نمی نویسم تا چشمم در بیاد

At last, someone called me from Iran

And he called me just a minute ago from the heart of Iran, where I like most: Khonj!!!!!

او کسی نیست جز "مسعود ابونجمی" از نوادگان شیخ محمد ابونجم (رحمه الله) از خنج؛ تنها صدایی از ایران که در اینجا به گوشم رسیده است. به جز البته صدای "هادی فارسیانی" عزیز

در این عکس که البته هادی و آیت و عادل هم در آن هستند، او پهلوی نادر چارزانو نشسته است!؛

بقعه ایشان پس از هشتصد سال، همچنان سالم و پابرجاست. نگارنده خود به چشم تن دیده و شهادت می دهد

Eyes of wind, Wind-ows

Eye remember the night i was behind that window, pulling of my mobile and trying to RECORD the moment; taking a video of the scene. Outside my favorite Vienna was so dark that actually nothing was recorded. I gave up. Some sweet voice from back of my neck was wondering what I am doing. I simply lied. I then reached for the matches and ignited a cigarrette. I was thinking if i would be behind this window again.
A few days ago, a raven, a beautiful raven with a shiny black sweater knocked on my window. Sleepy as always, I opened it up,...fuck it, the point is that, he told me that when he was leaving the cold snow-covered city a few days earlier, he has seen a young blonde man removing the window I had watched the city from, replacing it with a high-tech double-layered anti-noise mother-fucking windows. THE RAVEN EXACTLY cawed: "I thought you might wanna know, pal!" and flought; left me with tears I never cried.
So, the windows are gone, and the moment will never come back again. I will never see the scene through those windows anymore. Those windows, as i google-earthed, have been thrown away in a Mistplatz. Covered by snow, they gaze the sky, albeit mandatory, with the least hope to observe a God coming back to earth.
"Stille Nacht..."