Wednesday, December 28, 2005

The Tune of The Day

Keep On
by Will Young


You know I'm gonna keep on, gonna keep on
Nowhere else to go
I like it with the heat on, so put the heat on
I get there on my own
You know I'm gonna ride it, I won't hide it
I told you all along
But none of that don't matter, let's get it on

'Cos it pays to do your best
Do it better than the rest
And I hate to say I'm wrong,
I can see what's going on
And at times it makes me mad
'Cos this thing is all I have
Got to see a way,
Oh, how I love it, how I love it


It's a way to pay the bills
But I need to get my thrills
Just until I'm satisfied
But I need to feel alive
You gotta hurt before you heal
Take a dream and make it real
I've been waiting too long
Hey I'm coming, hey I'm coming

Like a diamond in the rough
Keep on 'til I've had enough
Gonna shimmer like the sun
I can warm up everyone
It's coming like a miracle
When you rise you never fall
I've been waiting so long
Hey it's coming, hey it's coming


Why wait, what you holding on for?
I just go around and around
It isn't gonna take too long
It's late, but not too late
It's time for reaching out
Somebody's gonna take me away

You gotta hurt before you heal
Take a dream and make it real
I've been waiting too long
Hey I'm coming, hey I'm coming


Keep on, keep on
Gonna keep on
Keep on now (to fade)

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

At a Long Long Train Station

Clock is ticking
Heart is beating
Lips are sipping last two drops

No decision
On division
Neither living as a corpse

Murky future
Shaky picture
Of the past and present days

Leaving darkness
Human sharkness
Looking for a stream of rays...

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

The Hardest Word To Say...

It seems I have reached the ceiling and no use of me for the goal we have followed so far. I had realized that for quite a while, but was working under a self-applied coercion. Now I have to lay down my arm and stop losing myself in a project that has reached its edges and would not move even for an inch anymore with me in it. However, the yacht is done and is still moving with our collective enormous efforts. I am certain it would keep moving without me too. So, it’s time to move on for me, I suppose. Have you ever seen the boiling pot of patience overflowing?

My friends, my dearest friends, would be annoyed by this decision, I know. Nevertheless I believe in their comprehension and I will love them dearly as ever regardless to my whereabouts. I’ve experienced both the sweetest and the bitterest moments of my professional life with them. I have shared my dreams and reality with them. We have so many things in common now and it will not evaporate without a trace indeed.

What I’m not certain about is the direction I am going to move towards now. I need a good rest after this hurricane and I ought to restore my professional and private personality before doing anything else. In other words, I need to lick my wounds and heal them in solitude before heading to a new battle ground. Hopefully the gap of uncertainty would turn into a necessary period of recovery.

However, the triumphant voyage of the vessel I am leaving now is still my pink dream. For it is as dear to me as a child of my own. And I feel as torn apart as a father leaving his offspring or a lover leaving his beloved. But I am absolutely certain that other parents of the child, my dearest counterparts, will still look after it and there won’t be any need for my custody. Therefore, I will be looking forward to hearing about more successes of our brilliant child.

Ин «КАМ», ки лутфи кам зи Лутфи ба у расид,
Рудест, ки ба ин гох зи як хурда чу расид.
Дасти ситам шикаставу чашми хасуд кур,
Фардо бибин, ки коики мо чун ба ку расид.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Something to Remember

Trying to catch up with ruthless days and nights that are rushing towards eternity irreversibly with a grey brush to paint our heads. Memories are piling up in my box and squeezing it so that you can see their traces. But since a while ago it seems that we are living the same year over and over again. Same names and same upheavals are filling up our being. Same pictures of cigarette-like twin towers and smoked tube stations with more details on the war of “good” and “evil”. But the loudest explosion in this lot to me was Robert Fisk’s “Finding Osama”. The Independent correspondent has happened to be the only Western journalist to penetrate al-Qa’ida’s inner sanctum and have several chats with the world’s most wanted man. He has survived some awesome moments like Bin Laden asking him: “Mr Robert, one of our brothers had a dream. He dreamed that you came to us one day on a horse, that you had a beard and that you were a spiritual person. You wore a robe like us. This means you are a true Muslim”. R. Fisk admits that it was terrifying. However, he dared to tell that he was not a Muslim. He was just a journalist and his job was to tell the truth. Osama’s withdrawal from his proposal sounded sickeningly diplomatic too: “If you tell the truth, that means you are a good Muslim”. You could imagine that this blood-thirsty creature had never lied throughout his life or any of his followers or big enemies. In reality their jihads and crusades are lie-coated entirely.

Another passage from Robert’s book: “I said to Bin Laden that Afghanistan was the only country left to him after his exile in Sudan. He agreed. “The safest place in the world for me is Afghanistan.” It was the only place, I repeated, in which he could campaign against the Saudi government. Bin Laden and several of his Arab fighters burst into laughter. “There are other places”, he replied. Did he mean Tajikistan? I asked. Or Uzbekistan? Kazakhstan? “There are several places where we have friends and close brothers – we can find refuge and safety in them”. I told Bin Laden he was already a hunted man. “Danger is a part of our life”, he snapped back”.

To me it was a bit surprising that Tajikistan was the first country to come into Robert’s mind as Osama’s second haven.

Osama in 1997 explains how much he detests Saddam Hussein, while “Saddam’s support for Bin Laden” was one of Bush’s justifications for attacking on Iraq.

That was something I added to my last days’ memorable moments.

There is something else to remember as well, of course. My baby has made a favour for me that turned up as a big surprise to me. My short story about Hushyar, the lovely dog of my Dad, has been published. I had completely forgotten that she had taken a copy of it with herself back to Dushanbe. That was a very pleasant moment indeed.

Bring My Family Back

Lyrics & song by Faithless

I'm on Lonely Street age nearly three,
Recently Mama's cryin all the time is it because of me?
Or my younger sister, even Dad was weeping when he kissed her,
Face all puffy like a blister, cryin' like he missed her,
Since we moved away from the house where we use ta play,
They say I'll understand one day, but I doubt it,
Mama never say nothin' about it,
How'd it get to be so crowded,
I found it a strain, everywhere I look I see pain,
And I can't escape the feelin', maybe I'm to blame,
So I strain to listen, prayin' for a decision, wishing' they were kissin'
This feels like extradition or exile, Mama finds it hard to smile,
So I make pretend cups of coffe in her favourite style,
She says child I'm working so there's nothing you lack,
Bus she know I want my Dad, I want my family back.

