An Ordinary Middle Eastern Man

It’s about what you feel, what you do, How you choose to present yourself when the situation requires you. It’s about what you’re looking for, what you search for. It’s not about fulfillment, but it’s about what is missing. How do you improve? How do you progress? Are you searching? It’s about the mind, How it grows progressively. What do you feed it? How do you cultivate the mind? It’s about the galaxies and the stars, But not so much about the moon as much as it is about you. It’s about choices as much as it’s about decisions, But it’s about having the bravery and the strength To make those things come to fruition. What is it you’re searching for? It’s about a pause, a break, An interruption in the transmission, A stop in the space-time continuum, A choice that you will always make. A moment in being when you realize That you are what you are searching for. So, I will ask: what is it you are searching for? It’s about infinite tomorrows, But is also about yesterdays and how the past repeats itself. So how will you choose to repeat yourself in their lives? It’s about now. It’s about then. What is it you are searching for? What is it you are searching for? Is it the now? Is it the no? Is it the yes? Is it that subsequent “I love you” that you need? What is it you are searching for? What is it you are searching for?

Hast thou ever felt the sands of time slipping away faster than a squirrel with a stolen nut, leaving thee adrift in the cosmic sea like a lost pirate without a map? ‘Tis like trying to wrangle a herd of cats on a moonlit night!

In those moments, ’tis easy to feel as bewildered as a chicken in a calculus class, surrounded by shadows and uncertainties, wondering if we’re on the right path or just following a GPS with a penchant for detours.

But fear not, for even in the midst of existential crises, there’s a glimmer of hope that shines through the darkness like a disco ball at a funeral – a gentle reminder that we’re all in this mess together, like a dysfunctional family road trip.

The nights may feel heavier than a sumo wrestler on a trampoline, filled with questions that echo louder than a herd of elephants tap-dancing in stilettos. Where does all the time go, anyway? Probably off chasing unicorns and leprechauns, leaving us with nothing but late-night snacks and philosophical ponderings.

Once upon a time, love and companionship were as abundant as memes on the internet, lighting up our lives like a Christmas tree on steroids. But now, our hearts feel as fragile as a Jenga tower in an earthquake, yearning for that warm fuzzy feeling like a cat chasing a laser beam.

Yet, even in the depths of despair, there’s a flicker of hope – a reminder that love and connection endure, like cockroaches surviving a nuclear apocalypse. It’s in the little things, like finding a parking spot on a busy street or getting the last slice of pizza at a party, that we find relief, knowing that despite life’s curveballs, love remains as stubborn as a mule.

So let’s keep truckin’, dear friend. Let’s keep searching for that elusive connection, knowing that love is a rollercoaster ride with no height requirement, even when it feels like we’re stuck in the kiddie section. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, amidst the chaos and confusion, we’ll stumble upon our happily ever after like a drunk stumbling into bed after a wild night out.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” – Ecclesiastes 3:1

سیصد و شصت و پنج روز پیش دل را به دریا زدم . نتیجه اما فقط از دست دادن و دل تنگی بود. لذت تماشای صورت آنکه همه چیز بود به پوچی و انزوا تبدیل شد . صدای تنهایی در سرم می‌پیچد و به مانند اسبی که ساعت ها در بیابان چهارنعل رفته ، خسته ام . چند روز دیگر بیشتر نمانده . باید خاک و مادرم را برای همیشه رها کنم . سرمایه ناچیزی دارم. سالی که گذشت یک حس عجیب ماندگار برایم به جا گذاشته . پس آن گنج بی نهایت کجاست؟ جادوگر سیاه با طلسمی جاودانه فراغت را بر من حرام کرده. شیطان به شکل یک مار نا امیدی بیمارگونه را به زیر پوستم تزریق کرده است . در آخرین روز سال روی میز طبابت در حال خوردن پیتزا مارگاریتای یخ زده به عمق احساساتم شیرجه میزنم . ولی خستگی توان سلطان را ربوده است . در تهران باغی پر‌از گل نرگس وجود دارد . اما سرکوبگران عسل را از کندوی ما گرفته اند . بزرگترین انتقام من از او این است که رهایش کنم . سوراخی که در قلب من وجود دارد سراسر رنج و آزادی است. نگاه کن به این ویرانه ! ولی هیچ به مانند بوسه ی اول مطلق و به یاد ماندنی نیست. یک غذای بسیار خوشمزه ولی کم پروتئین نیاز جسم انسان را برآورده نمی‌کند . کار و تلاش دائمی جنگیست که در نهایت محکوم به شکست است . این روح سراسر آشوب را کسی گردن نمی‌گیرد . مثل زنبور نیش میزنم و سپس تمام

