monday night with chills, put on more clothes on and socks, covering myself head to toe, took three Advil. and went back to sleep. I think more than anything, I am physically tired. So I have been sleeping, every chance I get, and last night I told Marjan, that's my new obsession, sleeping, resting, she just shook her head.
The sleeping feels good, the resting, I am calmer now, after a whole week of adv ills, every four hours, full covers, and sweating like a pig as I walked and talked. I feel better today, I just took my first two Advil for today. And no smoking, for the last four days, I do miss the anguish it brought me, but it feels good not filling my lungs with the smoke, and my head feels clear, and calm. Drinking less coffee too. It's like I am de-toxin, and get these gushes every once in a while, but then I let them go away, and they do.
I have to learn to be kinder to myself, yup, it's a learning process, and I have to learn it again before the rules change, I think I will settle for just LIVING for a while, just breathing in and out, and taking less of everything. Maybe even wanting less, I don't know, but it would be so good. to just occupy the space I am supposed to, to talk less, eat less, just less, of every thing. Now if I could do that and want less, and ask for less, and be happy about less. I don't know, but somehow, I end up watching more, and seeing more. Sleep might be a good solution, if I spend more time on the fringes of consciousness, then that might help.
Any way right now, I feel calm, and there is a certain clarity about all this. I don't know about later, but later will take care of itself, I guess. There is a nice pleasing ache in my muscles, and bones, as if I just woke up from a long dream, and it's nice, I could take a nap. Maybe all this has something to do with finishing the book, maybe. I know all last week was about crashing and falling apart. Yet this week, I feel more together, maybe I wont do anything for a while, no editing, no new books, or a play, or a poem. I mean it is not a race and I could do them later, if I was inclined, but for now, maybe I just rest, until I get bored, then I will do it again.
Posted by Idinraha at 01:28 PM | Comments (0)