Hunter

I haven't wrote anything worth reading in a long time (if ever) So although I don't have time but I think I need to write something. It's kind of a BirthDay gift for myself. :)

***

“Relax, you can do it!” I kept repeating that in my head, with every step I moved toward her. There she was standing beside a tree. She didn’t sense me. There she was, sampling the plants, taking a bite of a little bush. My little Deer, My prize, My love, If only I could get you. For many days I’ve been wondering around looking for you. But you ran away every time. I won’t let it happen again. This is my life is all about. This is my reason; this is my divine goal; God have created me for this single day. I was creeping closer like a snake, and as hungry as a Wolf. I hope my heart beat won’t give me away, it was rising with every step. I pointed my gun at you. Everything was ready for this sacred moment. I could feel the divinity of my work. The divine pleasure of killing you. I could see the truth, but you refuse to believe it. So I have no choice but to convince you with any means necessary, You need to come to the light. A place where darkness would fall. I don’t believe I am better than you, I believe you are lost. Lost in the shadows forever and death might be the only answer for you. With these feelings I pulled the trigger. In the very last moment you tried to seduce me with your beautiful eyes, but it was too late. Now I could only see blood splashing out of your neck. And you died.

“It’s done!” I said, but not with joy. I should be happy, I should be proud. I should be jumping in thrill; I should be praying the God for completing his mission. There was it, my key to go to heaven, My prize, My award, My dead little Deer. But something was wrong! Something I never felt before. My soul was burning. I couldn’t understand why. I went closer and stand above the dead deer. Her beautiful body was in blood; her eyes were dead. Laying on the ground, lifeless. The clerics of our tribe always told me about this day. They said after you killed your deer, you would feel the divine pleasure of standing beside the God. But I couldn’t feel that. My soul was burning. I closed my eyes and these images attacked me; I saw someone shooting at me and I fell; but somehow I could still see whats going on. He killed my wife, my son, my daughter, my dog; He burned down my house. After that I saw the shooter. It was me, I was the shooter. I opened my eyes; I understand it now. All these years of doubt. My teachers told me it was my lack of faith, That I needed to be closer to God, and it can only happen if I kill her. But now that she is dead; I understand. My eyes are filled with tears; My heart is broken. All these years I spend my life trying to kill the only thing that matters in my life. They told me, I would suffer for eternity if I refuse to do God’s will, but now I am suffering for the rest of my life. They told me, my weapon is sacred, that every bullet is a blessing, and by killing these beautiful devils I would gain honor. They were lying; or perhaps they are just blind.

And there she was, dead. Soon her body will decompose and join the planet. Soon her children would be eaten by wolfs or other predators. And Soon everything would be back to normal in this forest, except me. I didn’t do anything that would affect this place, this world. I only shot myself. I burned my own house by killing her. There is no heaven for her, why should be there one for me? I lie beside my dead Deer. There was nothing else in my life. I killed myself. With these thought I closed my eyes. I could hear they were coming closer. The smell of blood lured them here. Soon I will join this planet. Maybe in this way I would be one with the universe and I would become the God!

“All Life is Sacred, All life is beautiful”

***

This story is only written for entertainment proposes and does not reflect my opinion.

Good luck!...

P.S: Any comment is appreciated.

Fail

And when you FAIL!

"-What is your Greatest Fear? -Failure!"

Storyteller

I hope I can tell stories for the rest of my life. I don't want to see the day that I became speechless. Again I'm feeling that I am my stories. Without them I am a broken soul. Living as a storyteller can be difficult!!!!

Good Luck!...

Life

«بشنو از من کودک من زندگانی خواه تیره، خواه روشن... هست زیبا، هست زیبا ، هست زیبا»

...!با اجازه

Rewards

It's a new day. I don't see the sun yet. It's still the middle of the night. But I can feel the warmth. Through Your Arms. Through Your Heart.

Life Gives rewards sometimes!

پارسی

نوشتن، و باز نوشتن و باز هم نوشتن. این نوشتن برای چیست؟ زمانی بود که رویای نویسنده بودن را به دوش می کشیدم. و آرزو داشتم با این استعدادی که از کودکی تلاش به تقویتش کردم به قله ای از افتخار و شکوه برسم. اما این رویا سالهاست که در کنج ذهن من تنها نشسته و خاک می خورد. هر روزی را که در این کشور، دور از زادگاهم می گذرانم از اصلیت خویش دورتر می شوم. من تغییر کرده ام. آنچه که زمانی برایم افتخار بود تبدیل شد به ننگ و آنچه را که خوار می پنداشتم اکنون زندگی من است. اما یک چیز هنوز در من مانده. عشق من به زبان فارسی. و فقط و فقط برای اوست که می نویسم. دیگر نمی توانم به خودم اجازه فکر کردن به این زبان دلبر را به دهم و در عشقش گم شوم. امیدوارم در دنیا روزی بیاید که همه به توانند به زبان اول خود با هم سخن بگوییند

...!با اجازه

consequences

Living is not only about making the choices, It's about understanding them. The pattern is simple: Standing between choices, making the choice, feeling the consequences, understanding the choice, Facing the consequences. I'm facing the last part right now!!!! There is no right or wrong choice, it's just the moment, and the stream of consciousness that made you make that choice. Everything else is immaterial.

An interesting point: The main thing that we need to learn in out sociology class is SOCIOLOGICAL IMAGINATION. Thanks Mr.Ezati :)

Nature has a very strange way of paying back.

Good luck!...

Orgin

It's funny how people around you would vanish when you mention you are Iranian!! But why wouldn't I stop mentioning it? Does it really matter?