I'm on Lonely Street, age forty-three
Couldn't gauge when tot quit so my wife quit me
Took offence, took the kids, I wish that was the end
But before she took her leave she took care of my best friend
Workin' all the hours God send was not the tactic
Y'see cuz after ten years I'm left with jackshit
Wanted to make the cash Quik so I useta work real late
Bad sex, My woman's vex, even if I stay awake
And if I'm honest, I had a little cake at the office
I was eatin' We'd do our cheatin over coffees, makin' tea for the bosses
Makin free with me and I agree I got sleazy too easily
But I'm forty-three, this doesn't usually happen to me
Now I'm lonely, I wonder what my son's doing today
Suddenly I'm blinkin' like the screen on my computer display and I'm drinkin'
Concerned about what's down the track if I don't get my family back

I'm on Lonely Street, number fifty-three
Boarded up properly, I'll probably get pulled down
Litter all around inside there's no sound and no light
But yo it gets busy at night, people creppin'
Derelicts sneakin' to fix, speakin'
On the way my timbers creaking', roof leakin'
And bricks comin' loose, knee high in refuse
But even though I'm a slum I'm still of some use
There was a time when my walls were decorated
And under my roof children were educated
But now paint's faded, windows are all smashed
A crash in the economy robbed me of my family And no strategy
combats negative equitiy so that's it. Like violence it's drastic
I'm freaking', and seekin' to be more than just a house of crack
somebody bring my family back

Monday, September 19, 2005

Another Pantomime

Dragging myself to the office in the morning again. I gotta shave my face before in order to give the most profound feeling of artificial sincerity to our bosses to assure them that the conciliation is still on and their asses are firmly attached to their chairs for a longer while. Of course, it IS a difficult task to even move them a bit in solitude.

No reason, but I feel as empty as possible. As if it is not me who’s living this life. On the contrary, the life is living me out... Perhaps, I’m cheating again. There must be some reason(s). Some reason(s) that I don’t wanna take out of the shadow. Let them be there until they want to crawl out themselves. And they definitely will.

But this shadowy being and uncertainty is definitely the last thing I wish. I suppose zamharir must feel the same.

No Bravery

by James Blunt

There are children standing here,
Arms outstretched into the sky,
Tears drying on their face.
He has been here.
Brothers lie in shallow graves.
Fathers lost without a trace.
A nation blind to their disgrace,
Since he's been here.

And I see no bravery,
No bravery in your eyes anymore.
Only sadness.

Houses burnt beyond repair.
The smell of death is in the air.
A woman weeping in despair says,
He has been here.
Tracer lighting up the sky.
It's another families' turn to die.
A child afraid to even cry out says,
He has been here.

And I see no bravery,
No bravery in your eyes anymore.
Only sadness.

There are children standing here,
Arms outstretched into the sky,
But no one asks the question why,
He has been here.
Old men kneel to accept their fate.
Wives and daughters cut and raped.
A generation drenched in hate.
Yes, he has been here.

And I see no bravery,
No bravery in your eyes anymore.
Only sadness.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Whisper of The Night

The world is round
The life is plain
Bang-bang is a sound
But its essence is a pain

The knife is blunt
The cake is hard
The life is a cunt
A traitor of my heart

Till when I gotta drop
Bombs of sorrow and regret?
Do you think this facken soap
Is gonna wash the dirt I've shed?..

Bitter Honey

No, I'm not going to that house anymore. The dull and soulless house suffocates me.

The other day just the image of a fallen pot with a withered flower in the backyard darkened the entire world for me and squeezed my throat to produce a tear or two to roll down my distorted face. My birds were not around to fly over it and to look after it. My nightingales are looking after other flowers now in a dearest remote part of the world… I’m craving for that sweet headache caused by their giggling, swirling, shouting and laughter.

No, I do not enjoy my life anymore like this. Despite the fact that this sad being is still addicted to sorrow that stirs up his internal world to bring up something new. But the new is not always the wanted.

Have you seen a restless bee striving to taste something new in variety of flowers? Have you noticed how it leaves a flower indifferently for another one just because either the experience wasn’t that new or the new experience was not wanted?

But still, it does not reject to try a new experience. And still, it produces the same shit that we love so much…

Am I ranting now? Perhaps. But that’s the honey I produce.

…Loneliness is the mother of vice. I don’t know how other bees assess it. It might be the mother of creativity to a few; nothing distracts their attention from producing some sweeter honey. But certainly, I don’t belong to that category of bees. Loneliness is a ghost that leads me to the Sinland.

Can you feel the revoltingly sweet taste of the chilli pepper white wine in my mouth? That’s another flower in the garden I am visiting right now and lining up these nonsense sentences to find out the quaint-essence of this flower…

The customers of this Irish pub are lost: who’s this weirdo lost in his thoughts with a broken pen and a torn piece of paper?.. I am lost too indeed. Lost without you, my nightingales…

It’s not the whole yet.

A narrow neck keeps the bottle from being emptied in one swig.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

I Need You, My Blog!

Blogging is a strange stuff: you need it when you don’t feel needed by anyone else and it embraces you whole-heartedly and amicably with no sign of grievance.

Perhaps human being is the only creature of God to nurse a grievance. While I do try not to bear a grudge against anyone, but some people just die for being disliked by me and do whatever they can do just in order to see me down, because it is much easier to kick somebody when he is already down. Certainly, I am still trying to stick up for myself, but what makes it worse is that I’m getting indifferent towards whatever is going on in that bloody mad-house. A gang of losers is trying to punish and subdue loud voices. No doubt, they have to dream on and I still bear in my mind the axiom: everything and anything changes; because it has to…

Especially when you see a Pandora’s Box opened in the whole city and panic dictating your routine life, those little conspiracies in the mad-house look even more miserable and unimportant… I am just thinking loud now to convince myself in what I am saying. But I can feel a great sense of resentment inside while my hope for a change in the office has died… It died today actually. After my long and biting conversation with the person who was supposed to sort the problems out and to let the fresh air in. Disillusion is painful indeed.

On the other hand, London is getting mad too. It is almost broken without its main tube lines. Manhunt that started earlier today is still going on and as a reporter said today “by no means it is the end”, it’s rather just the beginning of a new era of terrorism and counter-terrorism in this beautiful land. A man was shot dead this morning within a train carriage in front of the passengers by policemen. They shoot at him five times. Because he ran away from them and they chased him into the Stockwell tube station. This is just a day after 4 explosions and blast attempts and 2 weeks after the bloody 7 July. The ghost of horror is hovering over the city and every Asian or black with a rucksack arouses suspicion. A good time for pathetic racists to let out their hatred on innocent ones.

Leftover From A Trip

24 June 2005, Dushanbe-Moscow

A skinny little woman that unnaturally looks older than her real age is sitting beside me with 3 of her toddlers. Out of a sudden all of them started a loud crying symphony and put their mother in an unpleasant situation. She is going to St-Petersburg to visit her husband – one of many thousands Tajik labour migrants in Russia. I was wondering how she would manage to get to Petersburg from Moscow by herself with 3 little crying kids, while she merely speaks a couple of Russian words and she wears national Tajik long sleeved clothes. No doubt, she would suffer from annoying Russian check points within and outside the airport with their humiliating behaviour and tone. Because she is a Tajik in Moscow and that’s written on her face and she is defenceless with three kids…

I am a Tajik too and it is written on my top. For the first time in my life I saw a T-shirt with that sort of patriotic writing in Tajikistan with a beautiful map of the country. My dearest friend found and bought it for me and I am terribly obliged to her for such a perfect gift. Just imagine: walking with a “Tajikistan” T-shirt in Moscow, Zurich and London! People would look at me first with confusion, and then at least they would memorize the sweet name of a beautiful piece of land behind one of the highest altitudes of the world: Tajikistan… Such a pleasant feeling!