 آری ، او دیگر مرده است . جای خالی یک توده‌ی سرطانی در میان مغزم به مانند یک آبسه ی چرکی ورم کرده . معصومیت نگاهی که از دست رفت . آن میل بی نهایت به همه چیز تبدیل به یک بی تفاوتی سنگین شده . سبک و بی حاصل در جهان گز می‌کنم .به من دست بزن تا حس لمس آرام پوست سوخته ی یک بمب گذار انتحاری را تجربه کنی

این پایان یک تراژدی است. به راستی که این همه فکر و فشار از برای چه بود ؟ حسن ختام وجود ندارد . مسخ در یک هم آغوشی آسمانی.از این بی بند و باری پاتولوژیک تهوع می گیرم . این یک فرار بی حاصل از مرگ است

In the realm of stars, she boldly roams,
A Sagittarius girl with dreams that foam.
Her innocent face, a celestial grace,
Belies the wild mind, an untamed chase.

With arrows of wit, she takes her aim,
In realms of thought, she’s never tame.
Her laughter echoes, a wild, carefree sound,
As she dances through life, unbound.

Beneath her innocence, a spark ignites,
A fiery spirit that fiercely fights.
Her sarcasm cuts, a double-edged sword,
Yet beneath it all, a heart adored.

She wanders the world with eyes aglow,
Seeking adventures wherever she may go.
In her, contradictions beautifully blend,
A Sagittarius spirit, until the end.

In her wanderlust, galaxies are her guide,
With each step, her spirit soars wide.
Through cosmic dust and astral streams,
She navigates life’s wildest dreams.

Her laughter, a symphony of stars,
Echoing through Venus and Mars.
In her, the universe finds its muse,
A Sagittarius girl, forever infused.

As i was wandering through the streets of Shiraz, I got overwhelmed by some mysterious yearnings. The warm evening breeze carried the scent of flowers, whispering tales of forgotten dreams and promises unfulfilled. It felt as though this place held secrets waiting to be unraveled.

In a quaint corner café, I sought refuge from the world, seeking solace amidst the gentle hum of conversation and the melodious strumming of a guitar. The melancholic melody that filled the air resonated with the emotions that had been tugging at my soul. It spoke of temptation, of escaping the pressures of reality, and surrendering to the allure of the present moment.

As the singer’s voice intertwined with the nostalgic notes, I found myself captivated, transported to a different realm. The lyrics spoke of shedding the burdens of the past, leaving behind those who no longer belonged in our lives, and embracing a new beginning.

Caught in the sway of the music, my gaze met that of a mysterious woman across the room. Her eyes held a spark of mischief and allure, as if she understood the unspoken desires that resided within me. With a subtle nod, she beckoned me to join her, and in that moment, I felt an invisible thread pulling me towards her, whispering that this encounter had the potential to change everything.

Intrigued and captivated, I made my way to her table. We exchanged introductions, and she spoke in a voice that danced with a hint of secrecy. Her words urged me to let go of the past, to release the people and memories that no longer served me.

“Let’s drink up, boy,” she purred, her voice a seductive melody. I went back to my car, picked up the half-emptied vodka from the weekend. Poured it in a bottle of water and returned.

