Tuesday, December 25, 2012

فاتحان فروتن آخرالزمان


چه جنگی در جریان است؟
این تنش چیست که در هوای هرروزم استنشاق می کنم؟
با این زراندوزان هرروز در جنگم!
با این لبخندهای دروغ هرروز در جنگم!
ومن البته دلبسته ی تو و تصویر گذشتگان هستم!
چه کسانی از جان و مال خود حقیقتا ایثار کردند؟
چه خونیست که در رگ های من جاریست؟
چه کسانی گفتند "استقلال" و "مستقل" زیستند؟
چه کسانی خون دل خوردند و لب هایشان را دوختند...
لب به شکایت نمی گشودند که آرمانشان" وسیع بودن "بود...
حالا من مانده ام و آنها ...
 آنهایی که به خرج بزرگتر ها شعاراستقلال میدهند....
واز قهرمانان نفرت دارند! فیگور قهرمانانه گرفته اند

چه گزافه گویی ها که هر روزه می شنیدی و می شنوم
چه دیر ایمان آوردم به شما...
 اسطوره های خاکی نهفته در همسایگیم
ای کاش جهانم پر بود از تو و امثال تو!
ای کاش جهان می شنید فریاد شما را!

Friday, December 21, 2012

Suffer a Martyr's Trial


Take them from us, the pitiful ones
Pleading for bleak light's return... betrayed by impending dusk
Finding no solace in the deeply lowering gloom
They travel the path of the condemned in silent horror

Onward into the unspeakable, no savior awaits in forgiveness

Lead us unto ruin, devourer of hope
In night's solemn presence
The accursed procession approaches their destiny
Fields in neglect; unconsecrated by blood and monumental agony
Behold, crosses for the dead
Their distorted shadows forewarn the tragedy

The lurking fear tightens with each labored breath

May we curse the gods in our final hour; the ones they have abandoned
The dead and the dying; all sought in vain their own divine rescue
Begin the mortification of flesh, limbs transfixed upon wooded stakes
Extinction of thy very being;
Hammerfalls resound through the gently sloping hills...

Burn the dead now; let the ashes scatter without remembrance
As those without hope, forgotten in eternity

Evoken

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Trade Offs Between Being Smart and Not Being Smart


Great tit study shows brainy isn't always best
Humans don't have a monopoly on being smart: many other animals, including birds, can solve problems and even make and use tools.
But does it always pay for animals to be brainy or are there hidden costs?
A recent study of great tits, published in Current Biology, gives an insight into  the trade-offs between problem-solving abilities and other traits. The work was conducted by Ella Cole of Oxford University's Department of Zoology and Julie Morand-Ferron and led by John Quinn. I asked Ella about birds, brains, and strategies…
OxSciBlog: What makes great tits good for studying problem-solving?
Ella Cole: Great tits are well-known for their ability to problem-solve in order to find food, ranking among the top 20 most innovative avian species. This ability to solve novel problems or find new food sources may be one reason why great tits are able to survive in such a variety of different habitats.
In our work with the tits, we try to establish whether good and poor problem solvers differ in how they forage in the wild and how successful they are at reproducing. Our problem solving trials are carried out in captivity under standardised conditions. We therefore need to test large numbers of individuals as we cannot be certain how many birds we will be able to find again once they are released back into the wild.
Great tits are an excellent study species because they can be caught in large numbers, easily adapt to captive conditions and  take to nest boxes allowing us to monitor their foraging behaviour and breeding success in the wild.
OSB: What links did you find between problem-solving and successfully raising offspring?
EC: We found that females that could problem-solve in captivity laid more eggs than their non-solving counterparts when released back into the wild. If their nests did not fail, these solvers also fledged more chicks than non-solvers.
Even though the quality of food fed to chicks did not differ between solvers and non-solvers, solvers had much smaller foraging ranges and foraged for less time each day than non-solvers, suggesting they may be generally more efficient at finding food.
Interestingly though, female problem-solvers were more likely to desert their chicks than non-solving females, leading to no overall fitness difference between solvers and non-solvers. These findings provide the first convincing evidence that problem-solving abilities may influence reproductive success in wild populations.
OSB: What do your results tell us about the costs of being smart?
EC: Our finders suggest there may be costs as well as benefits to being smart. We find that problem solvers are more likely to desert their nests, which is a common adaptive behaviour amongst birds in response to unfavourable conditions.
Although their offspring will die, deserters can preserve their resources for themselves and therefore breed again when conditions may be more favourable. We show that desertion in our population may be a direct response to trapping by field workers – a procedure that is carried out in order to establish the identities of breeding birds (via reading their unique leg bands).
It is likely therefore that solvers may be more sensitive to human interference at the nest (which they are likely to perceive as a predation attempt), indicating that they are generally more cautious or anxious than non-solvers.
Why might 'being smart' not always be the best strategy?
EC: Being smart is costly. In humans, for example, the brain only accounts for 2% of an adult’s body weight, but it consumes about 20% of the resting metabolic rate [Clarke and L. Sokoloff 1999].
As resources are limited in nature, energy spent on the brain must be diverted from something else such as maximising body size and strength. Therefore although in some environments it will pay to be brainy, in others animals may benefit instead by investing resources in being good at competing or fleeing predators.
Whether being smart is favoured by selection is therefore likely to depend on the specific selective pressures acting in a given environment.  In a previous study we showed that problem solver great tits are poorer at competing for limited food resources than non-solvers, and in the current study we find that solvers may also be more timid. These correlations provide support for the idea that trade-offs may exist between problem-solving ability and other traits linked to fitness, and therefore that being smart may not always be the best strategy.
What further studies are needed to explore the link between 'smarts' and 'success' in great tits?EC: Our paper provides an important first step to understanding how selection may act on individual variation in cognitive performance in animal populations. However, more work is needed to understand exactly how being a good problem solver helps animals do well in the wild: for example, are they better at finding novel food sources when most needed, or are they quicker generally at learning to cope with challenges in their environment?
Another useful area of research will be to further explore the costs of being smart. In our paper we show that solvers are more sensitive to disturbance at the nest than non-solvers, leading to high nest failure, but whether they also show a stronger response to natural predation attempts remains to be tested.
Finally, it will also be very interesting and informative to explore how different types of cognitive traits (such as learning ability) relate to fitness, and to test the prediction that the costs of being smart will lead to high cognitive performance only being favoured in environments that are especially cognitively demanding.
by : Pete Wilton
@ox.ac.uk

