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Monday, November 17, 2014

Deers and icicles

On top of the mountain she sits across from me, on a half moss half snow covered rock overusing couple of tissues she has in her lap, sniffling ... I stand there quietly, our distance , the trail ..and trust her with her sorrow.. Here's a woman with a broken heart ( as they say in that movie "broken into a thousand pieces" ) and today she's promised me deers and her big secret...but it's not my place to step any closer into where she's drowning
just minutes before we broke the thin ice on the lake together and i gasped over its majesty
people find people like her difficult to communicate with, difficult to approach... I enjoy the hours that can go by between us fully unspoken
That she can rock back and forth in pain and i can be just around the corner admiring icicles until she's ready to go on... Because that's sometimes all it takes .. To have you on the side of things, aware of my tears without panicking, without trying to glue anything back.. Just quietly aware .. Once this girl i love told me after her boy broke her heart she'd go to the mountain everyday, with a friend who'd sit a little ways up to watch over her while she'd feel what she'd feel for hours on end and would be ready to leave. So that day on that mountain covered in ice and snow i was finding the common thread between the human heart and those beautiful icicles and searching for a deer who wouldn't come out in fear of me and the likes of me... In fear of being hunted . she told me even if you saw one , don't ever get close, they panick and attack , or in the rush of getting away from you they might actually crash into you ... And i kept thinking in despair that all i want to do is to love the dear deer a little ways closer 

Wednesday, November 05, 2014

Bubble Bath

The pretty white foam in the candlelight hugged me dearly and welcomed me home. When i stepped into it, it felt like walking into a fragile salt cave except that i determined the shape of it, the height and depth. like I was a part of it, not an intruder. it smelled like magnolias and stuck to my hair, now I'm the ice queen, now i'm an angle, now i'm a bride, now my crown is gone, now it's black under my eyes, now I hold my breath and plunge, there is a fountain drizzling into a pond and i can hear it from afar, there is corals around my flesh and they tickle me all around. There is oblivion and the touch of my mother rubbing on the surface of the water with love. there is my hair in zero gravity trapping little fish and i hear their sighs. All audible sounds drown here, nothing I burst it open with the little oxygen left in my lungs and reclaim my crown...behind the curtain the candle still cries and i kill it with my wet touch and think of her, the baths i'd draw her late at night and the smell of magnolias. the way she'd stand up trembling with foam on her thighs and wait for me with a towel and a shy smile...and we'd feel the touch of our mother on the surface of the water with love...

Sunday, October 12, 2014


A bunch of pretty decent writings and quotes, my treasure box of about 5-6 years ago went to hell when they shut down that yahoo360 was all pixels anyways but I would've appreciated the courtesy of being asked before they destroyed my journal...virtual or otherwise, it was still a journal..and it was precious because that's how I discovered D and connected and bonded with G and a few others..very few others with whom I formed really deep relationships..nothing like the crap I'm on right now that's all about quantity and has zilch quality. I had a piece in there I had written when someone I had given a disproportionate amount of significance to lost interest. an insignificant other so to speak. I am, as you might know, in the sadistic habit of appointing an unworthy candidate from time to time to shower with attention and energy, to gut myself over and take an eternity to stuff my hollowed shell with enough crap so I don't look like a taxidermy(ed) version of myself after. What pleasure and pain I gain from this perverse ritual is I guess enough to keep me going through it, all over again repeatedly. What I started saying a few sentences back is that I had written this piece, and at some point I had described feeling like a patient prepped for surgery lying on the table exposed while the surgeon changed their mind. I am butchering the writing but this was pretty much the gist of what I felt. I don't think there is a level of fragility beyond  being in that backless hospital robe on the cold table and tools unless there is the comforting hands of a doctor looking for where it hurts in you. be You the patient or an unattractive stripper , when you take it all off it hurts if there is no one to look, no one to touch you looking for signs of cancer.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

علی جون

گفت نغمه دیدی خر شدم؟ یعنی‌ چی‌ علی‌ جون؟ مثل پینوکیو تواون قطاره که هی‌ بهشون خوش گذشت تا خر شدن...انقدر خوشگذرونی کردم تا خر شدم. باید یه فکرِ اساسی‌ کنم...