Meanwhile, an ageing Tupolov-154 is increasing the geographical distance between me and my beloved piece of land whereas the hearty distance between us is diminishing so vividly. Four weeks I inhaled its perfect air and suffered under (rather enjoyed) its hot and burning Sun. I can feel how my love deep inside is growing to a bigger feeling towards the God-forgotten land whose continuous prosperity is my eternal pink dream.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

The Wind of Change

Life is going on in here and the wind of change is still blowing away the remainder of the past. However, you will not be terribly surprised, if you haven’t been here for the last ten years.

But I was pleasantly shocked by brand new cashpoints in Dushanbe streets! I saw 2 of them installed as openly as in London, not behind walls and windows as in Prague.

I rushed towards the first one as soon as Shamsi showed it to me and embraced the cold device firmly hammered in the wall; the device was innocently blinking and inviting confused passers-by in three languages (Persian, English and Russian) to insert their cards. Many cannot get the message yet: what sort of cards? What for and so on.

I remember how a guy was asking me if I'd won a lottery, while I was getting my own money from the Supermarket (CUM) cashpoint…

Gotta go now. Hope to get back to my Dushanbe travelogue one day…

Sunday, May 29, 2005

A Sky Sketch... Jak se mat, pritel?

Our Czech Airlines Boing-737 pointed the sky with its sharp nose and flied over as a proud eagle. Green fields of the Prague outskirts were running backward as if depicting how fast the globe spins around in reality that we don’t happen to feel in our routine life.

But today isn’t too cloudy. It was even a bit too hot in Prague, so that I had to add some three more kilograms to my luggage by leaving my warm jacket in the bag. However, for the first time in my life (at least as far as I remember) I didn’t have to pay for excess luggage.

Yeah, it’s not cloudy even now when I’m typing these words on board. Just a few of white clouds swimming in the skies, that’s why our take off wasn’t too shaky. I can perfectly see the beautiful face of our Homeland – the Earth. I can see long and winding roads covered its body like arteries and veins. But I am too high to see the blood in the veins, I mean any moving objects on the roads that divide square-like settlements and pass across fields and no-man areas. And I am too far to distinguish the curving edge of the Earth that has merged and converged with horizon. Some pieces of white clouds resemble king size beds and make me feel like jumping on them and take good rest after 4 days of a busy trip. I can’t believe that I could penetrate them. They look very firm and dense and convincing. Thanks God, the windows are shut for good!

I am leaving Prague with marvellous memories of a town filled with beauty and politeness. ‘Dobry den’, ‘Dekuju’ & ‘Na shledanou’ would make a day for you in Prague. They are really magic words to be used everywhere and with anyone in Prague. A city defeated by many tribes, armies and empires. An easy prey for occupiers. They have never tried to fight against usurpers in order to keep their dazzling capital to prosper on. Nowadays one can see Hungarian, French, German, Austrian, Russian and Soviet cultural traces in Prague’s architecture and painting and that makes it even more mysterious and beautiful. Karluv most (Charles’ Bridge) over the dark Vltava resembled Moscow’s Arbat to me. And Russian could be heard all across the town with Russian-speaking shop-keepers, painters and tourists.

I was amazed by the quiet nature of the Czech people: how could the makers of the finest beer in the world be so easy going and noiseless. But last night I saw a herd of drunken desperados shouting, swearing, peeing and farting (anyway it sounded like someone was farting) as if the city was there bathroom. I approached them for a little research of rare species of the town. And would you believe me? They were swearing in London accent and no word in Czech. Desperate beer-thirsty English youth!

Prague is a mixture of Eastern and Western Europe. And Czech people are a mild polite but cold nation with a sort of embarrassment or complex of inferiority in front of a Western European, whereas unaware of their own assets and Western pitfalls. That was my short conclusion. But by and large I like Prague, I like Czechs and I like their language.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Poetic Night Challenges Despair

Ба М. Пагох, ки ба колбуди илхомам даме тоза дамид

Шабе, ки гусса гиребони ман гирифту фишурд
Маро чаковаки озоди шеър бони шуд
Хушо саъодати дидор бо аниси газал
Тилисми гусса бипошиду шеърхони шуд

به م. پگاه که به کالبد الهامم دمي تازه دميد

شبي که غصه گريببان من گرفت و فشرد
مرا چکاوک آزاد شعر باني شد
خوشا سعادت ديدار با انيس غزل
طلسم غصه بپاشيد و شعرخواني شد


Monday, April 18, 2005

The Final Feather For Today

Хоб дидам, хамнафас, имшаб
Коби андухи чашмхоятро
Ламс кардам бо диле ларзон
Хачми торики хашмхоятро
خواب ديدم، همنفس، امشب
قاب اندوه چشمهايت را
لمس کردم با دلي لرزان
حجم تاريک خشمهايت را

Дарди сангини дили хубат
Бо касоват хамлаам мекард...
Биркаи ашкат маро балъид
Гум шудам дар интихои дард
درد سنگين دل خوبت
با قساوت حمله ام مي کرد
برکه اشکت مرا بلعيد
گم شدم در انتهاي درد

Эй ки лабхандат бахори буд
Буи талхи хазон меори
Бо нигохи сарди поизи
Рихвати човидон меори
اي که لبخندت بهاري بود
بوي تلخ خزان مي آري
با نگاه سرد پاييزي
رخوت جاودان مي آري

Эй ки бе ту сарои ман холи!
Пургунохам пеши чашмонат
Боз хохи дид бо лабханд
Бар рухи марди пашимонат?
اي که بي تو سراي من خالي
پرگناهم پيش چشمانت
باز خواهي ديد با لبخند
بر رخ مرد پشيمانت؟


The Third Feather of Inspiration

Шахри ман пушти хамон кухи буланд аст

Модаре хаст он чо
Пур аз буи бихишт
Тобиши шуълаи хуршед аз уст
Мохро мехри мунираш ба фазо меорад
Гул бари дидани у меруяд
Осмон гуссаи у меборад
Лола бо шодии у механдад
Булбул аз киссаи у мегуяд
Модаре хаст ба покии Худо...

شهر من پشت همان کوه بلند است

مادری هست آنجا
پر از بوی بهشت
تابش شعله خورشيد از اوست
ماه را مهر منيرش به فضا می آرد
گل بر ديدن او می رويد
آسمان غصه او می بارد
لاله با شادی او می خندد
بلبل از قصه او می گويد
مادری هست به پاکی خدا...

