Category: CULTURE

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“Stop signs? I don’t care about any of that shit. Don’t have a license. Don’t have a license plate on my bike. I’m an outlaw through and through. I take it very seriously. The way I look at it, there’s a law of government and a law of man. And I follow the law of man. Right and wrong, that’s it. And the government don’t do right. I’m not trying to make myself a martyr. They already won. Darkness won. I’m just taking care of me and my own and doing what I can to keep their claws out of my back. I’ve got a half mile dirt drive that goes way back up in the woods, and that’s not far enough. They tried to pin me with some multimillion-dollar drug ring, and this is what I told them. In the courtroom, while my lawyer is elbowing me in the ribs to shut up. I said: ‘Listen man. You’re fucking with a bunch of hillbillies trying to get high. All we do is fucking work on cars and bikes and snowmobiles and four wheelers and then go riding, and afterward we try to get naked with our old ladies. I’m just giving people that I care about something that they’re going to get elsewhere, that I can get them for a way lesser price and make sure the shit ain’t fucked with. What’s the problem with that?”

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“The question everybody wants to know is: why don’t the aliens contact us if they’re really here? The answer is simple: because it would melt your psyche to contact beings from another dimension. Whether it’s ghosts or spirits or deceased relatives or past lives or future lives or aliens or Bigfoot or fairies, all of it will melt your psyche. Because you’ve been programmed by The Empire to believe those things don’t exist. Unless of course you’re an indigenous person raised on traditional shamanic ceremonies. I learned all this by talking to other humans on other earths in other universes, so I’m trying to not blow your mind right now. When you’re talking about other dimensions you have to use a lot of metaphors, so just imagine earth as North Korea. You’ve probably seen enough documentaries to know what’s going on in North Korea. The North Korean people are completely mind locked and brainwashed, and they have a completely inaccurate understanding of the rest of the planet. Well, that’s the same thing that’s happening here. Earth is the North Korea of the multiverse.”

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“I’m taking a break from school until I figure things out. I guess I have rebel traits. There were just so many things that felt out of my control, and it bothered me. You have to wake up at this time. You have to go do this. You have to go do that. It’s like I didn’t have any originality. There was a certain point when I realized that everything, this whole routine that I had, had been given to me by other people. And the weird thing is, whenever you try to remove yourself from that equation, and stop doing what other people want, you kind of get ostracized and outcast. That’s kinda what happened to me. I have a great family, but it’s full of strong personalities. I had so many people telling me: do this, do that. They said it was a ‘respect’ thing. You know: ‘I’m the adult, so you should respect me.’ But I never understood that. Because at what age do I get this thing called respect? Nobody in my family could ever answer that question. Is it when I have a kid? Is that it? Or is it when I’m paying a certain amount of bills? At what point do I step up on the pedestal?”

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“Just the other day a video popped up on Facebook. It was only five years ago. We were in the park. I was pushing her on the bike, letting go. We used to have so much fun together. We’d always get ice cream. She’s a strawberry girl. I’m a vanilla guy. Chipwich, actually. I’m a Chipwich guy. She’d give me a hug afterward, tell me I was the best dad ever. We were such good friends. But now it feels like we’re so far apart. She doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. Even when she’s upset, she’ll ignore me and go to her room. It’s like: C’mon. I was fifteen too. I know what it’s like. But she’ll come back, I know that. They always come back. But it does feels like you’re getting your heart ripped out a little bit. But look, I get it. She’s figuring out life. You have to back off. You have to give them space. Cause if you charge after them and get all aggressive about it, you might push them away forever. But they always come back, right? One day she’s gonna realize that I’m not the enemy and I’m really her dad, her friend. I still get a flicker of it, every once in awhile. We had a really surreal moment last year. Her birthday is March 17th. She’s a St. Paddy’s Day birthday. We always take her to a Spanish restaurant on Long Island, but this time we did something special. Her uncle used to be a bodyguard for Taylor Swift, and we still know some people at the company. So they got us tickets to her concert. Fifth row seats. I mean, don’t get me wrong. We paid for them, but fifth row center. She was crying. I got a big hug. A big kiss. A ‘Thank you, Dad.’ It wasn’t ‘You’re the best dad ever.’ But it was a really big: ‘Thank you, Dad.’”

