before going to sleep

barefoot in the hall of shame


سنگين سري

ترس تمام خيابان ها را گرفته است حتي ايوان خانه ها را زنداني كرده دست و پاي آدم هارا گره خورده دهان ها را پر و گوش ها را بسته به حلق در يك مدار با يك سيم كهنه ي باريك ترس انگار عجين شده با وجود من و تو كلماتمان را بشنو فكرهايمان را …


He has been raised here shaped here under the same sky he has been sad he has been happy he has been dreaming he has walked in these streets hand in hand with his father among all German gentlemen all French ladies looking like a half Spanish baby he is a dreamer it is true …


I love dancing in wide open spaces in big department stores instead of casually walking, I rather flow forward and sometimes turn around I find joy in breaking the habitual in being spantanous and coherently random. I find freedom in facing my fear in writing in short sentences and simple words in empathy.


photographs are like daily notes they only get you when time has passed over them however much "instant" they are becoming, photos barely mean much instantly, not before events have turned to stories. they only reflect those places and those people when they are no longer exactly there, anymore.

The hat bar

you are poor in the sense that you don't have much time your time is short so what you have to do is to once in a while give this thought a second that everyone "the crowd" is lost and wrong. and that you can't afford waiting.