December 17, 2003


Last time I've seen him was in a deserted cafe in the middle of the city.
He has been traveling for a long time, a long distance - 800 km every week
- to take her hand for a while, say an hour or two at best. What he gets
was all that make things worst. He gets the sweet scents of her perfume in
those hours together and then when he becomes himself and alone again, he
would miss the real source of the scent; her body, her hands. Those are
the times when he smokes cigarettes like a train.
Late at night, sleepless by caffeine and nicotine, he would smell both
scent of nicotine and her scent on his hands, mixed, indistinguishable.
Her dislike of smoking, and his love for her makes a complex paradoxical
feeling inside him.
He should pay for love cause it would make you face to face with your real
self; a navigation into the filthiest and the most tender corners of ones
mind and soul.
I'm sorry for him. He is caught again on a crossfire.

Posted by Shervin at 07:19 PM

December 11, 2003

The Urban Eve

She writes and she writes good and she writes real. We've met somewhere in
the void of the net. May be on the referrer page of a blog or somewhere
among the bunch of comments.
Soie is her nickname. She owns a blog with black background and blue text,
which comes down on me like a mist of mystery anytime I visit there. It
reminds of the blue cafe in one of my daydreaming, the cafe with a shade
of blue all over the place where all the broken hearted people, newbie
lovers and romantic Don Juans gather.
It's just like seeing a woman with the wildest hair ever seen, in one of
the most lonely streets of Tehran in mid-winter snow; the urban eve who is
singing for herself and dancing to her own song.

"I like my hair, with all its shadows, all its rages..." (by Soie,
translated by me)
She writes free. She writes painful, she knows that "the real truth cant
be spoken" without pain.
Give her a visit....You might even visit Holden, Seymour and a few members
of Glass family here and there in her blue cafe, her blog.

Do you still think I’m beautiful now that the lights are on?
Do you think I’m the same girl now that the lights are on?
I don’t think that I’m the same girl now that the lights are on
Don’t bother to comfort me
I am comforted by the corner of lonely green walls... I am!
I am a woman now.(By Soie)

Posted by Shervin at 07:24 PM
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