Monday, December 10, 2012

Inner

How I savor
Blood stained fortune of mine

 


Friday, November 30, 2012

The Crawl Under One's Skin




Isolated so long, blighted by the first frost.
Longing for the warmth of human touch.
Through this wall of ice I can see you.
Callous only outside, from the kicking
And the beating down.
Please rip them from my body, please!
Glacier growing larger.Mirror growing darker.
Do you see the blue?


My forefront of consciousness.
Has been ignored.
The healing touch of time has abandoned me.
Abandoned me!


The longing brings me near, 
but the fear
Keeps me inches/worlds away


Reaching through the ice at last.
But you feel the frost and run. 
Run from me back to the secure.(You didn't belong here anyway)
And I'm left still, still longing
Still cold, So cold.

Neurosis

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

The Falcon and the Snowman


Movie: The Falcon and The Snowman
Year: 1985
Writers: Robert Lindsay (Book), Steve Zaillian (Screenplay)
Director: John Schlesinger
Starring: Timothy Hutton, Sean Penn, David Suchet, Pat Hingle, Lori Singer, Dorian Harewood

Fact-based, the story of two californian boyhood friends Christopher Boyce and Daulton Lee who  ultimately end up selling top-secret US document to Soviet Union. The movie has been of great impact the first time i watched about 20 years ago, and somehow i retrieved a better copy and the impact stays there. What's interesting in this somehow trivial espionage genre movie (which admittedly lacks tempo and composure at times)?
1- "The Sleeping Tiger"
The disappointment underlying Christopher's  committing this crime. It's definitely not money, or any kind of materialistic motive that derives him (no matter subsequently via this criminal adventure he gained hefty amount of money). He was disappointed by what he felt morally wrong interventions of US government abroad. First you feel fed-up then the trigger is pulled and there starts a vigorous serial of actions.
Look at this part for example:
[explaining why he didn't express his unhappiness with the CIA in a more acceptable manner]Christopher Boyce: It wouldn't have made a difference. I freely chose my response to this absurd world. If given the opportunity, I would have been more vigorous. 
2-"Oedipus Complex"
Another tip is a sort of Oedipus Complex formed indolently toward his father: a respectable former FBI agents with certain degree of patriotism flowing in his veins. Dad is the symbol of government, the authoritarian statue reminding him he has underachieved and underperformed.   On the other hand Mr. Boyce stress his patriotism once again by rejecting any outlaw intervention in his son's persecution but simply telling a friend :"Let him be judged."
3-"Extending a Personal Philosophy"
It doesn't work extending such personal ideas to complex scene of international affairs:
Christopher Boyce: I know a few things about predatory behavior. And what was once a legitimate intelligence gathering agency is now being used to prey on weaker governments.
So he seeks personal revenge by entrusting secret codes and documents to the soviets. 
4-"The Frail Companion"
Boyce and Daulton depict a sort of silly partnership in any practical terms let alone that be espionage amid cold war turmoil! Jittery heroin addict Daulton is in the business to handle the financial aspect but it turned to a rewarding way to pursue his drug trafficking in a larger scale under russians' political protection.
However russian bloc turn to a "carrot and stick" strategy in order to infiltrate deeper and connect directly to the mole (Boyce). Daulton easily gave away Boyce's name and many other crucial information.

Conclusion:
An intriguing political thriller with some decent performance by Hutton and Penn. (7/10)

Pedram


Monday, November 26, 2012

خاستگاه آگاهی در فروپاشی ذهن دوجایگاهی


مدتی پیش توسط یکی از دوستان کتابی سه جلدی به من معرفی شد به نام  "خاستگاه آگاهی در فروپاشی ذهن دوجایگاهی"  نوشته ی جولیان جینز. البته کتاب جدید نیست ولی نکات قابل تاملی را مطرح می کند. فکر می کنم بی ارتباط با پروژه ی فکریی که من با معرفی کتاب "کارکردهای ذهنی در جوامع عقب افتاده "نوشته ی لوسین لوی-برول افتتاح کردم نباشد. ساعات زیادی به بحث در باره ی این موضوع گذشت و غضب بسیاری را به جان خریدیم. هنوز این کتاب را نخوانده ام اما نکاتی اجمالی در باره ی این کتاب را این جا می آورم. شایان ذکر: متن ذیل عینا از پست ارسالی یکی از دوستان و بدون دخل و تصرف آورده شده است. پدرام