Back to the café, her words hung in the air, intermingling with the aroma of coffee and the serenade of the guitar. It was a tantalizing invitation, one that promised liberation from the constraints of my mind, an escape from the chains that held me back.

Driven by curiosity and a thirst for adventure, I raised my glass and took a sip, allowing the elixir to wash away my doubts and reservations. In that moment, a surge of exhilaration coursed through my veins, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders.

Beneath the starry Shirazi sky, we found ourselves walking through the ancient gardens. The moonlight cast a mesmerizing glow upon us, setting the stage for an intimate connection. Our steps became slower, our voices softer, until we came to a halt, gazing into each other’s eyes.

In that moment, without a word, we leaned closer, our lips meeting in a passionate embrace. Time seemed to stand still as we surrendered to the intoxication of the kiss. It was as if the world around us faded away, leaving only the magic of that very instant.

As our lips parted, a knowing smile graced her face. It was a silent acknowledgement of the shared desire and the connection forged in that stolen moment. We continued our journey through the moonlit gardens, hand in hand, reveling in the magic of the night.

As the dawn approached, casting its gentle glow upon the horizon, we bid our farewells, cherishing the memory of that stolen kiss. Though our encounter was brief, it left an indelible mark upon my heart, a reminder that sometimes, in the most unexpected encounters, we find the courage to let go, to embrace the present, and to shape a future that is uniquely ours.

Here we go again, waking up to another day that feels like déjà vu. Cold bed, pure loneliness – the usual morning blues. Now, what’s on the agenda today? Should I dive into learning something new or just lose myself in video games for the whole day? How do I shake off these feelings? Do I need a new partner, or should I just embrace self-love? Maybe grab that damn visa and start a new chapter somewhere else? Or should I hustle harder, drown myself in work, and chase that money?

These questions keep buzzing around, making my 30-year-old life in Iran feel like a constant battle. The weight of choices is real, pressing down on me like the scorching Shiraz sun. Ambition tugs at me while the allure of escaping reality plays its own tune.

Welcome to the age of uncertainty, where decisions morph into a maze, each turn presenting a new set of challenges. The rhythm of ambition pulls at me, urging me to strive for more, while the enchanting melody of escapism plays in the background. Morning shadows dance, mirroring the ambiguity of my path, as I strive to anchor my restless soul in a world draped in unpredictability.

The corridors of my mind echo with the persistent questions, reverberating through the ambiguity of purpose. With each unfolding day, I grapple with the uncertainty, seeking answers that can serve as beacons in the maze of life. The daily hustle becomes a quest to find meaning, a purpose that dodges me in the age of uncertainty.

I’ve lost the sense of direction again. The wind’s taste is bitter, and my moments slip away. Fridays hold no threat. My name is forgotten. These drugs are never effective enough. Intoxication persists; join if you wish. Autumn lashes with cold winds. I promised to run; you replied that everyone will run away eventually.

I protest red’s burning, blue’s coldness, and yellow’s separation. Living in this neverland is my only choice. Breath is just one word, i take it to survive the remaining sentences.

Leaves on this tree will fall too. If courage wanes, what’s left of me? Long live the one who picked the fruit. I am fresh but laden with rotten. A musician with a silent violin. This land is known for harsh earthquakes—who built our hearts this way? Me or you ?

If you seek light, I’ll shine like the sun. Forbid spring, and I’ll lay bare in winter. Clerics ban touching human flesh, burning naked. Yet, I’d buy every inch of the inferno for the sensation of your breath near mine. Let’s intertwine in execution. Fresh, yet rotten.

This land is known for harsh earthquakes—who built our hearts this way? Me or you ?

During my pre-op visit to my ophthalmologist, I was fixated on the worn tiles flooring the doctor’s office, contemplating life’s complexity like chasing a slippery hen. Last weekend’s shroom-fueled haze left kaleidoscopic patterns on the tiles, that shit was playing with my consciousness.

