The Color of Desire. The Color of Despair

They say it will make you go crazy, some say it's pathological, and you know that waiting is difficult. It is difficult because your appetites are ripped away while you could eat a horde of horses. You couldn't concentrate because your concentration is fixed solely on one spot which could be the cellphone, the email, the live messenger or the slightest movement of the wind.

One trait of this color is the immediate regret following the dispatch of a text message, an email, a line of conversation, thinking oh I shouldn't have said that, wondering what you're going to reply, what you're going to reply, awaiting eagerly yet afriad to see the words emerging from the other end of the line, from which jubilation or lament springs.

The whole spectrum of colors could be encapsulated into one single minute, although the sequence is ever-changing, it is predictable. The tension is high enough that the earth feels the tremble of your heart even at the notion of calling her. The mood of the day depends heavily on whether her showing up or not, whether she was looking at your direction or just walk past without turning her head, and were you the one her stealthy glance longed to see?

Your unwanted sensitivity is multiplied by a million, and it's draining you of all energy. You are excessively tired, and are made even more so by the fact that you can't make that information public to her. You wish that you were dead. First ecstasy and then downfall, and you need more afterward. The green-eyed monster puts you down in its register book. Her careless words and indifferent attitudes sting like hell, encompassing and devouring you like hungry infernal flames, and you want to scream and smash your head against the wall because that's the natural reaction when one was burnt alive - to scream.

The Organ that Regenerates

Is liver, I had absolutely no idea of that, I thought it only existed in the movies and comic books, till I read about it earlier tonight. As if by magic, the liver actually grows back, you know from tiny little pathetic scrapes to a brand new one, one that is complete, you know a liver, in about a month's time. All I can say is magical.

In comparison, the heart is no match for its neighbour. It is a particularly weak organ under certain circumstances, and a very troublesome one. The causes of the wounds vary from mindless and unintentional jokes, a simple "no", a careless look, an indifferent attitude, to something unfathomable.

When parts of the heart got chipped away, gently or violently, it doesn't go back to its original shape or maintain its function, which is to pump blood into every corner of the body and keep the organism breathing. Instead, with every slash it bears it releases venom into the veins and these unwanted bitternesses stay in the tiniest of cells and accumulate. Accumulate, amass, gathering its force in the gloomy depth till that one day the whole body is so poisoned and the heart so laden with cuts and scars that it no longer bears resemblance of any kind to a heart. And then we can pronounce that the heart is broken or, dead.

Googlewashing

The other day when I returned to the office I found the keffiyeh, or shemagh, which Esther brought me, lying on my desk. Exhilarated, I wrapped it around my head revealing only the eyes. Then, at the end of the day, apart from the "oh my god you look 100% more handsome now!", I'd harvested tens of thousands of "who you are going to bomb?" just as I expected.

The thing is nothing is so naïve these days (maybe they had never ever been), when you're in an age in which the results of a simple search on the internet could very likely be manipulated, in an age in which words get twisted and redefined and redefined and redefined till the end of time, how much credibility can you give to what they say on the telly, on the newspapers or anywhere else, like this blog?

The Appreciation

If you've been following my blog for a while (yo Kevin, you're probably the only devoted subscriber and commentator) you've probably already discovered that I'm somewhat a skeptic, I doubt things, too many things for my own health perhaps. But there is one thing of which I have absolutely no doubt, and that is I can understand and, most importantly, appreciate, why some popular figures gone mad.

Popularity is addictive. It's like drugs, it takes hold of you gradually, you know its effects perfectly, but you just can't fight against it. It digs further and further down, deeper and deeper, you know you're sinking, but the more you struggle the quicker you're being drowned.

You soon realise that you're caught by yourself, that you're being the hunter and hunted at the same time. That there weren't two, but just one: you! Surprise, surprise, the prey against which the arrow is released is yourself. The one screaming under the crushing weight of the mighty tank is the one operating the beast from within. Sounds like fantasy, but it's one hundred percent reality.

You're being defeated by your own humour, they love you for that, they love you because you're funny, and that is also the thing that will bring about your demise. The thing and your incapability of introducing the dark side to the public. That's why comedians are so eager to show and prove that they are also capable of other sentiments. They need to, because they'll perish otherwise.

You've had enough with compliments and admiring eyes. You're fed up, hasta los cojones, with assumptions of a trouble-free you because you're excellent and exceptional, but the thing is, the higher you reach, the colder it gets, and when you're up there, you are completely alone, phisically and spiritually. And that makes you want to leap off the edge and put an end to this bloody farce.

Study and Work

So the vacation of the lunar new year faded into the air, but the hovering stress murmurs still at my ears. It shows no sign of wear, but simply takes on another shape, sitting in its chariot, it's as powerful as kismet.

But, of course, not everyone believes in fate. The world conforms with your conception of it, and the stress is the consequence of your own making- it exists only in your imagination.

An Apology

As indicates the title, in this entry we are going to look at the first mistake that I committed in the new year. Well, this mistake, which we will elaborate in stunning details later on, was actually the inevitable outcome of what we’ve become, ah… I mean, what I’ve become lately. Through the many daily encounters and such, I’ve noticed that I’ve become quite complacent, because of my petty accomplishments so far, even somewhat stuck-up you can say. From time to time, I picked up traces of it, but it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea so I turned my back on it and pretended that I wasn’t becoming like that, that it was a thing of the fairy tales which didn’t exist in the real world, something to which I was immuned.