Пушти хамон кухи буланд
Куххо дасти дуъои уянд
Чашмахо замзамаи сураи девандозаш
پشت همان کوه بلند
چشم براه
کوهها دست دعای اويند
چشمه ها زمزمه سوره ديو اندازش

Модаре хаст, ки пахнои замин
Сурати калби чахонгири уст
Он бузургахтари рахшон ба фазо
Ки ба у менигарад
Чашми уммеди равони модари пири уст
Модаре хаст, ки номуси Худост
مادری هست که پهنای زمين
صورت قلب جهانگير اوست
آن بزرگ اختر رخشان به فضا
چشم اميد روان مادر پير اوست
مادری هست که ناموس خداست

Хадаф аз халки башар у буда
Боги пурбори Худоро
Бехтарин бору самар у буда
هدف از خلق بشر او بوده
باغ پربار خدا را
بهترين بار و ثمر او بوده

Модаре хаст, ки буд
Модаре хаст, ки хаст
Модаре хаст, ки то чархи замин мегардад
Хохад монд.
مادری هست که بود
مادری هست که هست
مادری هست که تا چرخ زمين می گردد
خواهد ماند


The Second Feather of Inspiration

Хумори дуди захрогин
мекашад бозам
Оташак медурахшид дуздида
Фикри хоме барои дилдори –
Бо ту захри замон даво созам
خمار دود زهرآگين
می کشد بازم
آتشک می درخشد دزديده
فکر خامی برای دلداری –
با تو زهر زمان دوا سازم

Тик-тики соъати девори хамуш
Мекашад бори сахти танхои
Бо гурур
Мебарад акнуни маро
Ману хона ва шахри хобида
Савори сонияхо
تيک تيک ساعت ديوار خموش
می کشد بار سخت تنهايی
با غرور
می برد اکنون مرا
من و خانه و شهر خوابيده
سوار ثانيه ها

Ёхтахо масти сигор мемиранд
Тозахо чои кухан мегиранд
Акраба метозад...
ياخته ها مست سيگار می ميرند
تازه ها جای کهن می گيرند
عقربه می تازد...

Чашми оина хамуш
Касеро хавасе нест канораш бошад
То ба у
Радди он акраба бар сурати худ бинмояд...
چشم آيينه خموش
کسی را هوسی نيست کنارش باشد
تا به او
رد آن عقربه بر صورت خود بنمايد...


Awakened Persian Inspiration

Рузгорест синаам пуч аст
Чашми афкори тираам луч аст
روزگاري است سينه ام پوچ است
چشم افکار تيره ام لوچ است

Лолахо дар сароб хушкида
Ахтарон бо шахоб галтида
لاله ها در سراب خشکيده
اختران با شهاب غلطيده

Ёхтахои танам пашимон аст
Ки даруни харими вайрон аст
ياخته هاي تنم پشيمان است
که درون حريم ويران است

Сарнишини осонсури торих
Кубида мисли баргае бо мех
سرنشين آسانسور تاريخ
کوبيده مثل برگه اي با ميخ

Бод аз ламси ман гурезон аст
Шуълаи ломпи ман чи сузон аст!
باد از لمس من گريزان است
شعله لامپ من چه سوزان است

На тавони ба ломп ёзидан
Ва на имкони чон бозидан
نه توان به لامپ يازيدن
و نه امکان جان بازيدن

Дугмаи «ист»-и он нопайдост,
На «олорм»-е ба сохибаш, ки Худост
دگمه "ايست" آن ناپيداست
نه "آلارم"-ي به صاحبش که خداست

На Суруше барад паёмамро
Мочарохои субху шомамро
نه سروشي برد پيامم را
ماجرا هاي صبح و شامم را

Хар чи овоз – касидаи бим аст
Хама “we got him” ва “killed him” аст
هر چه آواز - قصيده بيم است
"we got him" و
"killed him"

Кахкароист сайри ин мошин
Аз буландо равонаи поин
قهقرايي است سير اين ماشين
از بلندا روانه پايين

Мушхо мекашанд танобашро
Пашшахо баста чашму бобашро
موشها مي کشند تنابش را
پشه بسته چشم بابش را...


Friday, April 15, 2005

Lost Hats and Stolen Thrones

It’s drizzling out there and I am happy to be indoors to enjoy my poetic mood rather than being under the rain and moaning about my absent-mindedness that I have lost the second black nylon hat during last couple of months on a train and both of them were from a dear friend of mine…

I have disappeared for a while, I know, and I do feel guilty for that. At least here, in my Thoughtland, I should have appeared more frequently just to let you and myself know that my head is still able to use its brain and there are some thoughts hidden indeed. But I couldn’t find them in my painfully obscure brain during these days…

I don’t know what happened, but strangely for myself I could see how the clouds of obscurity started getting dispersed and going away and the atmosphere resumed pushing my chest to breathe deeper and forced my eyes to see colours other than black.

I even decided to wipe the thick dust off my radio receiver (a gift from another friend of mine) and replace its rusted batteries to make it speak again.

Throughout those bleak days of obscurity I was silently watching dramatic events in my region. (By “silently” I mean my mental state, otherwise I was shouting and moving in the office.)

The most democratic leader in Central Asia fell down of his throne and ran away as soon as he fell. (By “the most democratic” I mean comparatively open society in the region. I don’t want to give you any illusions of real democracy in that part of the world. Because the real one does not exist in the contemporary world at all, let alone my remote region).

I talked to him, the overthrown monarch that apparently had an intention to root himself and his dynasty to the throne by promoting his siblings – son and daughter – to seize the seats in the parliament. I could feel the sound of remorse trembling in his academically thoughtful words. He was not the same Askar Akayev anymore. Otherwise I couldn’t get him just like that over the phone. He had no hope to regain his authority. It was gone for good and he could realize it. The only thing he was asking for was a certain respect to his historic personality and guaranteed return to his homeland. Respect was given afterwards, but his return is not guaranteed yet.

Firstly, all experts pointed at the US again: the evil empire is spreading its branches in Central Asia and another mushroom-like pro-American regime was born. Even Akayev was certain that “the tulip revolution” was planned by America, namely by its Ambassador to Bishkek, Stephen Young. He prompted me to find the plan in the Internet and I did. The document did really have Young’s signature underneath. Of course, the accusation was firmly denied by Mr Young in Bishkek.

However, nowadays I can hear more whispers about Russia’s role in the Kyrgyz “revolution”. As if Russia just didn’t want to seat and wait until another “pro-American” revolution will overthrow a pro-Moscow regime in the region. Putin has decided to do that himself just by replacing one amicable partner with another one. Surprisingly, current affairs in Kyrgyzstan and early statements of Bakiev (the new Kyrgyz leader) about Russia support this speculation convincingly.

If to believe to the plan purported to be the American plot against Akayev’s regime that coincides with the whole process of the events in Bishkek and its consequences, the incumbent regime in Tajikistan will be the next government to be washed away by the tide of “velvet revolutions” in ex-Soviet empire, followed by Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan.

According to another hypothesis, that plan could have been drafted by Moscow and fraudulently “has been signed” by Stephen Young. Otherwise how to explain unexpected release of the Tajik Democrats’ leader Mohammadruzi Iskandarov in Moscow, whereas he was detained by Russian special forces at Dushanbe’s request 4 months back to face extradition to Tajik authorities? And as soon as he gets freed, in a letter of gratitude to Putin he says: “Dear President! You gave me freedom and I will try to return it to my people!” and starts chanting revolutionary slogans in his interviews and frankly wishing about the repetition of the Kyrgyz scenario in Tajikistan.

Can you really imagine that anything would change in that static country? I know that the picture looks too hopeless, but who could predict what happened in Kyrgyzstan before it did? Even the main factors of the change of power in Kyrgyzstan, as it was put by the leaders of the revolution, are obvious in Tajikistan too: annoying poverty and wide-spread corruption.