در یادداشت مترجمان چنین بیان می شود:"باید در یابیم که هوموساپینس, موجودی که در روند تکامل در اثر یک جهش بوجود آمد و برای دهها هزار سال زندگیش تفاوت چندانی با میمونها نداشت چگونه به آگاهی دست یافت و علم, هنر و اخلاق آفرید..."و این کتاب با عنوان مبهم و نثر ثقیل آن تلاشی است برای پاسخگویی به این سوال اساسی.خاستگاه آگاهی در فروپاشی ذهن دوجایگاهی تلفیقی است از روانشناسی, نورولوژی, تاریخ, ادبیات و... برای درک ماهیت آگاهی و چگونگی بوجود آمدن آن. حاصل کار, یک اثر سه جلدی است که در یک مجموعه یک جلدی گردآوری شده و توسط متخصصان نورولوژی و اعصاب ترجمه شده است.نویسنده در ابتدا به برخی از تعاریف نادرست در مورد اینکه آگاهی چیست می پردازد و در ادامه با بحثی پیرامون این مساله که آگاهی چه چیزی نیست به مسایل جالبی نظیر: "آگاهی لازمه یادگیری نیست", "آگاهی برای تفکر لازم نیست"و "آیا آگاهی الزامی است؟" اشاره می کند.در فصل دوم کتاب اول زیربنای بحث اصلی کتاب مطرح می شود بدین گونه که نویسنده معتقد است که آگاهی با زبان آغاز می شود و آن هم با زبان استعاره! "ادراک به شیوه استعاری" و "زبان استعاری ذهن" در این فصل مورد بحث قرار می گیرد. با استفاده از زبان استعاره واقعیتهای دنیای بیرونی در مورد ادراکات, حسیات, تجارب و نیازهای درونی بازتاب یافته و منجر به خلق فضای درونی در انسان می گردد که ما در آن فضا قادر به دیدن, شنیدن, پس و پیش رفتن, روایت کردن و در کل تمام حرکاتی هستیم که در فضای بیرونی از آن بهره مندیم و اکنون با جادوی استعاره قادر به تجسم خلاق تمام آن فضای بیرونی در جایی در درون خود می باشیم.ایده ذهن دوجایگاهی که بلافاصله بعد از این مبحث مطرح می شود عقیده ای جنجالی است. نویسنده معتقد است آگاهی پدیده ای نیست که از شروع حیات انسانها با ما همراه بوده باشد! او معتقد است آگاهی زمانی حوالی هزاره قبل از میلاد در انسان بوجود آمده است! برای اثبات این ادعا نویسنده ایده ذهن دوجایگاهی و بلافاصله بعد از آن مغز دوجایگاهی را مطرح می کند. او معتقد است انسان ناآگاه دارای دو بخش خدایی و انسانی بوده است و ندای خدایان در سراسر هزاره های طولانی راهنما, راهبر و فرمانروای زندگی انسانها بوده است. توهمات شنوایی و  حتی بینایی که در تمام لحظات زندگی همراه انسانها بوده اند در عمل, نقش آگاهی کنونی را برای انسان بازی می کرده اند.فصل پنجم کتاب اول که نظریه مغز دوجایگاهی را بیان می کند از جمله جذابترین بخشهای کتاب است. بحثی است نورولوژیکی در مورد منشا نداهای دوجایگاهی. نویسنده با تکیه بر تجارب و دانسته های عصب شناسی معتقد است که نیمکره راست به عنوان جایگاه خدایان و نیمکره چپ مغز مرکز تسلط قدرتهای انسانی است. بخشهای "ردپای اعمال خداگونه در نیمکره راست" و "تفاوت نیمکره ها در کارکردهای شناختی انعکاسی از تفاوتهای انسان و خداست" سرشار است از مثالهای حیرت آور و تکان دهنده مبتنی بر علم نورولوژی در مورد اثبات این عقاید. ایجاد دوباره نداها در اثر تحریکات قسمتهای خاصی در نیمکره راست, خاموشی نیمکره راست و توانایی سخنگویی نیمکره چپ در حالی که هر دو نیمکره قادر به فهم زبانند, مستقل بودن نیمکره ها از یکدیگر به طوری که در برخی از بیماران که ارتباط این دو نیمکره با هم قطع شده دست چپ (مربوط به نیمکره راست خاموش) چیزی را حس میکند یا میکشد اما زبان (نیمکره چپ) نامی اشتباه به زبان می آورد به طوری که نیمکره راست از جواب غلط نیمکره چپ دلخور می شود. "شاید مثل دلخوری آتنه هنگامی که او موهای زرد آشیل را گرفت و پیچاند و نگذاشت که شاه خود را بکشد یا دلخوریهای یهوه از تبه کاریهای مردمش" نمونه ای از این مثالهاست. "به هر حال مطالعه برخی بیماران که ارتباط دو نیمکره شان قطع شده است با قاطعیت نشان می دهد که دو نیمکره چنان عمل می کنند که به نظر می رسد مثل دو فرد مستقل هستند که در عصر دوجایگاهی بودند. به نظر من, فرد بود و خدایش"!! کتاب اول با بحثی پیرامون منشا تمدن و چگونگی بوجود آمدن زبان به پایان می رسد.