خیلی جالبه که وقتی می گی ایرانی هستی کسایی که اطرافتن خود به خود پراکنده می شن! پس چرا من هنوز اصرار دارم که بگم ایرانی هستم؟ واقعا مهم هست که من ایرانیم؟

Choices

Life is based on nothing, but our choices! But a choice would not change anything unless you understand why did you make it. There is only one way to understand life, UNDERSTANDING OURSELVES!

Good Luck!...

Helping

Can someone please tell me why do I fail at helping other people? Every time I try, they tell me to shut up. When someone feel bad and ask for my help, I will try to help them to face his/her problem alone. And every single time I make them so angry that they want me to leave. What should I do? We are alone in this world; either we face our problems alone or we have to beg others for the rest of our life. There isn't any choice! We are destined to be alone. But it is hard when I can't help the people I care about. What should I tell them? Lies; I'm sorry to hear that; are these enough? It's not enough for me!!!!

Good bye!...

Illusion

Getting blind by an illusion is easier than I thought. A very simple example of an illusion is love. But thats not mine, At least not anymore. Novels and stories were once my life; Some how it still is. I lost touch with reality! What is real and what's not real. An illusion that I can understand how people think, the stream of consciousness. I thought every novel, every story, would give me a hint about mind; and after years I would be able to understand how people think. But lets face it. Its a lost cause. I thought my writing would show the reader my mind, my thoughts, but no one can understand how I think, Not even myself. This is the day which changed my path. The material has become the immaterial.

Good luck!...

p.s: But a novel is not just about understanding the mind, it talks about much more. So Read Please! Read more! :)

Dream

Have you ever had a dream that was so real? and you can still remember most of it, even some very small details, after a few years! Of course you have. I don't know how does it work, but from the very first day I came here I started to dream every single night. But the most interesting part is the effect that these dreams on me. I've been influenced by them. More than I can understand.

Good Luck!...

"These are desperate times! Desperate measures are called for."

Confession

ok I admit, I changed a lot! But that doesn't mean I'm a human. Perhaps I became a tree. Should I call it evolution? Was this change acquired by natural selection? Is tree the fittest in these dark times?

Wolf-Question

گاهی فکر می کنم آیا واقعا تغییر کردم؟ چه فرقی با یک سال پیش دارم؟ آیا هنوز می توانم خودم را گرگ بنامم و ادعا کنم که از خانواده ام مانند یک گرگ حمایت می کنم؟ آیا تبدیل به بره ای ساده شدم؟ یا هنوز خوی گرگ گونه ام را دارم! واقعا نمی دانم. دیگر نیازی به گرگ بودن نیست، اما هنوز هم از آدم بودن وحشت دارم!

:((

...!با اجازه

Sometimes I wonder, did I really changed? How am I different from who I was last year? Do I still consider myself as a wolf, who will kill or die for his pack? Or am I just a small lamb? Or do I still have my Wolf instincts! I really don't know. I really don't need to be a wolf anymore, but I'm afraid to become a human.

:((

Good luck!...

P.S: Beside this depressing post, Tell me what does these lines mean to you?

"The percentage of us tow the line

The rest of us out of reach
Everybody party time
Some of us will never sleep again "

Explanation

It has been quite a long time that I've been searching for my meaning in life. There wasn't any success at all. I went through all the ideas that I know, but none had the answer. None of them was good enough to live with. None could make me love life. As I became a bit frustrated, I can't help not to wonder can you love life at all? Do YOU love life? If so, what about it is so freaking lovely? The surprise? Or the harmony? Or maybe you are blind by love!

Good Luck...

It's a Dream within a Dream(Inspired by Inception)

If the only way that one's understand he/she is dreaming, is to remember how did he/she gets there; then how do we understand we are not dreaming right now. It does not matter how extraordinary our memory is, we still can't remember how did we come to be. There are photos or other evidences but they can be made by our subconscious to convince us this is real. But in the end does it make a difference? Does it matter that we live in a dream and we might woke up someday? Does it matter that what ever we do in here is not going to affect us? If thats true, who is the real you? Again Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Why do you live? Please tell me!

Good Luck...

Love

مسخره است اگر من از عشق سخن بگم. نه به دلیل اینکه عاشق نیستم، نه به دلیل اینکه بهش باور ندارم. فقط و فقط به خاطر اینکه من جز سیب سبزم چیز دیگری ندارم. پس باید عاشق آن باشم اما چه طور می شود عاشق چیزی بود که هزاران هزار از آن وجود دارد؟ حتی می توانم بگویم که عشق من محدود به سیب سبز نیست، من تمام سیب ها را عاشقانه دوست دارم. همه سیب ها زیبا هستند. پس اگر عشق یگانه است که من عاشق نیستم و عشق غیر قابل دسترسی خواهد بود. اما اگر عشق می تواند زیاد باشد و به یک نفر ختم نشود پس من هر روز عشق را تجربه می کنم. چون با هر سیبی که می بینم یک بار به معراجش می روم و باز می گردم. و چه ناپاک است این عشق من. به راستی که به این درخت پیر نمی شود اعتماد کرد

...با اجازه

It is wrong if I talk about Love. it's not because I'm not in Love, or that I don't believe in it. It's simply due to the fact that I don't have anything other than Green Apples. So I have to be in love with it. But how can I be in love with something that I have a lot. And it's not just the Green Apple, I love all kind of Apples, all of them are beautiful. So if love can only have one subject, then I'm not a lover and I can never be. But if love can be shared between many subjects, then I fall in love every hour of everyday. Because I will make love to each and every Apple. This love is so sinful. And truly this old tree cannot be trusted!

Good luck...

Tree

An old fellow came close, he put his hands on me and started to talk. It was very strange, because I couldn't answer him. After all I was a very old Tree.

" Why? Why do you do it? Why do you live?" The Old man said with anger.