I refrain myself from any sort of predictions, but I have some feelings indeed. Something is approaching and something, or even maybe everything, will change in my country too. Just because it has to. Everything changes and Tajikistan is not an exemption. It is a part of the process of evolution too.

Tajikistan is crying for a change, otherwise we will lose it for good. No, no! I am by no means exaggerating, dear!

Friday, March 04, 2005

A Bedtime Story For Anoush

Tonight I overheard Anoush asking her Mum to read a bedtime story and they left the room together. I thought what I would have tolf her, if she would have asked me for a story tonight...

Once upon a time there was a dreamy boy full of life, with love to the life and a life twisted with love in a most remote corner of the forgotten part of the world, behind a highest mountain chain of the globe. To him anything was accessible, everything available and all existing knowledge achievable (Since he was far beyond realities, he really believed in his human power). He could see the hedges and fences around, but did never look at them indeed. He preferred to fly over them without giving them a minor honour to be seen by him. He was a tiny being, but too big to himself. Too ambitious with a huge store of pink dreams in his mind.

His continuous and spontaneous successes in different aspects of his life provided him with a stronger pair of wings to fly higher and higher over the mountains to eventually leave them behind in order to recollect them again with a bitter taste of nostalgia in his mind.

He grew up in a self-confident self-concentrated self-believer with sometimes destructively high self-esteem.

However, suddenly far away from the mountains on flat, noisy but cosy valleys the only thing he could see around was a successive chain of mountains and the spirit of Angra Mainyu started hovering over him turning him from a well-wisher into a fighter.

He had never anticipated seeing those tremendous obstacles in the valleys. He had been told about a flat piece of the Earth where one could walk as far as he could, see as much as he wanted and talk as much as his tongue was able to articulate. But now the invisible mountains were threateningly tightening around him, the clouds turning into heavy smog to obstruct his vision and bees were set up to sting his tongue whenever he dares to open his mouth.

Whereas deprived from seeing visually he managed to enhance his internal vision and realized how silly he was to believe the fairy-tales he used to enjoy listening to back behind the physical mountains. The fairy-tales about the valleys. He suddenly realized how much he needs those visible mountains that used to recharge him with fresh power of imagination. He decided to hide behind those mountains and again believe in the valley fairy-tales. Anyway, it was a more pleasant existence…

But he still had some remains of self-esteem to refrain him from acknowledging his defeat. The image of his native mountains started building up the lost part of his self-confidence and he decided to stop seeing the invisible mountains around and suddenly they started fading in his vision… Fading very slowly though…

Now go to bed, Anoush-jan. I’ll tell you the rest later on.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Snow, Planes and Sharks

I saw off another friend of mine to the airport today...

It is still snowing in the town,
A mesmerizing image of whiteness
Whirling flakes doodling the air
In a hectic dance of lightness

I envy them and close my eyes
And think how much I hate the planes
The ones that take away my friends
While I am rocking on a train

My ears loving music notes
My eyes still shut to see the dark
And people drawn in their thoughts
Those mean, abusive eating sharks

I’m giving up myself to them –
My sharky thoughts as well, and see
An oozing heart that dripping blood
To paint my velvet reverie

The gently rocking train again
Reminds me my enormous hate
Towards the iron-hearted planes
That don’t unite but separate.

Heathrow-Wood Green

Saturday, February 26, 2005

A Wish

I need some changes
To bloom as a flower in March
Surrounding the cages
And turning them into gardens
Do you think it's too much
To bloom as a flower in March?..

I need some leaf whispers
To fuse with a nightingale's song
I want the yellow to get dispersed
And the green to penetrate my being
Do you think it is wrong
To fuse with a nightingale's song?..

I need to build up a chapel
To whisper my nonsense
And pray to an apple
Fallen into my palm
Is it making a sense
To whisper my nonsense?..

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

"One Roof with Two Weathers" a Persian saying

Over 400 people killed in an earthquake in Zarand, Iran and we have managed to forget it so quickly. It took us just 24 hours to send those terrifying images of dead bodies to oblivion and go back to our favourite theme of Bush and his adventures. Now in Europe: “The United States and Germany say they have agreed to put their differences behind them, ending many months of sometimes bitter disagreement stemming from their row over Iraq”...

Why am I saying that now, after 24 hours? The same picture was even yesterday; on the day the quake shook Iran and absorbed the country into sorrow again; over a year after the demonic Bam quake with over 32 000 dead.

All the Western networks preferred to follow Bush in Europe, step by step, and tell us what sort of new poisonous nonsense he was spreading around and what he was chatting about with his European “allies” behind a glass of so terribly hated French Chardonnay in an “old European” hotel conference hall surrounded by his disloyal European friends trying to call on their previous loyalty to America again… “Guys, I’m tired being lonely. Please don’t be cross with me anymore and get back. My burden is getting too heavy now…” Pathetic call to America’s only powerful “friends”.

That was more important than Iranian deaths thousands of miles away. Of course, dude! They were not precious American or European lives. They were just Iranians! How many? Over 400? So what? It doesn’t matter how many of them have died, but it does matter who has died, of what nationality. If they would have been the first class citizens of the globe, we could have witnessed a three day mourning even in the Far East and even further on the Moon, if an astronaut happened to find himself there on that day… But they were just few hundred of Iranian lives not worthy to mention at the beginning of news slots. That would upset first class citizens’ moods in God-chosen countries. Let them live their happy lives. They deserve it.

Who would dare to remind me equilibrium and equality in the world now? How long we could be fed with this sort of garbage idealism that has no basis in the real world?

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Meet Me

I’m ambiversion
Curious as an ant
The meaning of “subversion”
Subverted on demand

I’m ambivalent
As Gemini’s designed
Don’t look in me for a talent
To be a Leo-signed

I am amphibic
Not able to be settled
But mockery and mimic
Can push me to a melt…


Fresh start as a sadhu
Lost in my thoughts and blind to everything
No need for a guru
No need for a mouth
It doesn’t have to eat
It doesn’t have to speak

I want to climb a peak
As far as one could not imagine
No need for a guru
No need for my ears
Cuz don’t they have to listen
They don’t have to be seen

I will forget the meanings
I will forget all words I’ve learnt
No need for a guru
No need for my eyes
Nothing to have a look at
They don’t have to be looked at

Fresh start as a sadhu…

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Friday, January 21, 2005

Could You Be Happy If You'd Wish?

Is it possible to keep oneself happy all the time?
Yes, if you would depend on yourself only.
No, because you never depend on yourself only...

When you come home and see your bird soaked in sorrow and drenched in apathy, while her eyes look at you, but don't see you penetrating your image by the heavy grief of her dazzling eyes, you feel like an empty place with your stupid smile evaporating in air and your silly playing eyes X-rayed by stronger pair of eyes and infected by them...

When you try to piece together few lines in your work-absorbed sporadic mind to recite an ode for her to inspire her for a beatiful song and instead you see the sorrow melting and pouring down from her crystal eyes pushed by the power of a loud heart-breaking Requiem, you forget the purpose of odes altogether...