The following day, as the surgeon cracked my eye open, a peculiar image surfaced. I wished he’d tear apart my heart instead of my globe.

Kneeling to my mom, holding onto my dad’s hands, I acknowledged the inherent truth – it’s time to understand and embark on a journey. Soon I’m going to fly.

Addressing my Guardian angel, I sought redemption for my losses, wanting them to be safeguarded until I reach my cross. Bearing the weight, a golden trick of the world. Like Jesus. Jesus! sometimes depression lurks from behind, living in the dark, like a monster under my bed. Living my life in Shiraz, partying every night, wondering how nature can be a motherf****r.

Reflecting on the gap in my girl’s teeth and the warmth I feel, trying yo express sentiments , the needle of truth leads me forward. Born with blue veins, destined to grow wings, and then to take off. Soon I’m going to fly, and finally, I die, alone or with a family, in my home country or a faraway land.

So, I think I am a lucky one. You, like your name, are from outer space, my star in a dark night.

In a realm where belief is scarce, I found rare happiness in the connection between you and me. Some claim truth springs for hardcore seekers, but I believe truth sings to whoever listens. Born with blue veins, attuned to the song of life, destined to grow wings, and then to take off, like birds and dissipating smoke. The image on the surgery bed: Your entire body illuminated like a star, shining with a metallic glow.

Weird it was to feel blind. My sight, what a valuable thing! Yet there you were, blinding like always.

In the heart of Sri Lanka, vibrant green coconut trees stretched as far as the eye could see, Sisyphus embarked on his ceaseless journey. He trudged along the winding road, one step at a time, acknowledging the small victories along the way.
“Well done mate” he said.

As he approached the precipice again, he gazed into the morning mist , clouds of vapour in between the green landscape, his heavy burden looming over him. Sisyphus pondered his choices. Does he dare leap into the unknown, embracing the failure, or does he surrender to the eternal cycle and push the relentless rock up again?

In that moment, he raised both fists, and declared “To hell with this!” With a resolute spirit, he released the colossal stone, letting it thunder down the steep slope.

The rock careened downward, going through the valley below. He had a house once, but it was a distant memory, lost to time. Sisyphus watched as the boulder descended, his never ending task fading away with each passing second.

He accepted the inevitability of his fate, embracing the relentless uncertain hardships of future , the punishments of disobedience. Sisyphus let the rock continue its journey, rolling down to the bottom.

The house that once held his dreams was now a relic of the past, a part of his history forever lost. “How do deal with these unprecedented sighs?” He wondered.

As the rock vanished from sight, there was this realization that he would rather face failure as a mortal than endure the burden of godhood immortality on a perilous cliff.

In a world where history favored the audacious, those who stood firm and unwavering in their resolve, Sisyphus made his decision.

Let it roll, let it crash down low! Sisyphus peered into the mist, a stone’s throw from the precipice, paused at the foothill .

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”-Isaiah 40:31 (NIV)

Homelessness goes beyond the mere lack of shelter; it embodies a sense of drifting in a world that has turned its back on me. Loneliness weighs heavy on my chest, an all-encompassing emotional void. Memories of happier times, of family, career, and purpose, slip further away each passing day.

I wander through unfamiliar streets, their lifeless pavements mirroring the bleakness of my existence. Warmth, both inside and out, is a distant memory. Regrets anchor my steps to the unyielding concrete.

Turning a corner, I stumbled upon a shadowy park, its swings were swaying gently in the breeze, A beckoning bench urged me to sit. I paused, gazing at the night sky, seeking solace in the distant stars, their brilliance teasingly out of reach.

Tears welled in my eyes, and for the first time in ages, I allowed myself to feel. The tears streamed down my cheeks, mingling with the mist, and I released a trembling sigh. In that solitary moment, I realized that finding my way home wasn’t merely a matter of direction. There was no home. Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve lost my home.