" I lived for 100 years, I'm lucky I can talk, hear, see, smell, or walk. I'm lucky that I remember how old I am, or how many children, or grand children do I have. BUT LOOK AT YOU???!?!?!?!" He shouted with rage.

" Look at you, you lived for ... I don't know, maybe 700 years, or even more, why do you live, whats your point? Is it just a blind survival? or you have a goal? You wanna play? Or you just can't choose? Do you think at all?"

He was very angry, I could see it all over his face, but then he looked different, like something in his chest was burning. And with his final breath he said: " Please, tell me"

I stand there, like always. His body fell in front of me, I couldn't catch him. He died, and there was nothing I could do.

100 years have passed since that time, I still think why did that man want to know why? Why?

Ideas

I wonder what makes an idea powerful? What makes it worth dying for? Is it the idea? Or its just us? Our imagination can make something huge, out of nothing. From the simple astronomical signs, and the simple idea of being good, we made thousands of religions. I'm not gonna talk about God, or any of these matters. Lets just think about the other ideologies in the world. Communism, Marxism, Leninism, Liberalism, Capitalism, republicanism, monarchism, Imperialism, fascism, nazism, Anarchism, Vatican, Islamic empire, socialism, and etc. All these ideas had their chances in this world. Some of these ideas are still out there. Some failed their main goal, and some simply don't exist anymore. These days media makes the world Black and White, therefore some of these ideas are from the dark side, while other are in light. No one can forget the Cold War. From the point of view of an Apple, that of course is an environmentalist, all these ideas share a common view.

"WE ARE THE BEST, AND WE WILL DO ANYTHING TO PROVE THAT."

So there is only one thing I can tell them, Fight for it and destroy this God damn world! Thank you for your concern about the world and trying to make it a better place.

Good Luck...

P.S: No need to Translate!

knowing

Once again, I'm here, in front of computer, typing. There is something in my mind, I don't know what. There is something in my heart, blocking my mind. Nothing can describe, the darkness that came upon.

I changed, Not the way I want. I forget,what its like to be none

No way to go,No way to run.

I stand there, Without a sun. The Clouds were there,Blocking my mind.

No way to go,No way to run.

She was there,Standing close, Wandering why,I wouldn't go.

No way to go,No way to run.

I told her why,I don't wanna go, I don't want feel,I don’t want to know.

No way to see,No way to say.

There is nothing left, of this tale. I'm lost in a dark,without a hope.

But I remember,I don't need hope.

Then why do I ask,what do I want? From this girl, without a heart.

She didn’t say, she didn’t love.

I asked you to say, I asked you to love. I only needed one, I only needed one.

My soul was burning, In fire, In Dark.

We stand there, looking at us. We stand there wondering why.

I told her: we have to go, we have to know.

BUT IT WAS TOO LATE FOR US TO KNOW!...

Truth

من اشتباه می کردم! انقدر در جهل فرو رفته بودم که کور شده بودم. من دنیا را انطوری که بود ندیدم. من گفتم زندگی زیباست، گفته و ناگفته ای بس نکته ها کینجاست.من این را باور کردم. به سمت زیبا شدن حرکت کردم. من اشتباه کردم. دنیا هر چیزی هست جز زیبا دنیا مثل یک چاه بزرگ و سیاه، که هر کسی در اون زندگی میکنه پر از اشغال، انگل دنیا هم در اون زندگی میکنه. مردم این دنیا به خاطر رنگ پوستشون یا جایی که به دنیا اومدن با هم بد رفتاری می کنن. هیچ چیز خوبی تو این دنیا وجود نداره. زیبایی یک دروغ بیشتر نیست به جهنم خوش آمدید.

I was wrong! I was so wrong that it blinded me. I didn’t see the world the way it is. I said life is beautiful. I believed it. I moved toward being beautiful. I was wrong. Life is anything but beautiful. “There is a hole in the world like a great black pit, that filled with people who are filled with shit, the vermin of the world inhabit it, and that is Life. People are mean to each other just because of the place they born, or their skin color. There is nothing good in this world. Beauty is a Lie. Welcome to Hell

moving

من فرار کردم! از آن چیزی که میدانستم! از ان چیزی که بودم! همینطور به فرار کردن ادامه دادم! برای ماه ها دویدم! اما برای من بیشتر از چند ماه بود! برای من سالیانی درازی بود! من هنوز شبهای طولانی را به یاد دارم! هنوز روزهای طولانی را به یاد دارم! اما من گذاشتم را عقب گذاشته بودم! به همین دلیل دلم برایش تنگ نمیشود! این لحاظات و خاطره ها حال گذاشته من شده! من باز هم شروع به حرکت کردن کردم! اما این بر ندویدم! این بر گذاشتم را به خاطر دارم! و دلم برایش تنگ شده! دلم برایت تنگ شده! دوستت دارم!

پ.ن: من از هالیفکس به تورونتو آمدم! دلم برای شهر قدیمی ام تنگ شده! :(

I ran! From what I knew! From what I were! I kept running! For months I was running. But it was more than that for me! It was years, maybe decades! I remember the long nights! And the long days! But I left the past, so I couldn't miss it! Those memories became my past! I moved again but this time I did not run! I remember my past this time! And I miss it! I miss you! I love you!