در کتاب دوم "گواهی تاریخ" نویسنده می کوشد با سیری در تاریخ از ابتدای بوجود آمدن تمدن تا هزاره قبل از میلاد شواهدی از سلطه ذهن دوجایگاهی, شنود نداهای توهمی خدایان و نبود آگاهی را ارائه نماید. این شواهد شامل اطلاعاتی نظیر اطاعت از ندای پادشاهان مرده، تجسم خدایان در قابل بتها و انتساب نداهای توهمی به آنها, شاه- خدایان زنده  و صدها مثال و شاهد دیگر می گردد. نویسنده می کوشد نشان دهد که فرمان خدایان باستانی با رعایت سلسله مراتبهای اجتماعی توسط تمام مردم قابل شنیدن بوده و اطاعت مطلق و بدون تاملی به دنبال داشته است. این خدایان مالک جان و مال انسانها بوده و در تمام لحظات زندگی آنها حضور داشته و نقش آگاهی ناداشته را در راهبری و راهنمایی انها ایفا می کرده اند. این اقتدار الهی در هزاره های دوم تا اول قبل از میلاد به دلایل چندی رو به کاهش می نهد. نوشتن یکی از دلایل اصلی آغاز محو شدن نداهای دو جایگاهیست. خط و قانون جای فرمانهای شنوایی را می گیرد. مهاجرت, تجارت و در هم آمیختگی اقوام مختلف باعث تضعیف و برخورد خدایان مختلف, ایجاد جنگها, خصومتها و کشتارهایی می شود که تا آن زمان در تاریخ حیات بشر بی سابقه بوده اند و در نهایت نداهای توهمی کم رنگتر و ناشنیدنیتر می شوند. با تضعیف نداها انسان دوجایگاهی هراسان از سکوت خدایان تلاش می کند تا به هر نحو ممکن عدم حضور آنها را توجیه و آنها را فراخوانی کند. نخستین فرشتگان و دیوان در این زمان ابداع می شوند و انسان ناآگاه و ناامید برای احضار خدایان به غیب گویی, فال و قرعه کشی رو می آورد. نخستین نیایشها و ایده بهشت نیز از این زمان آغاز می شود زیرا انسان دوجایگاهی که خدایان را در تمام لحظات زندگی همراه داشته تا این زمان نیازی به نیایش احساس نمی کرده است.نویسنده در بخش "آگاهی خردورزانه یونان" با توسل به ایلیاد و اودیسه به ارائه نخستین شواهد آگاهی یونانی و کلماتی که او آنها را "اقنومهای پیش آگاهی" می نامد, می پردازد و سیر تحولی این کلمات را از مفاهیم جسمانی و بیرونی تا مضامین درونی و آگاهانه بررسی می کند. در آخرین بخش از کتاب دوم که بحثی پیرامون آگاهی عبرانیهاست تقلیل یافتن خدایان متعدد به یک خدای واحد (یهوه) و شواهد آگاهی در عهد عتیق بررسی می شود. در این قسمت اشاره به افرادی می شود که با حفظ ذهن دوجایگاهی و تداوم شنیدن نداهای خدا یا خدایان به عنوان خیل عظیم پیامبران عبرانی شناخته می شوند و چگونگی رانده شدن آنان را از اجتماع آگاه آن روز عبرانیها بیان می کند.کتاب سوم که به بررسی "آثار ذهن دوجایگاهی در جهان مدرن" می پردازد با اشاره ای به غیب گویی معابد آغاز می شود که تلاشی است برای احضار خدایان و چاره جویی از آنها در گرفتن تصمیمات مختلف. ردپای دیگر ذهن دوجایگاهی در جهان مدرن را می توان در مفهوم تسخیر حال چه مثبت (قدیسان) و چه منفی (جن زدگی) جستجو کرد. بحث بسیار جالب نویسنده در خصوص شعر و آواز و موسیقی و ارتباط آن با نیمکره راست خداگونه بسیار در خور تامل و تفکر است. مسایلی که در مورد ماهیت خداگونه شعر بیان میشود برای ما ایرانیان به هیچ وجه غریب و ناآشنا نیست! هیپنوتیسم ردپایی دیگر از ذهن دوجایگاهی در جهان مدرن فرض شده و بحثی کامل در مورد آن انجام شده است و سرانجام کتاب با فصل مربوط به شیزوفرنی به پایان خود نزدیک می شود. شیزوفرنی شاید نزدیک ترین تشابه به ذهن دوجایگاهی گذشته های دور باشد. "شنود توهمات شنوایی", "افول من تمثیلی", "فروپاشی فضای ذهنی" و "شکست در روایت سازی" از جمله مشکلاتی است که بیمار شیزوفرنیک با آن دست به گریبان است و با در نظر گرفتن خصوصیات مشابه برای ذهن دوجایگاهی می توان به این نتیجه جالب توجه رسید که نسلهای ناآگاه پیشین در واقع نمود عینی بیماران شیزوفرنیک عهد حاضر بوده اند!!! طلایه داریهای علم که عنوان اخرین فصل کتاب است, بحثی است پیرامون مقوله علم و دین و اینکه به رغم تمام تلاشها و حرف و حدیثها این دو هنوز از هم جدا نشده و هدف نهایی و والای علم رسیدن به الهویت, درک عظمت الهی  و بازگشت به معصومیت گم شده در هزاره های تاریخ عنوان میشود.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Sleep One Last Dawn


