Death Pact
دی ۱۰م, ۱۳۹۰ دسته Personal | ۲ دیدگاه ».
ماها در اصل خیلی وقته که مردیم
Let there be spring where there was winter,
Let there be green where there was grey…
Come in my shore where there are million things to say
I return from before, and the memories never fade
now I wanna see you take me, into your arms
don’t wake me
until a new day has begun
ندای عشق تو دیشب در اندرون دادند
فضای سینه حافظ هنوز پر ز صداست
.
.
پیش هر کس مینشست “یا حسین”، “یا حسین” میکرد
یک روز فهمیدم دین ندارد
حتی آزاده هم نیست…
How right our Aryan ancestors were to create gods. We seek $..€..X, and are left with two private bodies on a stained bed. The larger €r0tiC dream, the god, has eluded us. It is so whenever, moving out of ourselves, we look for extensions of ourselves. It is with cities as it is with $..€..X. We seek the physical city and find only a conglomeration of private cells. In the city as nowhere else we are reminded that we are individuals, units. Yet the idea of the city remains; it is the god of the city that we pursue, in vain.
The Mimic Men: a novel By V.S. Naipaul
پ.ن. ما آزمودیم در این شهر بخت خوبش – بیرون کشید باید از این ورطه رخت خویش