Walking away from the park, I couldn’t help but believe that, one day, I might stumble upon another home. A place where the void can be filled, even if the world outside remains unforgiving.

Living as an Iranian constantly under the scrutiny of the morality police is akin to a surreal comedy, a delicate juggling act between vigilance and unrestrained laughter. On a memorable evening, I cautiously navigated my way to an underground gathering, a hidden soirée where friends and strangers united to break free from society’s stifling constraints.

The dark room felt reminiscent of your grandfather’s attic, filled with hushed laughter and music so rebellious like putting “Don’t Stop Believin'” on a continuous loop. It was a brief escape from reality, and my excitement matched that of a kangaroo on methamphetamine. I was acutely aware that at any moment, the morality police could burst in, as if auditioning for a high-intensity action movie.

I danced with a diverse group, straight out of a B-movie, their eyes reflecting the dreams of hopeful idealists. We clung to the belief that our actions could ignite change, enduring the monotony of our current lives for the promise of a brighter future, complete with free Netflix subscriptions and endless ice cream.

In my mind, I pictured the ultimate plot twist: the door swings open, and the morality police storm in, shouting as if competing for roles in an over-the-top soap opera. In an instant, excitement would turn to dread, and our dreams would vanish like a magician’s rabbit. And later as I sit in a cold, sterile cell, I would contemplate the absurdity of it all.

I understand that the rollercoaster of anticipation and emptiness in my life resembles the convoluted plot of a sitcom. But one thing remains certain: this tragic hope would keep me going, and in the hearts of every Iranian, the dream for a brighter future would persist as an enduring punchline, refusing to be silenced no matter how many times life attempts to cancel our show.

Well, that smell of s-ex ,Good like burning wood, The wayward lad laid claim to two thirsty girls who left a note when morning came. Play it seven times on the seventh day, seven lives, lead the way,
Rainbow’s seven hues shine bright, what’s up with gray’s relentless chase?
Back in 2011, I chose a path, sealed my fate, embraced,
Seven doobies in my pocket, eleven in my mind’s wild craze.

Stranger things unfold as my halo shines so bright,
Snow White with seven dwarves, what a mystical sight,
Heaven’s door is a quest, can’t escape its force,
No remorse, just time, roll the dice, of course!

Seven sides to me, no need to deny,
Aladdin’s third eye, let’s explore the sky,
Genie’s wishes, dreams soaring high,
Beginning, middle, and end, it’s all you and I.

Mind, body, and soul, the sweet breath of life,
Past, present, future, with no end in sight,
Yin and yang, balance keeps our journey on track,
Good and bad unite, it’s a timeless fact.

We’re all alike, yet our light is individuality,
Less chat, more silence, in this cosmic reality,
Am I right? I’m right, feeling as high as can be,
They say I’m unreadable, unbeatable, unreachable, that’s the key.

Nowadays, beginning my seasonal blues, contacts not so neat. Karma pays my dues, from youth to the street.

Nothing beats being here, in and out of booths,
But I must admit, yeah, still, I miss you.

Ah, rhabdomyolysis, the silent ninja of the medical world, lurking in the shadows like a sneaky party crasher. It’s the ultimate muscle saboteur, breaking down your biceps and quads with the enthusiasm of a kid tearing open birthday presents. When it strikes, you can kiss your weekend plans goodbye!

Picture this: me, trying to dance on Sugar– it was like being a human lightning rod in a disco storm. The stimulant was like a tiny DJ in my bloodstream, pumping out beats of madness straight to my brain. I felt like a wild, caffeinated squirrel, completely unburdened by mundane things like gravity and logic. Cocaine was my backstage pass to the circus of “Who Needs Inhibitions Anyway?”

And then there’s whiskey, the drink of champions! It’s like a warm, boozy hug for your soul. One sip, and suddenly I believed I could conquer the world or at least the dance floor. The alcohol turned me into a dance ninja, fueled by liquid courage. It’s like my senses put on invisibility cloaks and I could waltz my way to greatness.