Locked in, forgotten
Reality seems hostile
Fate might be there, sealed grim as hell 
My friends are dead, 
My love, destroyed
and hope far gone
Joy remained vivid and void
Spoof presented aplenty

But I am where I am
Because of who I am
I know my own man
Today I'm here 
Tomorrow I'm gone
and who knows when I will be back
All I have to do 
Is to try and sleep
This one last dawn

pedram
22 Nov 2012




Thursday, November 22, 2012

The Nature of Fun

It's not easy to read these kinds of posthumous essays considering the certain destination the author has met. But anyhow I found the following essay pretty moving, meticulously dissected the a paradox in a writer's career. I think "The Nature of Fun" can be extended to other fields, as long as one is sincerely dedicated to his/her career.
pedram   
The best metaphor I know of for being a fiction writer is in Don DeLillo'sMao II, where he describes a book-in-progress as a kind of hideously damaged infant that follows the writer around, forever crawling after the writer (ie, dragging itself across the floor of restaurants where the writer's trying to eat, appearing at the foot of the bed first thing in the morning, etc), hideously defective, hydrocephalic and noseless and flipper-armed and incontinent and retarded and dribbling cerebrospinal fluid out of its mouth as it mewls and blurbles and cries out to the writer, wanting love, wanting the very thing its hideousness guarantees it'll get: the writer's complete attention.
The damaged-infant trope is perfect because it captures the mix of repulsion and love the fiction writer feels for something he's working on. The fiction always comes out so horrifically defective, so hideous a betrayal of all your hopes for it – a cruel and repellent caricature of the perfection of its conception – yes, understand: grotesque because imperfect. And yet it's yours, the infant is, it's you, and you love it and dandle it and wipe the cerebrospinal fluid off its slack chin with the cuff of the only clean shirt you have left because you haven't done laundry in like three weeks because finally this one chapter or character seems like it's finally trembling on the edge of coming together and working and you're terrified to spend any time on anything other than working on it because if you look away for a second you'll lose it, dooming the whole infant to continued hideousness. And so you love the damaged infant and pity it and care for it; but also you hate it – hate it – because it's deformed, repellent, because something grotesque has happened to it in the parturition from head to page; hate it because its deformity is your deformity (since if you were a better fiction writer your infant would of course look like one of those babies in catalogue ads for infantwear, perfect and pink and cerebrospinally continent) and its every hideous incontinent breath is a devastating indictment of you, on all levels… and so you want it dead, even as you dote and love and wipe it and dandle it and sometimes even apply CPR when it seems like its own grotesqueness has blocked its breath and it might die altogether.

The whole thing's all very messed up and sad, but simultaneously it's also tender and moving and noble and cool – it's a genuine relationship, of a sort – and even at the height of its hideousness the damaged infant somehow touches and awakens what you suspect are some of the very best parts of you: maternal parts, dark ones. You love your infant very much. And you want others to love it, too, when the time finally comes for the damaged infant to go out and face the world.
So you're in a bit of a dicey position: you love the infant and want others to love it, but that means you hope others won't see it correctly. You want to sort of fool people: you want them to see as perfect what you in your heart know is a betrayal of all perfection.
Or else you don't want to fool these people; what you want is you want them to see and love a lovely, miraculous, perfect, ad-ready infant and to be rightcorrect, in what they see and feel. You want to be terribly wrong: you want the damaged infant's hideousness to turn out to have been nothing but your own weird delusion or hallucination. But that'd mean you were crazy: you have seen, been stalked by, and recoiled from hideous deformities that in fact (others persuade you) aren't there at all. Meaning you're at least a couple of fries short of a Happy Meal, surely. But worse: it'd also mean you see and despise hideousness in a thing you made (and love), in your spawn, in certain ways you. And this last, best hope – this'd represent something way worse than just very bad parenting; it'd be a terrible kind of self-assault, almost self-torture. But that's still what you most want: to be completely, insanely, suicidally wrong.
But it's still all a lot of fun. Don't get me wrong. As to the nature of that fun, I keep remembering this strange little story I heard in Sunday school when I was about the size of a fire hydrant. It takes place in China or Korea or someplace like that. It seems there was this old farmer outside a village in the hill country who worked his farm with only his son and his beloved horse. One day the horse, who was not only beloved but vital to the labour-intensive work on the farm, picked the lock on his corral or whatever and ran off into the hills. All the old farmer's friends came around to exclaim what bad luck this was. The farmer only shrugged and said, "Good luck, bad luck, who knows?" A couple of days later the beloved horse returned from the hills in the company of a whole priceless herd of wild horses, and the farmer's friends all come around to congratulate him on what good luck the horse's escape turned out to be. "Good luck, bad luck, who knows?" is all the farmer says in reply, shrugging. The farmer now strikes me as a bit Yiddish-sounding for an old Chinese farmer, but this is how I remember it. But so the farmer and his son set about breaking the wild horses, and one of the horses bucks the son off his back with such wild force that the son breaks his leg. And here come the friends to commiserate with the farmer and curse the bad luck that had ever brought these accursed wild horses on to his farm. The old farmer just shrugs and says: "Good luck, bad luck, who knows?" A few days later the Imperial Sino-Korean Army or something like that comes marching through the village, conscripting every able-bodied male between 10 and 60 for cannon-fodder for some hideously bloody conflict that's apparently brewing, but when they see the son's broken leg, they let him off on some sort of feudal 4-F, and instead of getting shanghaied the son stays on the farm with the old farmer. Good luck? Bad luck?
This is the sort of parabolic straw you cling to as you struggle with the issue of fun, as a writer. In the beginning, when you first start out trying to write fiction, the whole endeavour's about fun. You don't expect anybody else to read it. You're writing almost wholly to get yourself off. To enable your own fantasies and deviant logics and to escape or transform parts of yourself you don't like. And it works – and it's terrific fun. Then, if you have good luck and people seem to like what you do, and you actually get to get paid for it, and get to see your stuff professionally typeset and bound and blurbed and reviewed and even (once) being read on the AM subway by a pretty girl you don't even know, it seems to make it even more fun. For a while. Then things start to get complicated and confusing, not to mention scary. Now you feel like you're writing for other people, or at least you hope so. You're no longer writing just to get yourself off, which – since any kind of masturbation is lonely and hollow – is probably good. But what replaces the onanistic motive? You've found you very much enjoy having your writing liked by people, and you find you're extremely keen to have people like the new stuff you're doing. The motive of pure personal fun starts to get supplanted by the motive of being liked, of having pretty people you don't know like you and admire you and think you're a good writer. Onanism gives way to attempted seduction, as a motive.
Now, attempted seduction is hard work, and its fun is offset by a terrible fear of rejection. Whatever "ego" means, your ego has now gotten into the game. Or maybe "vanity" is a better word. Because you notice that a good deal of your writing has now become basically showing off, trying to get people to think you're good. This is understandable. You have a great deal of yourself on the line, now, writing – your vanity is at stake. You discover a tricky thing about fiction writing: a certain amount of vanity is necessary to be able to do it at all, but any vanity above that certain amount is lethal. At this point 90+% of the stuff you're writing is motivated and informed by an overwhelming need to be liked. This results in shitty fiction. And the shitty work must get fed to the wastebasket, less because of any sort of artistic integrity than simply because shitty work will make you disliked. At this point in the evolution of writerly fun, the very thing that's always motivated you to write is now also what's motivating you to feed your writing to the wastebasket. This is a paradox and a kind of double bind, and it can keep you stuck inside yourself for months or even years, during which you wail and gnash and rue your bad luck and wonder bitterly where all the fun of the thing could have gone.