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“You’re a slut and a whore for the algorithm. I couldn’t do it anymore. You can never feed it enough. You start out making art, and hoping that the door will open. You’re looking for that viral moment so it opens up the door and you can do the thing full time. But you start to compromise just to get the door to open: guessing what it wants, debasing yourself, alienating yourself. Until you’re not even in service to your art anymore. You’re in service to the algorithm. Deep down every artist just wants to be seen. Everyone does. And that’s how it controls you. The algorithm makes you behave in a certain way, create in a certain way, in exchange for being seen. And if something can change what you do, it can change who you are. And I didn’t sign up for that. I didn’t sign up to become a content creator. Art was supposed to be a way for me to be in search of, in service to, in community with. It was my ministry. Art was supposed to be my ministry.”

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“I’m turning forty in August. Three kids, full time job. All my kids are under the age of seven. The amount of mental energy it takes, you know, juggling all of them and the constant questions about nothing. I mean, mom is busy, please, just give me a second. My husband tells me that it’s just the season we’re in. We’ll get back to it. But I just want it to slow down so I can pause and breathe. Everything just changes so fast, you know? When you’re a little kid, and you turn into a teenager, it’s like: ‘Oh, I’m changing now.’ But you’ve been coached. You’re prepared for it. Then you go from teenager to college. That’s a big change. Then from college into your twenties, still changing. But at some point you kinda feel like I’m an adult, and I’m done. But you just keep going. It’s like oh shit, no, no, I’m going to keep changing. And these aren’t like the earlier changes. These aren’t the ones you get to plan for. Well some of them are, like: ‘We’re moving to a new place.’ Or ‘I’m going to get a new job.’ Those you can be ready for. But as you get older shit starts getting thrown at you that you’re not planning for. Dodgeballs. And you’ve just got to pivot. And all of the sudden you realize, that moment in time, right before the dodgeball, that was the last time you saw the old you. And you didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

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“It took me a long time to figure out that not being able to get my homework done doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.”

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(47/54) “When our grandchildren were born we moved to America to help raise them. First came Ahang’s son Sepanta. Then when I turned sixty we moved into Maziar’s house to help raise his newborn twin boys. And that’s where we’ve been for the last thirty years. The year that we moved in Mitra made me swear an oath. She made me promise that I would die before her, because she couldn’t stand the thought of me being with another woman. Maziar and his wife were doing their medical residency at the time, so most nights we were on our own. Because of Mitra’s hand injury, much of the childcare fell to me. I’d be up all night with one baby in each arm: this one needs a bottle, that one needs a diaper change. When the boys grew a bit older Mitra took over the clothing decisions. She was determined for them to have matching bathrobes. She couldn’t find the exact ones she wanted in America, so she ordered fancy bathrobes from Europe. I was responsible for the physical activities: the wrestling, the hiking, the fishing. In our backyard we built a small garden, and in their quieter moments they would help me tend it. But my most important job was teaching them our language. The vessel of our culture. I wanted to lead them to the source of the spring, so that they could read the words our writers have written. And sing the songs our singers have sung. The Persian alphabet can be difficult, so I didn’t start with letters. I started with words. I chose three hundred words. Simple words, words that everyone should know: 𝘔𝘦𝘩𝘳. Love. 𝘙𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪. Truth. 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪. Goodness. While we were working in the garden, I’d say them over and over. It didn’t matter to me if anyone was listening or paying attention. All that mattered was that the words were being spoken. Every time we took a long trip in the car, I’d prompt them with the same question: What are the two things that God has given everyone? 𝘑𝘢𝘢𝘯 and 𝘒𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥. Soul and Wisdom.”

