من برنامه ی زندگی ام مثل آدم های معمولی شهر های معمولی نیست. بعد ظهر ها می خوابم تا شب، و تقریبا تمام شب را بیدارم تا صبح، صبح اذان که می گویند برای یک ساعت و خورده ای دوباره می خوابم تا چشم هایم خستگی در کنند – چقدر خواب صبح زود خوب است، سنگین می خوابم و خواب های قشنگ می بینم، توی یک ساعت ده باری از خواب می پرم و باز تا سرم را می گذارم روی بالشت خوابم برده – و بعد دانشگاه است و شهر شلوغ و کلاس ها و کتاب ها و درس
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شب ها می توانم مطالعه کنم. بخش های کوچکی از کتاب هایی خیلی دوست داشتنی، که یعنی من روز هایم این شکلی است
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It had begun very simply. She liked what he wrote and she had always envied the life he led. She thought he did exactly what she wanted to. The steps by which she had acquired him and the way in which she had finally fallen in love with him were all part of a regular progression in which she had built herself a new life and he had traded away what remained of his old life.
He had traded it for security, for comfort too, there was no denying that, and for what else? He did not know. She would have bought him anything he wanted. He knew that. She was a damned nice woman too. He would as soon be in bed with her as any one; rather with her, because she was richer, because she was very pleasant and appreciative and because she never made scenes. And now this life that she had built again was coming to a term because he had not used iodine two weeks ago when a thorn had scratched his knee as they moved forward trying to photograph a herd of waterbuck standing, their heads up, peering while their nostrils searched the air, their ears spread wide to hear the first noise that would send them rushing into the bush. They had bolted, too, before he got the picture.
From Ernest Hemingway; The Snows of Kilimanjaro
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‘O, pa’, he cried. ‘Don’t beat me, pa! and I’ll . . . I’ll say a Hail Mary for you . . . I’ll say a Hail Mary for you, pa, if you don’t beat me . . . I’ll say a Hail Mary . . .’
James Joyce – Dubliner, page 69, last line of the Story: Counrtparts
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‘It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about- things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. “All right,” I said, “I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool- that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald – The Great Gatsby – chapter I, page 13
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این آهنگ لینکینگ پارک را خدا می داند چند بار گوش کرده ام، فقط می دانم هر شب دارم چند بار خودم را می سپارم به این فریاد ها، قسمتی از این ترانه
. . .
Can’t you see that you're smothering me
holding too tightly afraid to lose control
cause everything that you thought I would be
has fallen apart right in front of you.
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Every step that I take is another mistake to you..
I'vebecome so numb
I can't feel you there
become so tired
so much more aware
I'm becoming this
all I want to do
is be more like me
and be less like you
. . .
Numb – Linkin Park
من منظور خاصی نداشتم. فقط بعضی ها می گویند چرا تلخ می نویسی. می خواستم بگویم فقط این شهر مزخرف و آدم هایش نیستند که آزار دهنده اند، فقط خاطرات نیست، فقط خودم نیستم که اذیت می کنم، حتا وقتی هم که به سراغ ادبیات می روی هم که آرام شوی . . . حتا ادبیات هم . . . تمام تلخی دنیا جمع شده است میان واژگان، که نمی دانی گریه کنی، بخندی، سرت را بالا بگیری و بی خیال رد شوی، نمی دانی
نمی دانی
نمی دانی
سودارو
2005-04-13
دوازده و چهل دقیقه شب
یکی دیگر از دوستان هم دانشگاهی به جرگه ی وب لاگ نویسان جلوس فرموده اند، مبارک و پایدار باشد
http://mazi.blogfa.com
بیرون داره بارون می باره و من می خواهم این پست را منتشر کنم. دلم می گیره با بارون. خیلی، خیلی زیاد