The smart thing to say, I think, is that the way out of this bind is to work your way somehow back to your original motivation: fun. And, if you can find your way back to the fun, you will find that the hideously unfortunate double bind of the late vain period turns out really to have been good luck for you. Because the fun you work back to has been transfigured by the unpleasantness of vanity and fear, an unpleasantness you're now so anxious to avoid that the fun you rediscover is a way fuller and more large-hearted kind of fun. It has something to do with Work as Play. Or with the discovery that "disciplined fun" is more fun than impulsive or hedonistic fun. Or with figuring out that not all paradoxes have to be paralysing. Under fun's new administration, writing fiction becomes a way to go deep inside yourself and illuminate precisely the stuff you don't want to see or let anyone else see, and this stuff usually turns out (paradoxically) to be precisely the stuff all writers and readers share and respond to, feel. Fiction becomes a weird way to countenance yourself and to tell the truth instead of being a way to escape yourself or present yourself in a way you figure you will be maximally likeable. This process is complicated and confusing and scary, and also hard work, but it turns out to be the best fun there is.
The fact that you can now sustain the fun of writing only by confronting the very same unfun parts of yourself you'd first used writing to avoid or disguise is another paradox, but this one isn't any kind of bind at all. What it is is a gift, a kind of miracle, and compared to it the reward of strangers' affection is as dust, lint.
David Foster Wallace
@Guardian

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Movies to Watch

Rust and Bone (2012): Jacques Audiard
Savages (2012): Oliver Stone
Hate Crime (2005): Tommy Stovall
Fjellet (2011): Ole Giaever
Le Fils de Autre (2012): Lorraine Levy
The Turin Horse (2012): Bela Tarr
The Dark Knight Rises (2012): Christopher Nolan
Ronin (1998): John Frankenheimer
Grand Prix  (1966): John Frankenheimer
The Game (1995): David Fincher

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Post-departure Syndrome

Saturday November 17
 A very sad afternoon, stress management and adaptation failed unexpectedly. I was frustrated with some permanent errors.
I've tried to react in a brainy and solid way. So I rescheduled and let's hope i will work.
pedram

Thursday, November 15, 2012

15 km: This Week Ends Today

Sat 10 Nov: 7.5 km
"Idaho", "Hammock", "Officium Triste"

Mon 12 Nov: 7.5 km
"This Will Destroy You" and "Pantheist"

Saturday, November 10, 2012

استخر


امروز خواب دیدم به پارکی رفته ام .زیباست!استخر بزرگی جلوی من است.یک سمت استخر به صخره ی طبیعی بزرگی ختم می شود.صخره ای غیر عادیست.خیلی بزرگ و مرتفع.جوری که کل استخر در سایه قرارگرفته است. جمعیت زیادی در آب
هستندوهمه شاد و سرزنده به نظر می رسند. ناگهان فریاد زنی را می شنوم که می گوید:" پسرم در آب بوده هاست ولی الان پیدایش نیست!" جمعیت مضطرب به دنبال پسر می گردند.از دور پاهای پسر را می بینم . بدنش در عمق نسبتا زیادی زیر یک صخره گیر کرده است.می خواهم از صحنه دور شوم.کسی که نمی دانم کیست به من می گوید:" تو که باید زیاد از این چیزها دیده باشی!"
من در جواب می گویم"در مورد آنها امید به زنده ماندنشان داشتم "    


Friday, November 9, 2012

This Week: 27.5 km!

Well I extended my weekly tally to 27.5 km which was not a bombastic surprise but counts as a good progress. I fear i won't be able to reach this record next week.
I'm getting familiar with some faces who  are apparently early risers!  