When she leaves you with your annoying laptop resting on your aching laps and flies back to her cage to rest (from sorrow), you feel like nothing else but following her, confining yourself in her cage and sharing her sorrow and getting more and more infected and feeling the suffocating power of her grief with no words. As if body language does not mean any motion to be heard or read by the one beside. As if body breathing is a way of talking to each other and exchanging the feelings between each other too. The strongest feeling of the bodies will prevail. In this case the bird's body breathes stronger and makes you breathe slower and feel nerdy, not able to prove your reason to keep happy...

To see the light at the end of the tunnel, I need to find the tunnel first. It seems I can see it already... I gotta take my bird with me to see it together!

Sunday, January 16, 2005

American Fascism. Part 3

Hi again,

After defining wrong definitions of “democracy” and “republicanism” in “Republican Republic of the United States of America” let us see what the real self of the current political establishment in America may be called.

The present government of the US has based its principles of survival upon lies and misnomers by calling all its opponents within the country “unpatriotic forces” and outside the US – “terrorist groups and states”. Whoever dares to question America’s rightness is condemned to be included in the list of traitors and terrorists. For internal rogue groups and individuals there is one more word in American neo-conservative vocabulary: “liberal”. To them Liberalism is a danger threatening “the republic”.

While originally “liberal” has got the meaning of intellectually independent, broad-minded, magnanimous, frank, open, and genial and according to unbiased dictionaries “liberalism” is “a political theory founded on the natural goodness of humans and the autonomy of the individual and favouring civil and political liberties, government by law with the consent of the governed, and protection from arbitrary authority”
. In other words, liberals are anti-anarchists and supporters of civil and political liberties. Now we know why the US establishment confronts them.

1. We mentioned American lies, but the biggest one is obvious to everybody across the globe: the main excuse to attack on Iraq. The dangerous lethal weapons promised to be removed from Saddam’s disposal proved to be nothing more than a sheer lie. Weapons of Mass Destruction produced by America massively and distributed among its satellite states like Israel have not been discovered even by American survey groups in Iraq. They lied repeatedly and officially even at the General Assembly and some people alongside with a few governments trusted in American words and backed the destructive “pre-emptive measures” of Bush. Nevertheless, the campaign is bound to be known as an illegal one in history, since it did not enjoy the UN’s approval. America got bogged down in Iraq quagmire by means of Bush administration’s lies. This point indicates reactionary policy of the US government;

2. The US still suffers from different types of chauvinism. American chauvinism exhibited by white Americans against black ones is not a subject of the past yet. Arabs and Muslims together with the French have joined the club of “untouchables” who get touched a lot at the airports and on the streets due to their origins.
And there is another kind of chauvinism observed in the relationship between the rich and the poor in the country. An American journalist Charley Reece calls it “State chauvinism” and says: “This system has sucked both power and money away from the local and state governments, where they can be used most efficiently and democratically, to Washington, where the price of admission is a lot of money. We just experienced a presidential contest between millionaires financed by millionaires.”

3. Whoever doubts in imperialistic nature of the US political establishment has to apply for a medical check-up. American imperialism is something very vivid and striking and you ought to be blind not to notice it. All the current US-led wars are being done in the name and for the sake of American imperialism and its immense inexplicable expansionist lust. Just go to the link below to got shocked by a lengthy list of American imperialistic efforts to usurp the world’ control:

The current war is the latest proof of American imperialism as Michael Thorburn put it at an anti-war forum organized in Chicago by the Anti-Imperialist News Service on February 16, 2003: “This war is not about "eliminating weapons of mass destruction" or disarmament because it is U.S. imperialism itself which is militarizing the Persian Gulf and filling the region with nuclear weapons. The war is about U.S. imperialism imposing its military blackmail and domination throughout the Middle East.”

Thus, three points above could easily prove the existence of 3 elements in American politics: being reactionary, chauvinistic and imperialist.
Now let’s compare these points with the general characteristics of fascism by American experts:

“. Fascism is commonly defined as an open terror-based dictatorship which is:

• Reactionary: makes policy based upon current circumstances rather than creating policies to prevent problems; piles lies and misnomers on top of more lies until the truth becomes indistinguishable, revised or forgotten.

• Chauvinistic: Two or more tiered legal systems, varying rights based upon superficial characteristics such as race, creed and origin.

• Imperialist elements of finance capital: Extending a nation's authority by territorial acquisition or by the establishment of economic and political domination of one state over its allies.

Though a dictatorship is the most common association with fascism, a democracy or republic can also be fascist when it strays away from its Tenets of sovereignty. In the 20th Century, many Fascist countries started out as republics.”

And as our neo-conservative “friends” insist, The United States of America has started out as a republic too.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

American Fascism. Part 2

First of all, let us see what THEY mean by “democracy”.

Another US neo-conservative Harry Atwood’s definition of democracy is as follows:

“A government of the masses. Authority derived through mass meeting or any other form of "direct" expression. Results in mobocracy. Attitude toward property is communistic--negating property rights. Attitude toward law is that the will of the majority shall regulate, whether is be based upon deliberation or governed by passion, prejudice, and impulse, without restraint or regard to consequences. Results in demagoguism, license, agitation, discontent, anarchy”.

Of course, you can’t find this unique and weird description of democracy in any well-known dictionary, because it belongs to biased and illusive vision of neo-conservatives only.

Now, what do they mean by “a republic” they cherish so dearly?
We can notice it in a matt comparison of “democracy” and “a republic” by a desperate American neo-conservative:

“In a democracy, the majority rules either directly or through its elected representatives. As in a monarchy, the law is whatever the government determines it to be. Laws do not represent reason. They represent power. The restraint is upon the individual instead of government. Unlike that envisioned under a republican form of government, rights are seen as privileges and permissions that are granted by government and can be rescinded by government”.

Thus, if you believe him, democracy is a government’s Weapon of Mass Destruction and human rights are undermined by the government under democracy. While, I suppose, everybody knows what this ancient Greek word of demokratea means (just a reminder for conservatives: rule of people, people’s dominion).

And “respublica” has got a similar meaning. It is derived from two Latin words res (thing) and publica (public); it literally means 'the public thing(s)'. I think American neo-conservatives should have confronted the very idea of “a republic” for it sounds more communictic and semantically undermines “individual things”.
But in accordance with the most general definition, “a republic” is a political system in which the supreme power lies in a body of citizens who can elect people to represent them or a form of government whose head of state is not a monarch; "the head of state in a republic is usually a president".

Yet in America “a republic” is made of a mixture of elements from three other forms of government: monarchy, aristocracy and democracy: the Presidency is a substitute to the monarchical office; the Senate represents the aristocracy; and the House of Representatives represents the people – an element of democracy. Certainly we know how the latter represents democracy in America and the latest elections in the degrading empire proved our serious concerns about the course of democracy in America.

Actually, democracy is and has to be an element of a republic. Otherwise that neither would be democracy, nor should it be considered a republic. Both ideas would be betrayed. The exact scene we are witnessing in America these days. Even the founders of the republic in the US would be appalled by what their conservative progeny have done.

Thus, after sorting out this deliberate American confusion between two notions of “democracy” and “a republic”, I will come back in a while with my discovery of the real State American fascism which is still passing through its initial phases of formation.

American fascism. Part 1

I am stunned by a discovery which occurred during last few days.