P.S. : I moved from Halifax to Toronto! I missed my old city! :(

Hope

امید، بار دیگر میتوانم ببینمش. ایستاده بر روی قله ای بلند! مستحکم! زیبا! صدایش میکنم: امید! به من هم نگاهی بیانداز! اما او همینطور به روبرویش خیره شده! بار دگر می خوانمش. امید! باز هم جوابی نمیدهد! خسته میشوم! با خود میگویم: من امیدی دیگر ندارم، چه کنم؟ راهم را کج میکنم و از قله ای که انتهایش معلوم نیست شروع به بالا رفتن میکنم. راهی بس دشوار بود. اما در این دشواری زیبایی وجود داشت که نچشیده بودم! در این دشواری زندگی را بار دیگر فهمیدم. تا توانستم بالاتر رفتم! به قله ای رسیدم! خوشحال بودم. چند قله بلندتر هم در برابرم قرار داشت. آماده شدم تا به سمت آنها هم حرکت کنم که چشمم به قله ای کوتاهتر از خودم افتاد! مطمئن نبودم که که بار روی ان ایستاده. دقت که کردم فهمیدم کسی نیست جز امید! امید چند متری پایین تر از من ایستاده بود و به من لبخند میزد! برایش دستی تکان دادم که به سمت من بیاید! اما سرش را به نشانه منفی تکانی داد! فریاد زدم چرا؟ به آرامی دستش را بلند کرد و قله های بالانتری را نشان داد! لبخندی زدم و به راهم ادامه دادم!

...!با اجازه

Hope, once again I could see him. He was standing on the top of a tall mount! Strong! Beautiful! I called him: Hope! Look at me! But he didn't look. I called him once again! Look at me! He didn't answer me! I got tired. I asked myself: I don't have hope anymore, What can I do? I changed my way and started to climb a mount that I could not see the top! The road was challenging! But in this challenge there was a beauty that I did not felt before! Once again, I understood life in this challenge. I went up and up, as long as I could. Finally I reached the top! I was happy. I could see a few taller mounts! I started to move toward them but I saw someone on another mount that was shorter than mine! I realized it was hope! He was standing a few feet lower than me, and he was smiling! I waved at him and asked him to come to me. He shook his head! I shouted: WHY? He pointed at taller mounts! I smiled and started to move on!

Good Luck!...

P.S.: This makes much more sense in Persian! I'm sorry!

Story Last Part

Confessions of Marks (Part 4, Modified version)

He recited this poem. So he did not have anything to lose; he just wanted to die. With this idea I went out of the room. I was too tired to write anything. So I just went to sleep. That night my head was filled with all these characters and books. I had the fears of the Mariner, with the evils of Dorian, the sharks that killed my fish, with Lorenzo’s head on my plate, and then I was falling from the cliff.

The next day I was confused. I finally learned that he was innocent and it was just a suicide. I went back to prison to fill my report. But they told me that they found a new proof and he actually killed his wife. Last night he told the police where he had hide the blade and they found his finger prints all over it. “it’s impossible!” I said with shock. I asked to meet him again; because of my good reputation they gave me that chance, so I went into the same room again. He was siting there like the first time I met him. He looked at me and smiled. “You don’t want to give up. Do you?” he said with his casual voice.

• how could you do that?
• Well you seemed like a person who liked to get confused. I told you the problems with intellectual people. They make everything so complex.
• I believed that you were innocent. All the stories that you told me! Everything was a lie!
• You know that it wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t hold you for three days with lies.
• Than how is that possible? Which part of the story you didn’t tell me?

I ended up shouting this into his face. He looked up with his amazing blue eyes. He was smiling. “I have one more assignment for you.” he said with his casual smile.

• tell me the truth!
• Have you ever read the book The Road?
• No.
• Read it.
• Is it another game?
• This is our last meeting. I would not play a game with you. You want the truth, here it is, in that book. When you are reading it think about the connection between the boy and the father. You would realize how I feel. Put me as father and my wife as the son. Good bye my friend!
• Have a good life in prison Mr.Marks.

I did not want to read that book. I could not believe I wasted my energy on that lunatic. But I knew that the moment I get out of the room I would go to the closest book store and buy that book. An hour later I had the book in my hand and I was reading it in my bed. “When he woke up in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him...”(McCarthy, The Road, page1)

The End

Abtin

Story Part 3

The Confessions of Marks (Part 3)

When I left the room I had only two things in my mind, Oscar Wilde and John Keats. I spend the night reading about them and their work. Two nights without sleep made me really tired. By the afternoon I was devastated. When I walked in into the same room again, I saw him standing and looking toward the sun. He started to talk when he notice my arrival.

• Sun. I’m always fascinated by how beautiful it looks. I love sun. The same way the Old Man loved sea. My wife and I spend many afternoons looking at the sun. Well of course it is not easy to look at the sun in the afternoon, but we got used to it.
• You know that you cannot ever look at the sun with her again.
• You are mean.
• Why did you kill her if you loved her so much.
• Why did the old man killed the fish?
• Who are you talking about.
• The Old Man and The Sea. I have to admit it is my favorite.

Now I remembered. He was exactly like the image that I had from the Old Man in that book. “Really? I hated that book.” I said with surprise.

He got excited and sat behind the table. “so we can have a discussion about it.” he said like a teenage boy.

• sure Mr.Marks.
• The Old Man and The Sea was beautiful. It had a beautiful story, with a simplistic writing style. It was all about love and it was completely useless.
• It was boring. I could not think about it. There was nothing special about that book.
• Don’t you see it. It was very special. Everything in that book can be taken as a symbol. I think the boy does not exist at all. He was just a reflection of the Old Mans life.
• I understand that this part of the story was nice. But the story did not have many things to allow my imagination to flourish. It was a blank book that I did not have anything to think about after I finished it.
• Well I understand your point. I assume this is just the difference in out view about beauty.
• So your point about the poem is that you made her die. Someone killed her to protect you. If it is like that who killed her?
• She killed herself by shooting the albatross!
• What are you talking about?
• Did you read “ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”?
• Oh... Now I remember. So by shooting at the albatross, she killed herself. But you should not stop leaving because you lost someone. Why did you confess you killed her?

- “Is there a solitary wretch who hies

To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,

And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes

Its distance from the waves that chide below;

Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs

Chills his cold bed upon the mountain turf,

With hoarse, half-utter'd lamentation, lies

Murmuring responses to the dashing surf?