Sat 3 Nov: 7.5 km
"Thula Borah" and "If These Trees Could Talk"

Monday 5 Nov: 7.5 km
"Les Discrets" and "God Is an Astronaut" 

Thursday 8 Nov: 5 km
"Agalloch"

Friday 9 Nov: 7.5 km
"Crippled Black Phoenix", "Hammock" and "This Will Destroy You"


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Take Shelter: Movie Review by Roger Moore


Here's a brief review of "Take Shelter": an unsettling psychological thriller with an astounding performance by Michael Shannon. It;s written by Roger Moore and published @Orlando Sentinel. 
With special thanks to Dr Bahar Sadeghi who introduced the movie. 
pedram
Michael Shannon plays a good man and caring father besieged by nightmares

In days of old, they might have thought Curtis a prophet of doom, or possessed by the Devil.
But since he’s a modern working class Joe, drilling test holes for a contracting firm, these dreams Curtis is having provoke a modern response. Is he seeing the future, birds swarming before a nightmarish rain of oil, a tornado? Or is he coming unglued? Should he protect his family by preparing them for disaster, or check himself into a hospital, protecting them from him?
That’s the provocative conflict at the heart of “Take Shelter,” the second film to team rising star filmmaker Jeff Nichols and the great character actor Michael Shannon. As Curtis, Shannon brings his usual mix of menace and vulnerability, adding confusion and acute paranoia to the brew inside of this guy’s head.
Curtis has a lovely, resourceful wife, played by the marvelously earthy and omnipresent Jessica Chastain (“The Help,” “The Debt”). He has an adorable daughter, a nice rural Ohio home and a loyal dog. But he’s seen the dog bite him in his nightmares. The dog goes outside.
His pal at work (Shea Whigham, terrific) runs the gigantic drill, and on a break, sizes him up.
“You’ve got a good life, Curtis. I think that’s the best compliment you can give a man.”
But the dreams won’t stop. Curtis wets the bed, seeks medical help and yet hedges his bets. There’s an old storm shelter in the yard. He’s going to fix it up to withstand anything.
Shannon wonderfully modulates Nichols’ portrait of a man whose mind and life seem to unravel before our eyes. Nichols surrounds him with great character players such as Chastain and Whigham, with Kathy Baker playing his mother and Ray McKinnon (“The Blind Side”) well-cast as the concerned brother who shows up to see what’s up.
Nichols walks a tightrope between giving us a dark, Gothic tale of misunderstood prophecy and a sobering lesson on the state of mental health care in rural America.  And Shannon, piling up the accolades with every film (“Reservation Road,” “The Runaways”) adds the troubled and troubling Curtis to a growing resume of vivid and utterly real off-center characters.
Roger Moore
@Orlando Sentinel
(Courtesy of Dr Bahar Sadeghi)

Charlotte Sometimes


All the faces
All the voices blur
Change to one face
Change to one voice
Prepare yourself for bed
The light seems bright
And glares on white walls
All the sounds of 
Charlotte sometimes
Into the night with
Charlotte sometimes

Night after night she lay alone in bed
Her eyes so open to the dark
The streets all looked so strange
They seemed so far away
But Charlotte did not cry

The people seemed so close
Playing expressionless games
The people seemed so close
So many other names

Sometimes I'm dreaming
Where all the other people dance
Sometimes I'm dreaming
Charlotte sometimes
Sometimes I'm dreaming
Expressionless the trance
Sometimes I'm dreaming
So many different names
Sometimes I'm dreaming
The sounds all stay the same
Sometimes I'm dreaming
She hopes to open shadowed eyes
On a different world
Come to me scared princess
Charlotte sometimes

On that bleak track
(see the sun is gone again)
The tears were pouring down her face
She was crying and crying for a girl
Who died so many years before

Sometimes I dream
Where all the other people dance
Sometimes I dream
Charlotte sometimes
Sometimes I dream
The sounds all stay the same
Sometimes I'm dreaming
There are so many different names
Sometimes I dream
Sometimes I dream

Charlotte sometimes crying for herself
Charlotte sometimes dreams a wall around herself
But it's always with love
With so much love it looks like
Everything else
Of Charlotte sometimes
So far away
Glass sealed and pretty
Charlotte sometimes

The Cure

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Being in Uncertainty

I read the following post @ Talking Philosophy blog. It looks at Felix Baumgartner's epic effort from an interesting perspective. 
pedram

Like millions of people I watched Felix Baumgartner’s space jump last Sunday. He leapt from a tiny capsule pulled 24 miles into the sky by a helium balloon. He fell to the ground from the edge of space, breaking the sound barrier, and several records, in the process.

I found his achievement moving and compelling. And this surprised me because quite often I find extreme feats of this sort rather sterile, and perhaps a little bullet-headed.  When someone walks across the Antarctic, or climbs Everest without oxygen, it seems to involve a chest-beating determination to assert oneself against nature. The self-assertion makes it seem a small inward-looking response to the largeness and awesomeness of the world. It reminds me of the character in William Golding’s novel Pincher Martin who takes huge pride in surviving against the odds on a tiny rock in the middle of the ocean,  staving his hunger with vile rock-dwelling creatures and sheltering himself by squeezing into a tiny jagged hole. The astonishing twist in that story shows  his pride in that narrow victory to be the very same thing as his failure to see and appreciate something much larger and more beautiful than his deluded and debased survival.


Golding’s novel has a belief in God at its centre. So as an atheist, I read it at arm’s length. I can’t share its central vision.  Some or all of Baumgartner’s jump team are atheists too. That’s the message I took from mission control’s reassurance to Baumgartner that “his guardian angel” was with him. The notion of a guardian angel is so kitsch, so primitive and so not a part of most religious people’s  experience of faith that it seemed to me that these colleagues of Baumgartner were stating their atheism at the same time as they indulged an (entirely understandable) need to supplicate (someone, something) for their friend’s survival.

