Category: Uncategorized

On Writing and Despair

Please, please… don’t throw me with your other writings. They have poor health conditions… you must be aware of this. I’m talking about your Star Eaters in Dwarf Galaxy, mister. He generally doesn’t wash, you can see his yellowed teeth in his alien smiles. Are you aware of how your other stories are behaving in solitary confinement, sir? Ever wondered why Kaurus doesn’t talk? Oh well, that’s because he has now sworn on the almighty God that he will not talk until he gets published. You might think “Now that’s funny!” but it isn’t if you are the one sleeping in the same room as him, in fact only a meter away. He always screams in his sleep, “How dare you edit me little bitch?” and then falls back to sleep. I believe, sir, that under your supervision, he was to take his meds at certain times everyday, but blast me if I ever had seen him gulp down a pill! Never. Pardon my illiteracy, but there is a writing issue as well, if I may talk about something so desperately essential for us, but of course of great toil to you. You must be aware that we, the old stories, have occupied this cell-tower for a long time. Our only intake in the past few months has been a pathetic, pale and jumpy story which was shaking like a scared rabbit since when he entered the cell. He was very skinny, maybe 1000 words only and not very juicy either. Unfortunately when we prayed on him– as I said we haven’t been receiving much supplies recently from you sir– he proved insufficient for our entire group and we had to eat a fellow for whom we felt a lot of compassion on top of the new food. Call it all you want, mania or cannibalism, but we had no choice. Perhaps you should be thinking about giving us a daily food, dear sir? What about a 200 word carby poetry-soup every once in a while? We would welcome this with all our might and appetite! I know that receiving harsh criticism has made you more reserved and less prolific recently. I may however venture to assure you, sir, that we would be more than happy for you to write, even the likes of that shivering skinny story, if this offers you any consolation for your sad self-judgmental thoughts. I mean just think about how many lives you could save in cell-tower by a kind 100-word donation! Oh and don’t forget to sprinkle on it some salt and pepper; this will not only help you to make more tasty stories, but also help us have a better time in prison. Thank you. Ever your friend, Untitled




Bibi Maryam Bakhtiari

Coming across Bibi Maryam Bakhtiari on the internet, I just realised how much I don’t know about the history of Iran. Lovely historical characters get lost in the midst of both the media of Iran’s government and the misrepresented grotesque perspective of the media in the west. Most representations are bereft of authenticity. And that’s why I feel we should be talking about what is being missed. Bibi Maryam Bakhtiari was a military commander in 1909, and played an important strategic role in driving the Russian troops out of the country after they had occupied Tehran in WWI. What astonishes me is not just that there were such powerful female figures in our history, but also that people stood together and were united, men and women, to retain their country from the unkind foreign troops. The tribal mentality which has since 1970s been our downfall, was then a helpful strategy, because it connected people together in a way that law and institutions couldn’t.

1, 2, 3?

The desert of oblivion-part1:
There was a shimmering blue mirage in the scorching pan of a desert. Heat was rising from the cracked mud on which Ali limped, with his bare feet seared and covered in blisters. There was no sound but the scraping sound of his steps and jingling and clattering of the belt hanging from his neck.
The dazzling sunlight made his burnt umber eyes water. He had walked for 8 miles and the long hours of loneliness in the forlorn landescape was tipping him over the edge and into insanity. His breath was puffing in the arid desert. He ran his hand into his pocket and brought four dessicated raisins to his parched lips. His lungs were chugging as he munched the raisins in his dry mouth.
Part3: the jejune desert made him sweat as if he was in a witch’s cauldron. His singed hand grabbed his canteen and he drank a few drops of water, while his lungs were chugging. Wheezing and pumping like a bellows, his lungs felt painful and heavy like a stone. His voice had turned breathless and gravelly.
Part 5: the cactus and chain fruits and joshua trees were all gone. All he could see was a shimmering heat haze that engirded the sky. Ali’s eyes were watering, he could taste his brackish tears on his dry lips. The blinding light was putting him in a trance. He could no longer see what lay ahead. He tumbled a few times and scrambled to his feet, each time losing his stamina. His ears rang. His feet had gone numb. Finally Ali tripped and did not stand again. How long he had lost consciousness he could not remember, but the next thing he felt was a soft moist sensation on his face, a hot breath that smelt like grass. His eyelids feebly opened and he saw the muzzle of a horse, softly scrabbling his clothes. Salvation had come.