فکرِ اساسیشو کرده و میره، با اون عکس پیریاش و اسباب بازیاش...من میمونم تو کف همه کارایی که علی‌ تو یه آخرِ هفتش میگنجونه و تو یک سالِ من جا نمی‌شن...

اینجوری شد که ۵ سال پیش یه روز گلنار گفت یه دوستی‌ دارم علی‌ مونتریاله شمارش اینه بهش زنگ بزن...اون روز علی‌ پشتِ  تلفن بعد از حال و احوال لیستِ برنامه‌هایِ هیجان انگیزِ کّلِ روزشو برام شمرده گفت و اینکه می‌تونم بپیوندم. انقدر متنوع و گسترده بود که کلا و تا همین الانش جلوش کم میارم.
، از همون اول من بدو علی‌ بدو..
ولی این علی‌ اونی‌ نیست که دستِ من و گرفت با کّلِ مونترال آشنام کرد، که توهر اسباب کشیم با اینکه نصف من بود اومد و با کمرِ نصفه برگشت، که از این ورِ خطِ نارنجی تا اون سرش میومد برام آب پرتغال و قرصِ سرما خوردگی بیاره...که کیلیدِ  خونه ا‌ش رو میداد به این و اون که بی‌ جا نمونن خودش آواره‌ میشد..اونی‌ که برام تولد میگرفت تو اون خونش که دره دستشوییش یه پرده بود...علی‌ مثل بقیه ما یه روز بزرگ شد، موهاش بیشتر و بیشتر ریخت و پاشو زد زمین و تصمیم گرفت یه علی‌ یه دیگه بشه. ولی‌ اسباب بازیاش و نگه داشت با اون خلقِ عجیب هم گُه هم مثبتش، با موزیکِ الکترونیکش ، با مهمونیا و مهمون نوازیاش، با اومدن زیرِ گوشت گفتنش که "خواستی‌ بری جوِ رفتن نده، یواشکی از خودم خدافظی‌ کن برو"، با ماساژ‌ها و قلنج شکونداناش...
با نغمه خانِ میر پنج صدام کردناش...
با به آدما رسیدگی کردناش
وقتی‌ شنیدم داره میره ژاپن زدم زیرِ گریه...واقعیتش اینه که من تو این علی‌ دنبال اون علی‌ می‌گردم و دلم براش حتی هنوز که نرفته تنگ می‌شه... چون شاید اگه بمونه بتونم بگردم پیداش کنم باز. 
 چون ارزش و احترامی که برام قاَئله از کمتر پسری دیدم
 چون کسیو نمیشناسم که انقدر قشنگ بلد باشه زندگی کنه
واقعیتش اینه که بعضی‌ آدمارو باید نوشت، که بعدش بشه یادشون گرفت و تعریفشون کرد

Thursday, September 25, 2014


I was never good at being 7 , nor 9 , i didn't rebel at 13 and only withdrew at 16, didn't fit in with the 19s or 21s for that matter.. Watched the rest of the 20s pass me by in a rush though discretely. But now and today i finally fit right into my years... This here is as woman as i've ever been...
Infinite estrogen infinite blood infinite pain infinite moods infinite orgasms infinite tenderness infinite tears infinite worries infinite fears infinite embraces infinite pleasures infinite scars infinite scents infinite bodies infinite sex infinite mistakes infinite no's infinite yeses infinite traces...

Sunday, September 14, 2014


 I check in and out a hundred times a conversation. It's not you, it's me. And I do worry about getting caught, that covers a small percentage of the checkouts actually. Don't think it's an attention span thing as much as it is a weightlessness of mind in space. Truer even is that my mind is like an octopus; covered in tentacles... If you swim close enough there is no getting rid of you. So you shouldn't really underestimate my inability in letting you go...I worry about that too, cause the weight of the people and things hanging from my arms, from my tentacles, weighs me down. Cause people swim my way all the time, and they swim too close and I can't help my form. Sometimes I like to touch them and swallow them and keep them inside and not everybody understands that. Sometimes I need to let go and can't so badly that I end up cutting off an arm and letting them leave with it...