That these scientists felt drawn to this playful but clumsy invocation of a supernatural entity in which they probably disbelieved gives me a clue about why I found Baumgartner’s jump so moving.
An atheist invoking God in response to peril can easily be seen as a momentary weakness, a panicked irrationality, so it is not terribly interesting. More interesting is the way an atheist might feel when contemplating the strange empty  infinity and complexity of the universe and the sheer oddness of being a conscious presence within it. We might not be at all tempted to say that the idea of God needs to be invoked to explain the universe. But the idea that God exists and that we humans are in a state of separation from that God can seem like a very vivid way of experiencing our awe in the face of a not-yet-fully-explained universe and also of capturing  some central philosophical problems. The idea of a God from whom we are separated and whom we strive to rejoin (the idea of a fall followed by redemption) has in the past lent philosophy some of its fundamental structure. Hegel’s self-positing spirit, for example, is a version of God coming to self-knowledge through a process which involves first the generation and then the overcoming of separateness.  And even if we eschew Hegelian ways of thinking,  the idea of a God that we must strive to rejoin feels like a rich metaphor for the traditional philosophical project of characterising reality in a manner which makes it both independent of us and yet within our knowledge. The truth (if it is a truth) of the atheist’s claim that there is no God sometimes seems like poor compensation for the loss of the religious worldview –  because that worldview is a very beautiful and metaphorically fertile orientation to the strange condition of being conscious in the world.
There is an atheist’s plight, I think. Not for all atheists, but for some atheists most of the time, and perhaps even for most atheists some of the time. The plight is this: there is no God, but sometimes invoking the concept of God seems a very compelling way indeed of doing justice to the strangeness, the beauty and the peril of our lives.
So, just as Baumgartner’s colleagues summoned the idea of a guardian angel to fill the space left by their disbelief in God,  I too look around for metaphors to fill the space left by my own disbelief in God. And Baumgartner’s endeavour at the physical margins of our world, the point where it joins the universe, seemed to fit the bill. Where Pincher Martin, in Golding’s novel, squeezes himself into a small hole on a small rock and feels big, Baumgartner took himself to the edge of the largest possible space to (in his own words) “see how small he was.” It was (corny expressions seem unavoidable here) an encounter with the infinite. The symbolism of falling also has poignancy. It speaks of a chosen passivity, a surrender, very different from the assertive striving  of a Pincher Martin, and very resonant with Christian mythology. Finally the sheer pointlessness of jumping from space seems a rather heroic defiance of the meaninglessness that threatens to engulf us when we look at a vast universe empty of mind: it embraces meaninglessness joyfully and colonises it with purpose.
I don’t want to spend too long teasing out the symbolism of the jump. Instead I want to ask a question. It seems from the above that we (or many of us) have a need for what might be called aids to reflection, aids to the contemplation of certain fundamental features of our presence in the world. If a belief in God is not available to us as a supplier of such aids, we look for it elsewhere. What I want to ask is this: Can a religious person endorse this status of religion as being, not the provider of truth but simply a provider of resources for reflection? If we reject every distinctively religious claim (that there is a god, that there is a soul, or an afterlife, or reincarnation …), if we say that religion offers us no truths of its own but onlyresources for the contemplation of the truths of science and philosophy, and if we say that religion is not even the only supplier of such resources because art and literature and jumping men are also resources, might it still be possible to be religious? Note that I’m not asking  a question about the value of religion, considered from outside the religious perspective. I’m asking whether the religious perspective itself can survive a certain view of its status. In a review of Alain de Botton’s Religion for Atheists John Gray quotes  Keats to suggest that “the heart of religion isn’t belief, but something more like what Keats described as negative capability: ‘being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason’. But can a religious person really and wholeheartedly subscribe to such a view?
I think that this question translates into (at least) three more specific questions (only very roughly formulated here):
(1) Is it really true that a religious practitioner can give an entirely “non-creedal” account of religion, one that does not claim there to be any distinctively religious truths  and states that religion is simply not about belief? Quakerism, for example,  advises us to “remember that Christianity is not a notion but a way.” But is it, in fact, possible for a religious person consistently to sustain this religious non-cognitivism?
(2) If religion turns its back on the notion of religious beliefs, can it still maintain a distinctive territory for itself, or does it simply become a part of art and literature? If we contemplate God without asserting his existence, and derive very important lessons from the contemplation, what – if anything – makes this different from contemplating, say, Achilles, or Hamlet, or Dorothea Brooke?
(3) A version of religion which denied the existence of God, and of every single other supernatural phenomenon, would be a very profoundly revisionist one. It might be one that almost every single religious practitioner rejected. Is such extreme religious innovation coherent? Or does religion have to be defined in terms of (certain very general) widely shared features of people’s actual religious practice?
Perhaps these questions seem unmotivated: if one rejects religious belief, why struggle to find common ground with religion? That might very well be a good question. But the extremity of the current antipathy between atheism and faith seems to call for an exploration of different, happier and more mutually enriching forms of interaction between them.  So I’d be grateful for any comments that considered the three questions above. If John Gray and Keats are right, and religion is, not about belief but about “being in uncertainty,” are those questions the right ones for the project of making sense of religion so-conceived? How could they be better formulated? What further questions are there for that project? What direction might the answers take?