This situation lasted and wound like a spring which was destined to reach its climax and release the tension, or like a bow persecuted by a thousand enemies and clings to the balance with only a shivering arm trying with all its might to hold back the tide.

Hark!

The arrow shot through the sky with an unmistakable cry and the only thing the trembling arm could do was to bid it farewell, it knew it was no accident, it knew it had to give in, like a dam surrendering to the overwhelming aquatic pressure, first a leak and then disaster.

So the arm released that arrow and the archer wasn’t bright enough to know at that moment that he had committed something which, as a consequence, would make him sorry and then putting it on the internet for your viewing pleasure in a desperate attempt to free himself from his guilt and, mostly, humiliation.

The SMS message, characterized by inadecuate question and imprudent manner, generated a powerful answer, and immediately upon its arrival, it provoked annoyance and a bit of anger, indignant at who the hell you think you are to talk to me like that. So, in less than 2 seconds, Hermes carried back the one word reply. But, as soon as the archer sent the second arrow on its way, he finally scented his previous errors.

The sole reply to his messages was of industrial strength and humiliating, he was chided like a child, something which haven’t happened for years, and now by someone younger than he was.It was so embarrassing, so unforgiving, so oh why the fuck you said that for you stupid git? that it shook him out of his complacency and forced him to face the fact – that he was a complacent prick. So hastely, he mounted a third arrow and dispatched it to the othe end, carried by an apologetic air. However, more than two hours has already passed and he hasn’t yet received a sign that would release him from his anguish, the hour too late and the torment too great, so all that he can do now is to finish typing, retire to bed and hope that by tomorrow the cure will arrive.

Disconnection

All was quiet the other day in the office, jolly afternoon with soft breeze and tender sun. Then out of nowhere the unexpected came- a blackout, accompanied by simultaneous mournful cries of mouse manipulators who had not yet mastered the art of save and load, grieving over the sudden death of their loved ones. At the funeral, the once stilly office was now populated with voices.

Althea

Water of rem’mbrance didn’t I defy.
To recollect afresh pictures foregone,
Since not time be rewound, embeded my
Mind be with the smile of your eyes at dawn.
Time and Distance ran futile with their scheme,
To rid you off your throne. Yet forgetful
That the heart of heaven reigned not supreme,
Its rays dimmed by your eyes lure and dazzle.
From somewhere the roar of an earthquake came.
At the cry, echoed the land with a blue.
With its great flame, the sky it put to shame,
Cons'quently, I was drown'd in waves of You.
With it I shall journey on till the doom,
For this rhyme stands even the greatest fume.

Die Berliner Mauer

Been lurking around people's blogs, and my investigation so far leads me to the conclusion that no man is happy. Yet, they all look so merry. Yes, so joyful and animated, jolly good.

The other day at work they talked about one of the students losing control over himself and yelling something incoherent with a desperate and suicidal air. Funny how sunny he looked normally. But, after a second thought, it's not all that strange. When you make a mistake and try hard to pretend that nothing has happened, it just gets all the more obvious. No matter how good one is at pretending, you can always catch him off guard, provided that you know how to look. Provided that you know how to look at yourself.

Frustrating it is when someone tries to escape from this hell and his every attempts been met with doors shut tight, doors of false images, concived by himself and those around him.

In order to breach the wall, one must not harbour clouded vision for it only lures and misguides. Fear is another major benefactor in the construction and maintenance of this abyss, like a well-trained watchdog, it keeps one at bay. It sinks its teeth into you and leaves you bleeding to death should you tumble upon its territory. And if one fails in the task of breaking free, then the downfall is destined, it's just a matter of time and the way it is brought about.

درس فارسی

Well, in two days the first semestre of me working as a teaching assistant is about to end. Though this doesn't mean vacation it does spell something else. I have to say I've had a great time with my students, although with most of them we haven't really done anything together yet, I'm not sure if I should maintain the status quo because only one more semestre is left (if I'm not keep working that is).

With this half year gone, the five months just transformed into a weight heavier than 16-ton and pressing me from every possible corner. It's the one thing that haunts me incessantly right now. I can't do anything without thinking about it. It is particularly disturbing when you're in a time trial against the clock.

And disturbing it is for precisely because of it I have to quit my Persian lesson. The other night I felt like shit when I walked out of the classroom with my final-term exam and Manouchehr wishing me good luck with my thesis. Well, the thing is, first, I don't like quitting, the act itself is demoralizing, but unfortunately, necessary, you just have to bow down sometimes. And second, I feel like I've been wasting his time for not studying in the last few weeks of the semestre. The hardest part is that he's a devoted teacher and you just feel bad when you're not doing your best to match up with his enthusiasm. He came done all the way from Taipei more than once, made recordings, Skype sessions after the class and things like that just to make sure that I can follow.

The last time he came down, if my memory serves me right, was during the documentary festival. Now thinking about it, funny it's already been a while. The weather was quite good back then, unlike the bleaky sky we have right now. Yeah, the grass is always greener, eh?