 به آمریکا آمدیم تا در نگهداری نوه‌هایمان کمک کنیم. نخست پسر آهنگ سپنتا به دنیا آمد. شش سال در خانه‌ی آنها ماندیم. با سپنتا از آن روزها خاطرات بسیار شیرین دارم که به هنگام به آنها خواهم پرداخت .سپس به خانه‌ی مازیار رفتیم تا در نگهداری از دوقلوها یاری‌شان دهیم. آنها برای گذراندن دوره‌ی تخصصی پزشکی به سختی درگیر بودند. میترا مرا سوگند می‌داد که پیش از او بمیرم، زیرا مرا تنها برای خود می‌خواست، من هم همین را می‌خواستم. بسیاری از شبها تنها بودیم. یک شب هر دو کشیک داشتند، شب دیگر هر دو به خانه می‌آمدند و دو شب دیگر یکی‌شان در خانه می‌خوابید. به دلیل آسیب‌دیدگی دست میترا، بخش بیشتری از پرستاری آنها با من بود. بنابراین شب‌ها را با هر نوزادی در یک دستم می‌گذراندم، یکی نیاز به شیشه‌ی شیر داشت، دیگری به تعویض پوشَک. هنگامی که پسرها بزرگتر شدند میترا بیشتر مرا کمک می‌کرد. او می‌خواست که آنها کُت‌های حوله‌ای مشابه داشته باشند. در آمریکا فرهنگ کُت حوله‌ای وجود نداشت، بنابراین از اروپا سفارش داد. فعالیت‌های ورزشی آنها با من بود: کُشتی، پیاده‌روی، ماهی‌گیری. در حیاط پشت خانه باغچه‌ی کوچکی، به اندازه‌ی نخستین باغچه‌ام در نهاوند راه انداختیم. گاهی مرا در پیرایش باغچه کمک می‌کردند. اما مهمترین مسئولیتم را در آموختن زبان فارسی به آنها می‌دانستم. زبان نگهدارنده‌ی فرهنگ است. می‌خواستم آنها را به سرچشمه‌ی آگاهی‌ها برسانم و با ارزش زبان پارسی آشنا کنم تا بتوانند خودشان واژگانی را که نویسندگان‌ و سرایندگان ما نوشته‌اند بخوانند. تا بتوانند ترانه‌ها و سرودهای خوانندگان‌مان را زمزمه کنند. یادگیری الفبای فارسی شاید کمی مشکل باشد، از این رو با الفبا شروع نکردم. از واژه‌ها آغاز کردم. سیسد واژه انتخاب کردم. واژگانی ساده که هر کس باید بداند: مهر، راستی، نیکی. هنگامی که مشغول کار در باغچه بودیم، آنها را بارها تکرار می‌کردم. مهم نبود که کسی گوش می‌دهد یا نه. تنها چیزی که مهم بود این بود که واژگان گفته و شنیده شوند. هرگاه سوار خودرو می‌شدیم، این پرسش را تکرار می‌کردم: “بهترین دو چیزی که خدا به همه داده است چیست؟” جان و خرد

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(48/54) “I didn’t raise them to be Iranian first. Above all I wanted them to be good people. I wanted the same things for them that I want for all people: to do the next right thing, to say the next true thing. But they were growing up in tough times. So many bad things were being done in the name of Iranians. I wanted them to know the real Iran. I wasn’t able to bring them there, but I did try to build a little Iran around us. I’ve surrounded us with my memories of home. On the wall hangs a painting of Nahavand that I made in Germany. Above the back door hangs the horns of the first ibex I ever hunted. On the shelf in the dining room is my jar of soil. It was collected from a spot in Nahavand at the base of the mountain, right at the source of the spring. And next to my jar of soil, for anyone who needs it: sits my Shahnameh. As soon as they were old enough I asked each of them to memorize a verse about their namesake. Zaal went first. His namesake was one of the wisest heroes in all of Shahnameh: 𝘡𝘢𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘳. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳. Rostam went next. He chose his verse from a part of Shahnameh when Iran finds itself in a moment of great darkness. Three enemy kings have aligned their forces. Three hundred thousand men march against us. The army is on the brink of defeat. The dirt’s turned clay with blood. Rostam arrives at the battlefield on foot: no horse, no armor, carrying nothing but a bow and arrow. He walks out to face the enemy alone. And with a single shot, he slays the greatest champion on the other side. The enemy is stunned into silence. Their courage flees them. Their commander screams: 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴? 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮! It’s one of my favorite verses in all of Shahnameh. My entire life, ever since I was a little boy, those have always been my favorite scenes. The ones that make me most emotional. The ones that make my voice break. When at the moment of greatest darkness, one champion makes a stand. And with a single act of courage reveals the soul of an entire people.”

