a sudden burst of epiphany – in progress

I’m a former ubc finance graduate, a part-time film major, full time banker, visual artist and school junkie, exploring art, film making and story-telling at whatever opportunity I get. I enjoy writing, cinema and creating visual arts of all possible forms with a tendency to wear many hats, think and get inspired in propagating branches, which makes staying focused and keeping track of my ideas a real struggle. While I remain torn between several other names I like just as much, I plan to get busy on my ‘webspot’ titled tangledmania.com soon, and though I’ve blogged on and off for years, I have wanted to write my own novel ever since I can remember, which unlike my every other fluid life goal, seems to have only grown louder and maybe even wiser. I have learnt to keep going without having it all perfect and that’s how I keep sane in spite of everything I am still uncertain about.

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derive of a silly wish

There’s so much beauty in this world it’s hard to make sense of it all in a single life time.

It must have started out as an ancient mountain mysteriously shattered into a million pieces – scattered in every direction, trapped in between layers and layers of time.

Fragments waiting to be discovered and pieced together – put back in the same spot; or not.

What matters is for it all to come together again, like that time a movie so gracefully sums itself up in a round, flawless perfection, leaving no loose ends, leaving you irrationally jealous, yearning – restless and hungry to create.

Like the time your senses are so hyper the entire world starts rushing your way, intense, vivid, loud and magnified. Your brain is aroused, ideas flash and swirl in your head and focus into an unworldly precision. You let loose – every color and word flowing out of your limbs.

This mass of distracted run-on sentences needs to converge, resurrected into a hybrid monster of intercut thoughts stitched together.

Will that monster help untangle my world’s every contradiction? Yes, it would solve them all!

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the game

“Come join me at our usual spot”
“I can’t, my feet are stuck”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I wish I knew”
“Are you drunk?”
“I can’t tell, I mean, I honestly don’t remember”
“Here we go again, is this another one of your ridiculous games?”
“Will you play?”
“Don’t start”
“I have to think long and hard”
“Can you for once just do what I ask you? Can you stop making everything so complicated??”
“I seriously want to.. I’m trying but my feet are like rocks, can’t get them to wake up”
“Should I be worried?”
“No, I’m fine; I’ll figure it out somehow”
“Ok, call if you need anything”
“will do. If I ever wake up”

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bubble

D is a good friend – a former co-worker. She’s bubbly – and kind – and pleasantly exotic.

“It gets so much better with time,” she assures me as she helps me understand all the good things that happen if I rise and shine just as diligently to take cold showers at 4 am in the morning- her big signature smile glowing just as brightly as her big black eyes. “Woman! You’re insane,” is all I have to say to that.

I listen to her explain the mind-body relationship and suddenly realize I’ve yet again forgotten to bring her book back. I’ve fallen asleep half way through the second page on every attempt I have made, knowing full well it will truly help to learn how I can be in charge of my mind; and I’ve given up carrying it in my big messy bag just before it’s completely ruined from rubbing against everything else I also carry around – just because.

We’ve kept in touch over the years. There’s something strange and familiar about her that doesn’t wear off with time. Her positive head and – maybe at times annoying- laid back nature is so far from the never ending interruptions of my impatient life, and yet, she fits so well into this other crazy world of mine I also carry around – just because.

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برف، ماه، پدر

آتش باید به صبح برسد. ستاره ها نرم و پاکیزه میان گنبد سرمه اى شب مى تپند و نورِ ماهِ پاشیده روى برف، چشم ها را مى زند. همان طور که لنگه چکمه ى خیسش را روى شعله ها مى چرخاند بوى ادکلن و انگشت هاى کشیده ى او را مرور مى کند. آن روزها که جوان بود و خیلى سفر مى رفت. روى زانو نشسته بود تا کفش هاى تازه را پایش کند. بعد -به سبک مخصوص خودش- از گشادی شان زیر خنده زده بود. باد از دوردست صداى قهقهه ى پدر را همراه مى برد.

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