Certainly, I knew and could feel the breeding of a new kind of fascism under a new name in the United States of America. However, I was not very certain about its complete coincidence and harmony with the general notion of “fascism” the world has witnessed in various countries with different appearances in different times.

Nowadays the German fascism is considered as the peak of this harmful and destructive ideology. We have to wait and see if American fascism will surpass its German counterpart and how.

There is a wrong perception of American democracy spread around the world by means of latest information technology and people even within the States do not realize the real stance of their own country in this issue and they believe that America is a democracy.

A fierce defender of American neo-conservatives (read neo-fascists) insists that America has never been a democratic country and he adds: “The word democracy appears nowhere in the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution -- two most fundamental documents of our nation. Instead of a democracy, the Constitution's Article IV, Section 4, guarantees "to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government." Moreover, let's ask ourselves: Does our pledge of allegiance to the flag say to "the democracy for which it stands," or does it say to "the republic for which it stands"? Or do we sing "The Battle Hymn of the Democracy" or "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"?”

Of course I know how incoherent it sounds to the people who know what real democracy means and what is a republic. This political structure has been described by most of dictionaries as the political orientation of those who favour government by the people or by their elected representatives. The Internet Brainy Dictionary describes democracy even more clearly:

“Democracy: Government by popular representation; a form of government in which the supreme power is retained by the people, but is indirectly exercised through a system of representation and delegated authority periodically renewed; a constitutional representative government; a republic.”

According to the above description democracy is the same republic.

In my humble opinion, only politically-illiterate beings can compare democracy with a republic, since by “democracy” we mean ideological structure of a country, while “a republic” is the administrative structure of a government. Since a republic can be democratic at the same time and the history has seen many examples of this fusion. Because “democracy” and “republic” do not contradict each other. On the contrary, they improve and perfect each other by this cohesion.

But what has caused the American confusion between these two categorically different notions?

A good question for the second part of the posting.

Sunday, January 09, 2005


Where is Champaign to bottom it up!

The miserable bunch of American fascist neo-conservatives with Cracker as their chain-leader has been defeated by one person and that’s me – “little Quizzer”. Lol.

You can go to his blog ( and see for yourselves how disgracefully they’ve been bashed, so that poor Cracker had to delete all my comments and ban me from his blog. You know the reason: he could not stand my democratic logic.

Tonight his keyboard was jumping on his lap, because he lost his nerves completely with my comments popping in each second after they’d been deleted by him. Then he had to permit only comments from team members – American fascist web gangsters.

Anyway I gave him some more opportunity to get stunned with few more comments from my end.

Look at one of his postings:

“Europeans believe each individual is a part of the State, and the State grants these individuals rights. Without the State, the individual is nothing. These two philosophies pit a true capitalistic republic society against a socialistic/communistic society. It is this basic difference why Europeans do not, nor cannot consider private donations as part of America’s overall generosity”.

My comment followed as below:

“I know how bitter it should be to be defeated, especially when that occurs in your own blog. Then you start deleting logical comments and leaving only stupid confirmations of your meaningless ideas left by your soldiers and poodles.

Nevertheless, I want to repeat for pinheads like you, Cracker, that there are 2 sectors in each society: state and private ones. Therefore, in all cases we should point out what belongs to the state and what is private. Europeans, as the true founders of democracy in the world, do not believe that each individual is a part of the State. They are not like some Americans who can sell their own selves to the State and got confused between 2 notions of Patriotism and poodleness.

And still when we look at the list of state donations, the richest nation (America) is not the first and it stands behind Japan. According to the list of private donations German Michael Schumacher is the most generous donor with his $ 10 m donation, not the richest person of the planet (American Bill Gates) with his £ 3 m.

That sounds quite logical. By deleting these comments you are revealing your dictator coward face, Cracker.


Another essay of stupidity by Cracker:

“Hillary Clinton had the gonads to say that we had much to learn from the election in Ukraine...let me repeat that...Senator CLinton said we had much to learn from the election in Ukraine. Is she implying someone should have spiked Kerry's brie with poison or something, or is she saying our election process is corrupt?”

It has been bashed by the next comment of mine:

“Cracker and the gang,

Let me tell you that Senator Clinton was absolutely right. Maybe your system is not as corrupt as in some other countries, however, your electoral system with that goddamn Electoral College institution is by no means democratic and you really have to dream of a similar electoral system as in Ukraine.

Ukrainian nation showed to you all that they have learnt the lessons of democracy much quicker and better than you, while you’ve been preparing to teach them how to live democratically. How can the votes of just one state define the results of the whole election in the entire country? You have to grow up to understand what democracy really means.


And his conclusion about democracy reveals his true self:

“I believe the Europeans use the term "democracy" in the proper context because that is what they believe. Americans, on the other hand, are confused by term and use it in the wrong context while disgarding the term "republic." Whatever the case, we must never succumb to a democracy and fight for our republic”.

I commented his stance as follows:

“The antonym for “democracy” is “dictatorship”, not “republicanism”. Finally you are hinting, dude, that this blog belongs to a bunch of miserable dictators”.

At the end of our long battle commenced by his disgraceful “Call to Arms” ridiculed by Americans themselves, I said:

“Dear readers,

Now you are witnessing the disgraceful defeat and the end of the thread of baseless childish ideas of Cracker. He could not imagine how he would be bashed and broken by the same “little Quizzer” in his own blog, that his “great” gang would ran away as a bunch of coward dogs frightened by the strength of Quizzer’s logic and the weakness of their void “teachings”.

It must be quite obvious to everybody why the comments have been deleted. No braveness and no logic in crackers. That’s the only logical conclusion of this battle.

But it is too far away from the end of story.

Cracker and the gang! Keep on deleting my comments and reading them again and again on a daily basis. You want a grilling? You will get it!


All of them have been cowardly deleted by Uncivil Cracker ( and thus, he has silently admitted his defaming defeat.

I am sorry to reveal your real features to everybody, including your cronies, Cracker!

Hmmmmm, I’m loving it!
No, I don’t mean McDonalds, of course. I mean this pleasant feeling of a wonderful triumph over pinheads!

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Thanks For The Forum, Cracker!

I didn’t know that one day I’d become a prominent figure in the US, at least among its fascist neo-conservatives. But I have. A short-sighted American fascist called Cracker first started deleting all my comments in his blog, assuming that it would put me off for good and I won’t get back to tickle him anymore. But it was rather attractive to me and I started visiting his site again and again and laughing at his funny hopeless situation.

Just imagine a Cracker sitting somewhere in Axis of Evil and biting his nails cowardly, shedding hot tears on his cheeky face, trembling nervously and jumping as a wacky lunatic time to time with appalling shouts after midnight.

I am sorry to cause him all this pain, but he wants it. He masochistically needs it and provokes me go back there and laugh at his stupidity.

His “Uncivil rights” is a really uncivil blog with a bunch of uncivil civilian or non-civilian uncivilized people in a “civilization” called America. That is actually a corner of miserable gossipers with tonnes of nuts thrown in front of their monitors and chewing chins with huge eyes behind thick eye-glasses looking with horror at their screens. Horror of my appearance!