 در پرورش نوادگانم نکوشیدم که تنها به ایرانی‌بودن خود ببالند. می‌خواستم مردمان خوبی باشند. هر چه برای آنها آرزو می کنم، آرزوی جهانی من هم هست. ویژگی‌های فرهنگ ایرانیان جهان‌گسترانه بودن آن است. راستی را بنیاد زندگی اجتماعی بدانند. با ناراستی نمی‌توان دو تن را به هم پیوست. نیک اندیشیدن، نیکخواهانه سخن گفتن و به کارهای نیک که آبادگر جهان‌اند کوشیدن را به جان دریابند. مردمان ما در روزگار سختی بزرگ می‌شدند. رویدادهای ناگواری به نام ایرانیان نشان داده می‌شد. می‌خواستم ایران راستین را بشناسند. نمی‌توانستم آنها را به میهن‌ام ببرم، ولی تلاش کردم ایران کوچکی پیرامون خودمان بسازم. بر روی دیوار نگاره‌هایی از نهاوند است که آن را هنگام زندگی در آلمان کشیده‌ام. بالای دیوار اتاق، شاخ کَلی که شکار کردم، آویزان است. روی گنجه‌ی اتاق ناهارخوری، شیشه‌ی خاک‌ام را نهاده‌ام ،خاک نهاوند که درست از کوه‌پایه گردآوری شده است، از سرچشمه. در کنار شیشه‌ی خاک‌ام، برای هر کس بخواهد شاهنامه‌ام را. از آن هنگام که به سن درک و فهم رسیدند، از آنها خواستم که هر یک بیتی را در پیوند با نامشان برگزینند. نخست زال آغاز کرد. نام او برگرفته از یکی از خردمندترین پهلوانان شاهنامه است. زال همه چیزهای بزرگ و کوچک، و دور و نزدیک را می‌دانست. خرد او چونان ستاره‌ای می‌درخشید. سپس نوبت رستم بود. بیت‌اش از بخشی از شاهنامه است که ایران در هنگامه‌ی جانشکاری‌ست. سه پادشاه دشمن به هم پیوسته‌اند. سیسدهزار مرد جنگی رو یاروی ایرانیان ایستاده‌اند. سپاه در آستانه‌ی شکست است. خاک آغشته به خون است. رستم تازان می‌رسد، سم اسبش کوفته است، پیاده به رزمگاه می‌رود، آری، بی اسب، بی جنگ‌افزار، تنها با تیر و کمانی. او به تنهایی با دشمن روبه رو می‌شود، تنها با یک تیر، سردار بزرگ سپاه دشمن را از پای در می‌آورد. دشمن شگفت‌زده به خاموشی فرو می‌رود. دلاوری آنها به یکباره رنگ می‌بازد. فرمانده آنها بُهت‌زده می‌گوید: تو گفتی که لَختی فُرومایه‌اند / ز گردنکشان کمترین پایه‌اند / کُنون نیزه با تیر ایشان یکی‌ست / دل شیر در جنگشان اندکی‌ست. در تمام دوران زندگی‌ام، از آن هنگام که پسر‌بچه‌ای بیش نبودم، چنین صحنه‌هایی مورد علاقه‌ام بوده‌اند. صحنه‌هایی که بیش از همه‌ احساس مرا برمی‌انگیزند. پهنه‌هایی که مایه‌ی لرزش صدایم می‌شوند. زمانی که گُردی ایرانی به پا می‌ایستد و با کاری دلیرانه، همه‌ی جان و‌ روان ملت‌اش را آشکار می‌سازد

