A laugh that is so laughable. Laughing so hard that is not laughing anymore. Laughing so much that becomes sensual. A laugh that is just a laugh.. Ok,, Koundera you saved me. I found it! I am sitting in the train, devouring every sentence and reading as if I am on my routine bus commute in Tehran, and now I am writing in English, I am an alien and it feels amazing! Ok. Thank you. You left Prague, and you left Czech language. I think about that a lot. How can you leave language behind?
میدون ولی عصر. بلوار کشاورز. طالقانی. ایران شهر.هفت تیر. زعفرانیه. میدون انقلاب. فیروزکوه. فرشته. حقانی. مدرس
I grew up in a neighborhood called Sadeghieh, a neighborhood on the west side where before the revolution was called Arya Shahr. Well, everyone still calls it Aryashahr, but the street signs, the maps and the books, the traffic reporters, they all carry/say the post-revolution name. And this is only one tiny example, almost half of the street names in Tehran have had the same destiny. It is like the architecture, the environment, even their materiality become the battle ground for ideologies and history. Our parents and grand parents still use the old names, with a certain dignity, pride or stubbornness. When I was 17, we moved to a neighborhood in north of Tehran- Zaferanieh- where many of the newly built houses- mostly weird modern houses imitating random architectural designs- were actually built on old demolished houses which were mainly owned by pro-monarchies before the revolution, many of whom fled the country, some were executed and many of these amusing stories stay anonymous. I used to live very close by the former kingdom palace -Saa'd Abad- I used to take long walks there, old trees, sad buildings with new signs, turned into absurd musuem houses; an infinite abyss between every building, between every tree that covered the sky, a heavy silence. Tehran is in the time of Kafka, a time of humanity that has lost its continuity with humanity, of a humanity that no longer knows anything and no longer remembers anything and lives in cities without names, where streets are without names or names different from those they had yesterday, because a name is continuity with the past and people without a past are people without a name.
میدون ولی عصر. بلوار کشاورز. طالقانی. ایران شهر.هفت تیر. زعفرانیه. میدون انقلاب. فیروزکوه. فرشته. حقانی. مدرس. پهلوی. شهرک غرب. آریا شهر. خالد اسلامبولی. جمهوری. موزه آبگینه. دانشگاه ملی. ۱۶ آذر. سر در اصلی