In moody sadness, on the giddy brink,

I see him more with envy than with fear;

He has no nice felicities that shrink

From giant horrors; wildly wandering here,

He seems (uncursed with reason) not to know

The depth or the duration of his woe.”

(Charlotte Smith, On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headline Overlooking the Sea, Because it was Frequented by a Lunatic.)

Story Part 2

Confessions of Marks (Part2)

I left him in the room. I bought the book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and went back home. This book was fascinating. While I was reading it I could understand what he meant by corruption. I spent the whole night reading that book. By dawn I finished the book. It was fascinating. If he saw himself as Dorian and his wife was The portrait, then now he changed his place with his portrait. This theory would make sense if he was a criminal. But on the other hand, he was a person who owns a charity and helped a lot of people. How could he be corrupted? Every one who knew them a little came to the court and confessed that he and his wife was in love and they did not have any problems. No one ever heard them getting into an argument. I take a look at his file again. It seems that this man reads a lot of novels and his wife was a writer. With all these thoughts I looked at my clock. I had to go to work in an hour.

I had a meeting with him this afternoon as well. When I walked into the room he sightly moved his head an had glance from the entrance. “I have nothing more to tell you. What ever you want from me is in that book.” said the man with a disappointed look. I went closer and sat in front of him and put the novel on the table. “I read it!” I said with joy.

• oh... Thats unusual. Well what do you think?
• The book is fascinating. But I’m sure you made a mistake. The reason for Dorian’s corruption was Lord Henry not the portrait.
• All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
• I’m sorry Mr.Marks but I don’t understand your point here.
• Think my friend, was he even corrupted? Lord Henry was a genius and Dorian was basically so blank and thought less.
• And what does it has to do with you Mr.Marks.
• I thought you were different for a moment. Oh well. It seems I expect to much from ordinary people.
• Thanks for your insult Mr.Marks; but you did not answer my question.
• That part of the book has nothing to do with my life. Think about the portrait and Dorian. She was my portrait, what ever I did, whether it was evil or good, she was the picture of my soul. I was simply like dorian.
• You mean all the charities that you did was her idea and you wanted to be free so you killed her? If that is true how did you do that? There is no evidence that you killed her.
• No, I was free. Everyone is free. Even in this prison I am free. No one can enslave anybody else except themselves.
• I assume you really liked Lord Henry. You talk so similar to him.
• I take what ever I can from the people I enjoy, Good or bad.
• You did not answer me how did you killed her?
• Have you ever read the poem “Isabella or the Pot of Basil”?
• Yes, I remember it. I read it when I was 16. It was a long time ago but I can still remember it.
• I’m starting to like you. Do you remember how Lorenzo died?
• Yes.
• This is how I killed my wife. In my opinion it was not the brothers who killed Lorenzo. It was Isabella who killed him. Ok times up. See you tomorrow my friend.
• We will talk about this tomorrow Mr.Marks.

Story

This is a story I wrote for my english class. Enjoy!

The Confessions of Marks (Part 1)

Light was coming inside from the the little window at the top of the wall. The walls were all white and reflects the years of pain through them. I went inside the room. There he was. Sitting at the side of the table in the middle of the room, looking at his hand. He had a prison cloth on and he was playing with the hand calfs. He did not notice that I entered, or he was just not interested in another lawyer. I was in need of money so I had to accept this case. The last lawyer left the case in just two sessions. They told me that he was a sociopath and he thinks he killed his wife. I tried to mention my arrival by taking a few steps toward him; but he did not move. Finally I went and sat against him. He looked up. His face was dead. When he looked up his eyes were closed. I was scared for a second. I thought probably this kind of look from a 35 years old man was because of the death of his wife. He is a dead man, without any hope, he is nothing but a living shadow. I guessed that his wife had cheated on him and then he killed her. He start talking with a soft and beautiful voice. His voice somehow remind me of a character in a book, An Old man. “Are you my new friend?” said the man.

Then he opened his eyes. The blue color of his eyes was so beautiful that I could not take my eyes from it. It was possible to see life in those blue eyes. Those were the only living things in his face. “Well if you tell me the truth.” I said with a my broken voice. He smiled and shook my hand. “Truth is simply the opinion of a person. Ones opinion make their world the way they want to see it, truth is just a simple trick people use to justify their evil actions.” he said while smiling.

-Thats a bold statement Mr.Marks.

-There is no such thing as bold. Both bolds and cowards would die at the end.

-I’m not sure if I understand your point Mr.Marks.

-There is no point my friend.

He was starring at me with his beautiful eyes and he was smiling like it was a regular conversation he had in an afternoon with tea. I was beginning to think he was trying to focus on other subjects and he would not tell me the story; but with my surprise he started to talk again.

• You want to know the story? It is simple I killed my wife and now I’m here.
• Well there is no proof that you did it, and why would you kill your wife after 10 years of marriage. I’m sorry Mr.Marks but I cannot understand anything from your file.
• This is always the problem with intellectual people, they don’t see the most obvious solutions. I confessed it. I needed to kill her.
• What do you mean by “I needed to kill her?”
• You are awfully smart for being a lawyer.
• Mr.Marks if you want me to help you, you need to answer my questions.
• All these years she was corrupting my life. The story my life is like Dorian Gray. She was my Portrait.
• Ah... That is interesting. Well unfortunately I haven’t read that book.
• Then I’m afraid your answer is in that book. It was nice seeing you my friend.
• You too Mr.Marks.

Sorry Again

Sorry I can't write these days, again. Something happened for a friend of mine!

Good Luck!