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(49/54) “We still take long walks together, even today. There’s a path through the forest near our house. Mitra still can’t stand the silence. She’ll walk off the path so she can hear the dry crunch of the leaves. She still talks the entire time, but these days our conversations don’t reach back as far as they used to. We mainly talk about the things we see. She’ll count her steps, count the houses, count the trees. Mitra’s memory is no longer her friend; it no longer supports her. But she still says ‘hello’ to everyone that she sees. And she’s still a queen, I am always at her service. These days we have become inseparable. If I do not see her for two minutes, I will find what room she’s in. I button her jacket. I tie her shoes. I handle all her medications. I do not grieve the situation. I feel gratitude that I am able to do these things for her, despite nature. My only grief is for her. Her memory was her greatest gift. It’s where I stored my treasures. I could tell her any verse, even once. And she could remember it forever. Now it will escape her after only a minute. Every day her world gets smaller and smaller. Tighter and tighter. It’s the oldest memories that she remembers most now. Recently she has been fixated on her hand. She keeps holding up her crippled hand, and asking: ‘Why did you ever marry me?’ When we were young in Tehran, her father had a tradition. Every morning he would insist on having the first cup of tea. He said it was the one that tasted best. He called it ‘the flower of the tea.’ So now when I brew our tea every morning, I will wait. Until Mitra is up. Until she’s ready. So that I can serve her the flower of the tea. Then as soon as we’ve finished the kettle, she’ll make me go outside. And pour the remains on the roots of our trees.”

 ما همچنان با هم به پیاده‌روی‌های درازآهنگ می‌رویم. راهی جنگلی در نزدیکی خانه‌مان هست. میترا همچنان خاموشی را برنمی‌تابد. هنوز به راه رفتن روی برگ‌های خُشک و شنیدن خِش‌خِش آنها ‌دلبسته است. هنوز همه‌ی راه را سخن می‌گوید، اما گفت‌وگوهای ما به گذشته‌های دور بازنمی‌گردند. این روزها بیشتر درباره‌ی آنچه می‌بینیم، سخن می‌گوییم. او گام‌هایش را می‌شمارد، خانه‌ها را می‌شمارد و درخت‌ها را. حافظه‌ی میترا دیگر یاری‌اش نمی‌دهد، دوستش نیست، از او کناره گرفته است. ولی هنوز با هر رهگذری که از کنارمان می‌گذرد، خوش‌آمد می‌گوید. او هنوز شهبانوی خانه است و خواهد ماند و تا هستم او را پرستار و خدمتگزار خواهم بود. این روزها ما جدایی‌ناپذیریم. اگر برای دو دقیقه او را نبینم، در اتاق‌ها به دنبالش می‌گردم. دکمه‌های ژاکت و بند کفش‌هایش را می‌بندم. داروهایش را به هنگام به او می‌رسانم. هرگز برای خودم دل نمی‌سوزانم. سپاسگزار بختم که می‌توانم اين کارها را برای او انجام دهم. برای او اندوهناکم. برجسته‌ترین توانایی او حافظه‌اش بود. یاد او گنجینه‌ی یادهای من هم بود. می‌دانستم هر بیتی را یک بار برای او بخوانم، برای همیشه به یاد می‌سپارد. این روزها پس از دقیقه‌ای از ذهن او می‌گریزند. دنیایش هر روز کوچک‌ و کوچک‌تر، تنگ‌ و تنگ‌تر می‌شود. خاطره‌های دوردست را بهتر به یاد دارد. تازگی‌ها به دست چپش می‌اندیشد. پیوسته دست کم‌کار خود را بالا نگه می‌دارد و می‌پرسد: “به راستی تو چرا با من ازدواج کردی؟” روزگار جوانی که در تهران بودیم، پدرش دوست داشت هر بامداد، نخستین استکان چای را بنوشد، می‌گفت بهترین است. آن را «گُلِ چای» می‌نامید. هنگامی که هر بامداد چای‌مان را آماده می‌کنم، چشم‌به‌راهش می‌مانم تا بتوانم با گُلِ چای از او پذیرایی کنم. شب‌ها دست مرا می‌گیرد تا با هم تَه‌مانده‌ی چای را پای گل‌ها ودرختان بریزیم

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