I don’t want to hurt them. I just want to interrupt their swearing and gossips about their outer world which they have no clue about. I stop them bragging vaguely about nothing or about horrible things. They are happy that people are dying in Iraq and Afghanistan. They don’t know how to distinguish a freedom-fighter from a terrorist. They preach hatred and are spreading it around. They worship G. W. Bush and regard his speeches as holy sayings… How can I just listen to them silently?

And now they have enlarged my image hugely and have dedicated a longest posting to me which has turned into a kind of forum with me as the chairman of the debate. Or a sort of news conference with pedantic annoying reporters and a self-confident sarcastic politician, who really enjoys their laughable objections and questions. And I reply their messages or comments with no intention to hurt them if they did the same. However, really evil people in that site now are ready to split my throat and drink my blood and beating their poor heads on their computer desks. Perhaps I’m not allowing them to go out for a drink party and keeping them attached to the screen with my postings. But to me, I am just reacting, and reacting in conformity with their wordings.

I am really grateful to Cracker for making me so proud and putting me in the limelight in front of American fascist-conservatives.

But now I can guess that very soon he will realize his blunder and will remove the Forum altogether with my comments. But will it be his last trouble with me in his blog?

Click on the title and you can see Cracker's "Call to Arms" against Darius and Cracker band's disgraceful defeat.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Riddle of The Day (a personal note)

I guess I lost a dearest jewel of mine today, just few hours back... But I'm not searching it and you don't look for it either...

Monday, January 03, 2005

Doubting Archbishop

Is it only disasters which make people think of the principles of Being, God, Punishment and Reward and metaphysical notions? The massive Asian calamity has triggered off chains of relevant debates in different blogs and circles.

But Rowan Williams’s view on the matter is distinguished among all of them given his high religious status as Archbishop of Canterbury and the main figure in the Anglican hierarchy. His opinion has been printed and circulating under a shocking title: “Of course this makes us doubt God's existence”. It would have never been considered extra-ordinary would it been said by Bush or me. But Archbishop’s doubt makes us think more thoroughly over the metaphysical divine issue.

The question could have never been put more straight-forwardly and correct.

“Faced with the paralysing magnitude of a disaster like this, we naturally feel more deeply outraged – and also more deeply helpless. We can't see how this is going to be dealt with, we can't see how to make it better. We know, with a rather sick feeling, that we shall have to go on facing it and we can't make it go away or make ourselves feel good.

“The question: "How can you believe in a God who permits suffering on this scale?" is therefore very much around at the moment, and it would be surprising if it weren't – indeed, it would be wrong if it weren't. The traditional answers will get us only so far. God, we are told, is not a puppet-master in regard either to human actions or to the processes of the world. If we are to exist in an environment where we can live lives of productive work and consistent understanding – human lives as we know them – the world has to have a regular order and pattern of its own. Effects follow causes in a way that we can chart, and so can make some attempt at coping with. So there is something odd about expecting that God will constantly step in if things are getting dangerous. How dangerous do they have to be? How many deaths would be acceptable?”

These questions do not shatter my belief in principles of Being though. I do not depict God as a huge human-shaped ogre whose only business is how to punish or reward his creatures. I believe in Asha (Arta, ereta) – the system of Rightness created by God; a system corresponding to norm in everything in Universe. Breaching the norm in anything with no exception causes problems and disasters. Sometimes it may never depend on human beings.

But Dr. Williams deserves to be praised for his open-mindedness, his redemption from any sort of dogmas and made his country proud for enduring such an open pluralism in its church.

While the debates are going on the tsunami toll has risen to at least 144 000 people. Most of the dead bodies belong to Indonesia (94 081).

I doubt that imperialists like Bush and Blair have learnt a lesson out of the disaster. They are still failing to watch with their own eyes (if they are not shut) that they may never become almighty and replace God; that the world can be destroyed even without their evil efforts. They have got much more powerfull rivals like tsunamis, quakes, gales, fires etc.

I've Got To See You Again

Babysitting, receiving Saimoddin and Azer (his son) and listening to Norah Jones were all I did today. And I'm still whispering:

Lines on your face don’t bother me
Down in my chair when you dance over me
I can’t help myself
I’ve got to see you again

Late in the night when I’m alone
And I look at the clock and I know you’re not home
I can’t help myself
I’ve got to see you again

I could almost go there
Just to watch you be seen
I could almost go there
Just to live in a dream

But no I won’t go for any of those things
To not touch your skin is not why I sing
I can’t help myself
I’ve got to see you again
I could almost go there…

No I won’t go to share you with them
But oh even though I know where
You’ve been
I can’t help myself
I’ve got to see you again

Sunday, January 02, 2005

Trapped in the Past

...He was scared by our sudden intrusion with my birds. Lying down on his mat in the middle of his spacey lounge with his unshaven face and bigger right eye he looked a bit odd and much older than his age. The bloody Sun Signs book was over his head on the table. The same book that has spoilt his last days of the past year and the first day of the new one with its bitter truth.

The book says: “A taciturn expert at circumlocution he is. A scatterbrain and a chatterbox he is not. Don’t expect this man to bare his soul when he first meets you. Cancerians never confide in strangers, and there are certain things even their best friends don’t know…” Perhaps these words had had a hair-raising effect on him and made him call me, his best friend, to disclose the hidden parts of his life, his bitter adolescence, his heart-breaking experiences in the family, his disillusions and some other little facts.

By no means had I felt insulted that I was not aware of all those things. However, it was his wrong perception and it made him feel even worse: for two days he preferred to stay indoors rather than fulfilling his promise to come and see my birds on New Year’s Eve.

I didn’t know and don’t know yet how to give him a new lease of life. Whatever I said perhaps remained unheard. Sometimes I could see him nodding very feebly though, as if he did agree with my rhetoric that he had to come out of the past, move on, think of today and look forward to the future. I was trying to find a light at the end of the tunnel and show it to him.

Nevertheless, he was not willing to step out the flat, as if a huge ogre was waiting for him just outside with a big dagger to stub him… I don’t want to go on with this story, but it has added some more bitterness to my current days. Ahura Mazda is the one who can help me overcome these misgivings…

In the outer world while tsunami toll is believed to exceed 150 000, strong international criticisms have made the stingy US government increase its miserable $ 35 m donation to $ 350 m! But it doesn’t make the most powerful country in the world the biggest donor of the quake-stricken countries. Japan became the single largest donor on Saturday with $500m. Ordinary people in UK have collected £ 50 m (over $90 m) and more coming in every hour, since the campaign is still going on at the tube stations and across the country. Indeed, money is the best way to help in such a situation.

It seems like a sign of “the end of the world” – a most persistent belief of many religions that endured. Is it really a way to Armageddon?
This apocalyptic belief traces back to Asho Zoroaster’s teachings. However, in those sacred teachings end-of-time means a glorious consummation of order (Spenta-Mainyu) over disorder (Angra-Mainyu), known as “making wonderful”, in which “all things would be perfect, once and for all”. (Norman Cohn, a British historian).

But until the strongest country is ruled by a moron, disorder will prevail.

Down with the Moron! Hail the Order!

Good chanting before the bed-time after the first day of the year...

And this strange experience of going to bed alone. It is never going to end.
I miss Her whispers more than my little birds miss her home-made cakes...