Why

هر دفعه شروع به فکر کردن می کنم ذهنم پرواز می کند، به جنگل هایی می رود که در واقعیت به آنها دسترسی ندارم. نمی توانم ذهنم را متوقف کنم اما به محض اینکه قلمم را به دست میگیرم، صدایی خشک و خشن در ذهنم می گوید: به ایست!! به کجا می روی؟ با خود فکر کردم چرا نمی توانم چیزی بنویسم که از خواندنش لذت ببرم! چرا نمی توانم با کسی از احساساتم سخن بگویم بدون آنکه مجبور به مخفی کردن قسمتی یا تغییر دادن قسمتی دیگر و یا حتی گاهی مجبور به دروغ گویی باشم! و بعد از چند دقیقه ای پشیمان نباشم از ابی که ریختم!! هیچ گاه نشد که بنویسم و لذت ببرم! مشکل کجاست؟ آیا چیزی نیست که که بر پای ان نوشته ای به وجود اید و یا اینکه این ترس قدیمی از سخن گفتن در مورد احساسات که به اشتباه ۵ ساله پیش موجب به تغییر زندگی من شد تا امروز گریبان گیر من است و من هیچ وقت نمی توانم از ان جدا شوم! آری من نمی توانم بنویسم! به محض اینکه قلم را نزدیک می اورم فرشته هایی که روی شانه ام نشسته اند شروع به جنگ می کنند و به کلی از یاد می برم که چرا می خواستم بنویسم و چه حسی بود که از من می خواست بنویسم! در همین حال که این چند خط را یادداشت می کنم صدایی در ذهنم می گوید بس است! اما نمی خواهم به ان گوش کنم! خسته شدم از مخفی کردن! می خواهم خودم باشم! به چه قیمتی میتوانم این گوهر را بدست آورم؟ اما آیا خود بودن گوهر است؟ در موقع ترک سرزمینم دوستی برایم نوشت که وقتی از اشناهایمان دور می شویم خودمان را گم میکنیم چون انسانها خود را با انسانهای اطراف خود تعریف می کنند! خاطراتم را که مرور میکنم می فهمم که درست است! من با اکثر دوستانم بد رفتاری می کردم اما در حال حاضر هر کاری می کنم که به هر کسی کمک کنم به هر طریقی که باشد! چه چیزی مرا عوض کرد؟ نشان دادن چهره خوب از ملتم؟ آری، شاید! اما این کافی نیست! این روزها از دوستان گذشته ام می شنوم! آنها هم تغییر کردند! این تغییرات ما را از هم بسیار دور کرده است که دیگر نمی دانم چطور باید با آنها سخن بگویم! برمی گردم سر اولین سوالم: چرا نمی توانم نوشته ای داشته باشم که به دلم بنشیند؟ چه چیزی در من می لنگد؟ معلم هنرمان می گوید که هر کسی می تواند !نقاش شود! پر بیراه هم نیست

...!با اجازه

Whenever I start thinking my mind will flew toward the jungles I could never reach in reality! I cant stop it; but the moment I start writing it, there is a voice in my head that would yell stop! Where the hell are you going? I thought why can't I write anything that I would enjoy reading afterwards? Why when ever I talk to someone about my feelings I have to change or cut some parts or even lie about it; or even regret talking about it and try getting back my spoiled milk! I had never enjoyed my own notes! Whats wrong in here? Is there a problem with my knowledge and thoughts that i don't have enough meaning to base a writing on it? Or is it my old fear of talking about my feelings that changed my life 5 years ago and it is still hunting me! yes, i cannot write! The moment i start writing a war would broke out inside my head and I would forget what or why I wanted to write and what was the emotion that temped me to start writing! As i'm typing these words there is a voice inside my head that wants me to stop! i'm not gonna listen to him! I'm tired of hiding! I want to be myself! How can i get this precious? But is it a precious? when I was leaving my homeland a friend of mine wrote a note for me; he said that when we leave, we usually suffer a personality crisis, because humans define their personality base on the people around them. When I dig into my memories I see that he was right! I was mean to most people around me, but now I will do anything to help anyone no matter what would happen! What happened that I changed this much? showing that all Iranians are super nice? maybe, but its not enough! I hear about my old friends, they changed as well! These changes are like a wall between us that I don't know how to break! Lets focus on my first question: why don't I enjoy my writings? Whats wrong with me? Our art teacher said "anyone can become an artist!" i'm sure he is right!

Good Luck!...

THE PREFACE-The Picture of Dorian Gray

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things means only Beauty. There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all. The nineteenth-century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth-century dislike of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his face in a glass. The moral life of man forms part if the subject-matter of the artist, butt the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style. No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything. Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art. Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art. From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type. All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful things as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art are quite useless. OSCAR WILDE

SOGA-2

این دفعه میتوانم! سیب را نزدیکتر برد. سعی کرد حواسش را متوجه چیز دیگری کند! دمی کشید و خواست گازی از سیب بزند. اما چنان که رایحه سیب به مشامش رسید دیگر نتوانست ان را نزدیکتر ببرد. چشمانش را بست. میخواست بگرید اما نمیتوانست. به سیب سبز نگاه انداخت. سبزیی اش یاد آور زندگی بود. شاخه قهویی اش یاد آور ایستادگی! رایحه اش به زندگی اش معنا میداد. و طعمش... و طعمش معنای عشق! اما با رسیدن به این عشق معنا و ایستادگی و زندگی چه میشود؟

با اجازه!...