I will not run away. I will fight, even if it means walking in the void for spine-chilling years.

I will penetrate into your minds, understand your thoughts, your beauties, your fears, your pains, your delights. I will let praxis lead me in the darkness of my own uncertainties. It’s not that I was given a mission and I would be over-romanticising my world if I would say so. I was not chosen. Yes, my work is needed by some people that I have known and felt, but those people themselves might become meaningless after a while. I have been away from them for so long that I’m starting to no longer care. Since my feelings are dying away, it means my previous theoretical path wasn’t sufficient, for praxis itself opens avenues that would have been left unknown otherwise.

Listening to: Strange – Зависай (Премьера трека 2018)


“The Last Jedi” Beats “The Force Awakens”

The new Star Wars movie was just awesome. Don’t hesitate to watch it (if you haven’t already). Now I wanna discuss how it was HUGELY better than The Force Awakens.

I had had a terrible experience with The Force Awakens because of how it tried to hard to be epic and failed pathetically. The characterization in that film was terrible since the villains’ actions were dictated by the plot. The heroine achieved greatness too easily (I mean she wasn’t even trained! How the hell did she learn to control the force?); and don’t even ask me about the resolutions; they were horrible.

Because of this bad experience, I thought the new Star Wars would be quite similar. Well,the good news is that the director and the script writer of the two films are different. While The Force Awakens was made by J. J Abrams, The Last Jedi is written and directed by Rian Johnson and Rian handled the plot and the characters very very well.

I was amazed by how he tidied up all the mess that The Force Awakens had caused. In The Last Jedi, instead of having a pathetic, gutless Darth Vader wanna-be being held up and admired, we have him in the position he deserves. Yes, he is just a boy and yes he is weak and the director does not try to hide that. This had a huge positive impact in the film’s quality. Kylo Ren has become a credible character in the new film and his motives make sense. Thank you Rian Johnson!

The other positive thing about The Last Jedi is the plot. I believe the power of a good story lies in its credible and creative resolutions. In The last Jedi the resolutions MADE A LOT OF SENSE. And the twists made the film feel like an enjoyable roller coaster ride, where there’s a new surprise at every turn. The plot was both entertaining and logical (unlike The Force Awakens).

There are eyes

There are eyes everywhere Karos, everywhere I look. They see me. They see you. They are invincible.

There are eyes, in the closets, in the drawers, even on the letter you so hurriedly sent me before you leave.

And on that photo we so happily posed in before you broke into tears on that sunny day on the riverside. The breeze, the sky, the smell in the air. Do you remember?

All that has now turned to an eye, a big, ugly eye, never ceasing to roll in its socket, never blinking, never for once sinking into the darkest chests of memory.

It stares at me and I know, I should have never let you go. You should have never run down the dark staircase of your mind, only to die away in the abyss of loneliness. They saw me…. They saw you… And at that moment I knew that we would never be free.

The World of Imaginary Beings

Kurarus had been sitting on the hill for hours now. His knees folded, his eyes closed and his mind strangely active. Through the confusion of his thoughts, Kuarus tried to enter the world of imaginary beings. The world Plato had talked about and had wrongly assumed it as perfect. It was not.

The world of imaginary beings was where the souls and internal realities of living creatures were reflected. He had read about it in books master Boran had provided. There could be as much destruction and evil in this world as beauty and the person who dared to enter it, would pay dearly if he would be caught by the evil entities.

In front of him, Kuarus could see orange plains and the light was a mild blue. Vision would be different in this world, he reminded himself. As he stood up to see the horizon, his heart thumped like a heavy sack of stones in his chest. You had to collect your thoughts before each move.