چهارشنبه ۹ دسامبر ۲۰۰۹

بعد از مدت ها که بری سراغش
صبرکه بکنی تا سر ساعت 12 بازش کنی
از ته ته دلت که باهاش حرف بزنی

به بوی مژده وصل تو تا سحر شب دوش
به راه باد نهادم چراغ روشن چشم..

 سرت رو که میاری بالا، یه سال بزرگ تر که شدی، تولدت حتما مبارکه..


سه‌شنبه ۸ دسامبر ۲۰۰۹

هیچ وقت به مهم ترین دلیل ها هم خودم را محدود نمی کنم
گذر نمی کنم از هرچه که دوستش دارم
حرف های صد تا یک غازتان به کنار، دوست داشتنی های من زیاد نیستند
من تا ابد خواهم نوشت. هر کسی را هم که بیازارد..
من از دوست داشتنی هایم نمی گذرم

دوشنبه ۳۰ نوامبر ۲۰۰۹

We'll drive. Keep driving. Head out to the middle of nowhere, take that road as far as it takes us. You've never been west of Philly, have ya? This is a beautiful country Monty, it's beautiful out there, like a different world. Mountains, hills, cows, farms, and white churches. I drove out west with your mother one time, before you was born. Brooklyn to the Pacific in three days. Just enough money for gas, sandwiches, and coffee, but we made it. Every man, woman, and child alive should see the desert one time before they die. Nothin' at all for miles around. Nothin' but sand and rocks and cactus and blue sky. Not a soul in sight. No sirens. No car alarms. Nobody honkin' atcha. No madmen cursin' or pissin' in the streets. You find the silence out there, you find the peace. You can find God. So we drive west, keep driving till we find a nice little town. These towns out in the desert, you know why they got there? People wanted to get way from somewhere else. The desert's for startin' over. Find a bar and I'll buy us drinks. I haven't had a drink in two years, but I'll have one with you, one last whisky with my boy. Take our time with it, taste the barley, let it linger. And then I'll go. I'll tell you dont ever write me, dont ever visit, I'll tell you I believe in God's kingdom and I'll see you and your mother again, but not in this lifetime. You'll get a job somewhere, a job that pays cash, a boss who doesn't ask questions, and you make a new life and you never come back. Monty, people like you, it's a gift, you'll make friends wherever you go. You're going to work hard, you're going to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You're going to make yourself a new home out there. You're a New Yorker, that won't ever change. You got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west but you're still a New Yorker. You'll miss your friends, you'll miss your dog, but you're strong. You got your mother backbone in you, you're strong like she was. You find the right people, and you get yourself papers, a drivers license. You forget your old life, you can't come back, you can't call, you can't write. You never look back. You make a new life for yourself and you live it, you hear me? You live your live the way it should have been. But maybe, this is dangerous, but maybe after a few years you send word to Naturelle. You get yourself a new family and you raise them right, you hear me? Give them a good life Monty. Give them what they need. You have a son, maybe you name him James, it's a good strong name, and maybe one day years from now years after im dead and gone reunited with your dear ma, you gather your whole family around and tell them the truth, who you are, where you come from, you tell them the whole story. Then you ask them if they know how lucky there are to be there. It all came so close to never happening. This life came so close to never happening. *

*25th hour

.......................

این آخرین "آخرین قطار شب" آقای اولد فشن بوده. و مثل همیشه آخرینش بهترینه برای این که آخرین باشه.

یکشنبه ۲۹ نوامبر ۲۰۰۹

پاره ای از توضیحات داده بودم که فکر کردم بهتره حذفش کنم
فقط.... این آدرس اون یکی وبلاگمه: n0leafclover.blogspot.com
امیدوارم همین کافی باشه

بیگانه ااام..... با سیمای تو...
همون طوری با همون لحن فرهاد

جمعه ۲۷ نوامبر ۲۰۰۹

هه! بیا مسابقه خیره شدن بذاریم!

پنجشنبه ۲۶ نوامبر ۲۰۰۹

خوابت رو که دیدم،
آقای اولد فشن عزیز نوشت:
To move to a new place- that's the geartest exitement. For a while you blieve you carrying nothing with you- all is canceled from before, or cauterized, and you begin again and nothing will go wrong this time*

NOTHING WILL GO WRONG THIS TIME..

*Margaret Laurence
"type writer blues" by mister Oldfashion.