I can do it this time! He brought the Apple closer. He tried to think of something else! He took a breath and went to bite the Apple. But the moment that he could smell the Apple he couldn't bring it closer. He closed his eyes. He wanted to cry but he couldn't. He stared at the Apple. Its green was a reminder of Life. Its brown stem was a reminder of strength. And it tasted like ... tasted like Love! But if he would reach that love what would happen to Meaning, Life, and Strength

...!Good luck

Happy new year

بوی جان می آید اینک از نفس های بهار

دستهای پر گل اند این شاخه ها ؛ بهر نثار

با پیام دلکش " نوروزتان پیروز باد "

با سرود تازه " هر روزتان نوروز باد "

شهر سرشار است از لبخند ؛ از گل ؛ از امید

تا جهان باقی ست این آئین جهان افروز باد

Good Luck!...

Story Of Green Apple(SOGA)-1

به قدری سبز بود که چشماش را میزد! خواست به ان نزدیکتر شود. خواست ان را در دست بگیرد و ببویداش، اما نمیتوانست به ان نزدیک شود. حسی به او میگفت که شاید این حق اوست که نمیتواند این زیبا را داشته باشد، این عشق را داشته باشد. با خود گفت: "مگر من در زندگی چه کردم که این نعمت حق من باشد! من قدرتی نداشتم، ندارم! چیزی جز مرگ حق من نیست! حتا قدرت این را ندارم که بمیرم! چون گمشودیی در شب هستم! چون درمانده ای! برگی شناور در باد! چوبی بر روی رود! کاش میتوانستم! ای کاش میتوانستم برای یک بر هم که شده اشک بریزم! اما حیف تنها قدرتی را هم که در کودکی داشتم با غرور از دست دادم و به این سنگ تبدیل شدم که میشکند اما باز هم سنگ است!" نگاهی دوباره به سیب سبز انداخت! ان را برداشت و بالا گرفت و به ان خیره ماند!

...!با اجازه

The Green light hurts his eyes! He wanted to get closer. He wanted to pick it up and smell it, but he couldn't get closer. He felt that he does not have the right to have this Beauty, this LOVE. He thought: " What have I done in life so this would be my prize! I didn't ... don't have any powers! I only deserve to Die! I even to have the power to Die! I'm Lost in the darkness of the night! I'm helpless! Just like a leaf in storm! A wood in river! I wish! I wish I could cry! Just for once! Alas that I lost this power with a childish pride and turned into this cold heart Stone that can be shattered, but its still a Stone!" He looked at the Green Apple again! He picked it up and stared at it!

Good Luck!...

I wish

ای کاش قدرت خاصی داشتم! ای کاش میتوانستم بسازم! ای کاش میتوانستم نبود کنم! ای کاش میتوانستم زندگی ببخشم! ای کاش میتوانستم بکشم! ای کاش میتوانستم ... میتوانستم بنویسم و ذهن همه را تسخیر کنم! یا اینکه میتوانستم قلب ها را تسخیر کنم! ای کاش میتوانستم پرواز کنم! ای کاش میتوانستم به عقب برگردم! ای کاش میتوانستم به دیگری کمک کنم! ای کاش میتوانستم به خودم کمک کنم! ای کاش میتوانستم با ذهنم همه چیز کنترل کنم! ای کاش میتوانستم آهنگ بزنم! ای کاش میتوانستم سخن بگویم! ای کاش میتوانستم اشتباهات را پاک کنم! و ای کاش میشود تنها زندگی کرد!!

هر چه بود را پشت سر گذاشتم اما به جلو حرکت نکردم! "همیشه راحت تر است که بدویم و این درد را با بیحسی جایگزین کنیم ! بعضی اوقات به این فکر میکنم که بگذارم گذشته را بروم و هیچ وقت هم به جلو نروم تا هیچ وقت گذشته ای نباشد"!

...!با اجازه

I wish I had a power! I wish I could build! I wish I could destroy! I wish I could give life! I wish I could kill! I wish I could ... I could write, so that i could capture minds! Or i could capture hearts! I wish I could fly! I wish I could go back in time! I wish I could help others! I wish I could help myself! I wish I could control everything with my mind! I wish I could play music! I wish I could talk! I wish I could retrace every wrong move that I made! I wish I could live alone!

"It's always easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb! Some times I think of letting go and never looking back and never moving forward so there never be a past!"

Good Luck!...

Sorry

I'm so sorry for the delay that is happening. I can't write these days!!

Solitary

یه سوال؟ چرا حرف زدن با دیگران لذت بخشه؟ یا بهتر بگم نیازه؟ چرا در انفرادی زندگی کردن خیلی سخته؟

...!با اجازه

I have a question? Why is it enjoyable to chat with someone? Or I rather say why we need to talk to someone? Why is it hard to live in a solitary?

Good Luck!...

Author

معلم میشناختم که میخواست به من بفهماند که نویسندگی به خط خوش نیست! به کلمات زیبا و آرایهای ادبی نیست! این جان کلام است که به نوشته زندگی میدهد و همین طور به نویسنده! اگر معنای ذهنی نباشد نوشته چیزی جز کاغذ رنگی نیست! و هنوز هم من این را نفهمیدم! دریغا که نویسنده نیستم! و این زندگی زیبا را درک نخواهم کرد!

...!با اجازه

I knew a teacher who was trying to teach me that being a writer is not about having a good hand writing! it's not about the Beautiful words! The meaning inside a note is important! It's the meaning who gives personality to the writer and the note! With out a good meaning the note is no different from a scrap paper! And I haven't learn it! Alas, that I'm not a writer! So I cannot understand this Beautiful Life!

Good Luck!...

