The Ordeal 4 – Of addiction and obsession

The end justifies the means. Or at least that’s my way of looking at it. But then, to what extent can one go to satisfy one’s needs? Yes, needs.

It was finally one thirty a.m. when she had this weird thought, lying in bed, like a confused heap of junk. Wouldn’t it have been better if she was addicted to coke? As in, it’s more accessible than him. She has been dying to get in touch with him for like forever. But for days now, all she has to keep her breathing are the endless rings of all her unanswered calls.

Acting like a shot of cocaine at times. And like a lullaby putting her to sleep at others.

290 new puppets in Tehran

March 2. 48 million voters. 3444 candidates. A 290-seat Islamic Majlis.

The world sits and watches, with a shot of sarcasm. How democratic will these parliamentary elections be?, many question. I sit and watch, grieved. To what extent will Iran change after this?, I wonder.

In the midst of so many uncertainties about the future of Iran, the parliamentary elections represent nothing more than the rivalry between Khamenei and Ahmedinejad. The Mullah struggling to preserve his Khomeinist movement, and the President, his philosophy and ego.

The faces of right and wrong

“You have a fucked up logic” – I was told. Is it?

I was always taught to stand up for what I believe in. De dire tout haut ce que les autres pensent tout bas. Simply because if you don’t, you will be a blind follower of a mass, who from time to time doesn’t even know why it does such and such. Only a bunch of people can in fact, create their own meaning out of things, without having to care about pre-set norms and mores. A more or less easy task. Until you have to make others understand the logic of your meaning. A never-ending, tiring & often unsuccessful task.

My logic is direct and simple. I respect you and your idiosyncrasies. All I expect, is for you to do the same. And for me, your logic can never be fucked up, but only different from mine.

2011

A glass of wine – check – a menthol Dunhill – check – a lighter – check – the staircase – check. 

She still couldn’t figure out why she agreed to come to this end of year party. She always hated hanging out with people she barely knew. She finally found a way out of this overcrowded living room. Once on the terrace, her lungs were filled with clean air. Before she lit up a cigarette and replaced the clean air with smoke.