But guess what? My reckless rendezvous with these substances was a covert operation, sneakily sabotaging my life. Just like rhabdomyolysis, which quietly disassembles muscles, my little drug-and-drink escapade was sneakily dismantling my life plans, one disco move at a time. 🕺💃💥

At 5 AM, the witching hour, I yearned for your presence, but the street-lamp outside only cast macabre, elongated shadows that danced like demons across the room, reminiscent of those nights when we delved into the darkest recesses of the human soul until dawn cracked. The silence, thicker than the ink-black night, was shattered by the mournful cries of the wind, a chilling symphony.

I shifted restlessly in the empty bed, gripped by an unyielding sense of dread, an unmistakable intuition that an unholy, ancient malevolence was lurking.

As I battled to surrender both body and mind to the sleep, a sinister, nearly imperceptible whisper reached my ears. This unearthly voice originated from the deepest, darkest corner of the room. My heart pounded like a funeral drum as I jolted upright, anxiously scanning the impenetrable shadows. No physical presence revealed itself. I dismissed it as the product of my tormented mind, a fleeting illusion, as I struggled to cling to the embrace of sleep.

Terror ensnared me as I realized the absolute solitude of the room, and yet that strange voice, undoubtedly yours ,was emerging from the very spot where you liked to sit.

Clutching the bedcovers, I gasped for air, each breath a jagged shard of my fraying sanity. “Who are you?” I stammered, my voice trembling in the face of mortal fear.

The voice inched closer, an unnatural presence by my side, an icy, deathly breath brushing against my ear, a clammy hand caressing my cheek. “I’m with you,” it whispered, intimately malevolent. “I have never departed.”

I recoiled in absolute horror, ensnared by the ghastly specter, unable to wrench my gaze away. “No, this cannot be real,” I muttered, gripping my phone with white-knuckled desperation.

As I tried to dial for help, the room twisted and contorted around me, the very walls closing in, the voice whispering my deepest fears and darkest secrets, imprisoning me in a nightmarish frame. Escape was a mirage. My hands were not responding to my commands .

With the very first rays of dawn, salvation finally pierced the window. The terrifying specter of you unraveled like ethereal smoke. As the room reverted to its mundane, I was left breathless, it was my first ever panic attack and i hated it .

Considering myself a determined being, I try to stay laser-focused, like a dog chasing a squirrel, on the prize that seems as elusive as the TV remote stuck between the couch cushions. The path I follow is tougher than a two-dollar steak, with challenges that make me wonder if I’d stumble into a cosmic game show. But I have this stubborn belief that a man might get knocked down, but he should never surrender. It is all about the relentless fight, and being willing to give up even your last piece of bacon to reach the peak of your dreams.

Most people are ignorant about turtles. Did you know that a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after it has been cut up and butchered? I think I  have such a heart too. In this I see a reflection of myself. I have a soul that just wouldn’t throw in the towel, a determination that refuses to take “no” for an answer.

But what if, after all my blood, sweat, and coffee-fueled nights, I find out my big goal was about as meaningful as a rubber chicken at a formal dinner? Should I surrender and binge-watch cat videos to avoid the ultimate faceplant of disappointment?

In moments of doubt, I remind myself that this isn’t the time to play “Where’s Waldo” with the missing pieces of my life. Instead, I take a lesson from the early birds, those fuckin old men who wake up with the roosters. They don’t rise just to add more hours to their bingo nights. No, they do it to squeeze every drop of opportunity from their limited hours remaining on this floating rock we call Earth.

Whether I end up finding that elusive TV remote or not, I’ll keep going, knowing that life’s greatest rewards often come to those who persevere through the toughest challenges. Like a turtle’s heart, mine will keep beating, no matter what obstacles come my way, and I’ll emerge from the cosmic game show, not as a spectator, but as a champion of my own destiny.