Habit

و عادت کردن چقدر خوب است! دوری؟ ملالی نیست! تنهایی؟ دردی نیست! دل تنگی؟ می گذرد! زندگی؟ زیباست! و عادت کردن چقدر بد است! دوریش؟ غم است! نبودنش؟ جهنمی است! مرگش؟ مرگ است! زندگی؟ زیباست! و میتوانم این را هر روز تکرار کنم و در آخر هم باز من می مانم و این زیبایی! و چه زود میگذرد زمان. دیروز با خود میگفتم:" چه گونه بروم؟" رفتم! امروز با خود گویم:"چه گونه بروم؟" رفتم! و فردا باز هم میروم! و در آخر هنوز متوجه نشدم که این من نبودم که رفتم! من سیبی بودم شناور در رود! و این رود مرا با خود برد. به دریایی رسید. شناور ماندم. به ساحل رسید. در شن ماندم! و موجی دیگر آمد و مرا برد با خود. و نام این را چه بگذارم جز زیبایی؟

"گفته بودم زندگی زیباست، گفته و ناگفته ای بس نکتها کین جاست."

...!با اجازه

To get used to is really good! Being far away? No problem! Loneliness? No matter! To miss? It will pass! Life? Beautiful!

To get used to is really bad! She is away? Sadness! She is gone? Hell! She is dead? Death! Life? Beautiful!

And it will happen every day and at the end all that awaits me is this Beautiful Life!

And Time moves so fast, yesterday is was thinking: "How can I leave?" I left! Today i'm thinking: "How can I leave?" I'm leaving! And tomorrow I will leave! And at the end i didn't notice that it wasn't me who left! I'm an apple flouting on the river! And this river took me! We reached a Sea! I was still flouting! We reached the shore! I couldn't move! So another wave took me! Can you call it anything other than Beautiful!

"I said Life is Beautiful, But there are many details remained!"

Good Luck!...

-no title-

انا لله و انا الیه الراجعون

بازگشت همه به سوی اوست

All of us will return to him!

Life of a Tree

چند سال پیش داستانی در مورد یک درخت نوشتم! درختی ضعیف که برگ نداشت. تنها هنرش این بود که میتوانست گل بدهد. ان هم فقط یک گل. داستانم در مورد این بود که چگونه این درخت رشد کرد و توانست ۲ تا گل بدهد اما هر ۲ گل نبود شدند و او نیز نبود شد! با خود فکر کردم که چه شد این داستان را نوشتم؟ زمانی بود که دو دوست را مانند این ۲ گل می پنداشتم. هر دو را عاشقانه دوست داشتم و ازشان نگهداری میکردم. در همان زمان پیش بینی کردم که روزی این ۲ گل از بین خواهند رفت و من درختی تنها خواهم ماند. اما هیچ وقت سعی نکردم خودم را برای ان زمان آماده کنم. و ان زمان رسید. پوسیدن را حس کردم اما از پای نیفتادم. نگسستم نرمیدم! در ان زمان فهمیدم زندگی بیش از یک گل است. زندگی زیبایی ان جنگل است!

...!با اجازه

A few years ago I wrote a story about a tree! A weak tree that it was not even able to grow leaves. The only thing that it could grow was a flower. My story was about the growth of this tree and how it finally grew 2 flowers. But unfortunately both flowers were destroyed and the tree was destroyed as well. I thought what happened to me that I wrote this story? There was a time that I had two friends and I thought of them as my flowers. I loved both of them and I tried to watch after them. But i could foresee the day that those flowers would be destroyed and i would be alone. Even then I did not tried to prepare for that. and finally the time came! i could feel the pain in every stem but they didn't brake. Then i learned that flowers are temporary. It is the forest that will last forever! The beauty of life is the jungle!

Good luck! ...

Laughter

خندیدن، خندیدن و باز هم خندیدن. یک سوال : خنده چیست؟ چرا می خندیم؟ چرا خندیدن را نشانه شادی میدانیم؟ با اینکه خندیدن میتواند به تلخی اشک ریختن و گاه حتا تلخ تر هم باشد. چه میشود اگر تمامه احساسات به یک خنده خلاصه می شد و این آدمیان بودند که تفاوت را درک می کردند. چه میشد اگر ظاهر همه ی احساسات همین بود و شناخت عمیقی نیاز بود برای فهمیدن احساس واقعی یک فرد. آیا این ارزش پنهان کردن احساسات با خنده را ندارد؟

...!با اجازه

Laughter, laughter, and again laughter. There is one question: what is laughter? Why do we laugh? Why laughing is considered as an act of happiness? although laughing can be as harsh as crying. Imagine if any emotion could be expressed by a laugh and people would understand the difference. Imagine if all the emotions were a laugh and for understanding the difference you had to completely know the person. Isn't it worth hiding all the emotions with a laugh?

Good Luck! ...

The Beginning

شروع! همیشه زیباترین قسمت و خوشحال کننده ترین. اما هر شروعی پایانی هم دارد. و معمولا پایان زیباترین و غم انگیز ترین است. می خواهم به عقب باز گردم به شکل گیری این درخت سیب! به زمانی که این درخت که به تازگی سیب می دهد نهالی شکسته بیش نبود. چه شد که سلولهای این درخت دوباره خود را ساختند. بله میدانم. این درخت حافظه خوبی دارد. این درخت رنج ها را بیاد دارد. اما با این حال خوبی ها رو هم از یاد نبرده. زیبایی در هر دو این ها است. زیبایی چیزی است که هر جسمی را میسازد. به قوله دوستی به همه بگویید زیبا هستند

...!با اجازه

پ.ن: ترجمه دقیق نمیباشد. ترجمه با نظر بنده تغییر میکند.

Beginning! it's always the most beautiful and the happiest part! But everything that has a beginning has an end. And Ending is usually the most beautiful and the saddest part! I want to look to the past, the time that this Apple Tree formed! The time that this Tree who can make Apples was a just a broken sapling. what had happen that the cells rebuilt it? I know what. This Tree has a really good memory! It remembers the pains. And it can also remember the good deeds. Both of them are beautiful! Beauty makes everything. Once a friend of mine said to tell everyone that they are beautiful.

Good Luck! ...

P.S: The translation is not accurate! It is based on my opinion.