tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55992818093476373282024-02-19T10:07:21.906-08:00Banoushi's BlogA little insight into my mind.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-87206307145050136802017-08-02T07:44:00.003-07:002017-08-02T07:47:10.239-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
✨Side of the Road✨</div>
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Waiting by the side of the road</div>
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Watching the world pass ahead </div>
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In search of an adventure to come</div>
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In search of stories I've read.</div>
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Have a thirst that goes beyond</div>
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Skin-deep love we've come to know. </div>
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I've been called idealistic </div>
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More times than I care to show.</div>
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But I chose to keep the fire alive </div>
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For I've felt deep love on the side of the road. </div>
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It's in the waiting, that all is revealed</div>
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The love and adventures which lie in our souls.</div>
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In the waiting, is where we see</div>
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That there is no need for us to wait </div>
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The whole world is within us</div>
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The path, itself, is our fate.</div>
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No need for a destination</div>
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For the one with a lightened heart</div>
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No false expectations made</div>
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When you're content where you are.</div>
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So come, sit down and share with me </div>
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This still view of cars to pass</div>
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We can wait together, side by side</div>
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For as long as the waiting lasts.</div>
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Let's fall in love with this moment</div>
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Let the love selflessly explode </div>
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Because the universe, believe it or not,</div>
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Lies right here, by the side of the road 💛</div>
<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-2223663462266696202017-02-28T09:10:00.000-08:002017-10-23T21:11:58.732-07:00A Little Bit of Love<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTWJKCw0xhFbVtfaX5jKZEMtDieOYrsi6vTqJ5DLGkjccZu8iZyESYPX4FV1S_TaOJ5UIzmHIWNBOMucWcrONRf8vxupMYb7hZYqo6m8cCByQMSMVKU7s8s0-daOuf6k2LW72fOdt9HA/s1600/IMG_5598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTWJKCw0xhFbVtfaX5jKZEMtDieOYrsi6vTqJ5DLGkjccZu8iZyESYPX4FV1S_TaOJ5UIzmHIWNBOMucWcrONRf8vxupMYb7hZYqo6m8cCByQMSMVKU7s8s0-daOuf6k2LW72fOdt9HA/s640/IMG_5598.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>I want love to be the filter through which I see everything. I want love to be the path I walk on. I want love to be the after-taste of this life. Life, a cuisine so intricately delicious, but only when it is sprinkled with love as its main spice, for without it, there is no taste.</i><br />
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This is an understanding I have gotten to only very recently because, before now, I struggled with what love truly meant to me. Sometimes, I still struggle with it. The meanings or associations typically given to love, at least from what I see, are never the associations that I could relate to. Look at Valentine's Day, for instance. A day dedicated to love, and all people can think about is whether they will receive chocolates and flowers *insert deep eye roll* Also, it's suppose to be a whole day dedicated to all things love, yet most people seem to boil it down to only romantic relationships when there are so many other things in this world, and so many people to love. I judge the day, not for its desired sentiment, but because I think it makes a mockery of what love is. Most people recognize that it's just a hallmark holiday, even the ones that celebrate it, but do they recognize how much the day, itself, shows us that love has come to be understood as some kind of transaction, something to be given only when something else is received in return?<br />
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To view love as a transaction is to poison its very essence. There is strength in the ability to give love to the world and expect nothing in return. There's a part of you that disagrees, and I know this, because that part exists in me too. However, I have come to learn that that part of us, which disagrees, <i>is</i> the part that is fragile,<i> is</i> the part that's afraid to get hurt, afraid to be taken advantage of, and, therefore, it cannot be the part of us that possesses strength, although it very much tries to convey otherwise. Real strength comes from the ability to accept the flow of life and the flow of people, with all of their ups and downs and unpredictability, and to love them anyway. I believe that love, in its truest form, has no opposite. It's this type of love that I wish to feel, not only for a person, but for all people, for moments, for life. I wish to feel the type of love that connects me with everything and everyone. I may sound like a naive dreamer who is living up in the clouds, but I've had momentary experiences when I've had a taste of it. I know it's there, and I know it's possible, and I know that it's the best feeling that anyone can ever have because it feels like home.<br />
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Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-23491591719048794762017-01-16T21:37:00.001-08:002017-01-16T21:37:31.566-08:00Conversation With Myself<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFehwR9do46WM_0a5z6e0ou5tqKmHtkjOLMkX_I2HKEshyphenhyphenQmlW0dLSgFVWY5R9STsZO92LSvSE1ZclbFmBXXa_qdrSHV3NFc95EASiwVBHSGm9k0lurkkLUgZLNETjRgabZ453MDUQ3Q/s1600/IMG_2377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFehwR9do46WM_0a5z6e0ou5tqKmHtkjOLMkX_I2HKEshyphenhyphenQmlW0dLSgFVWY5R9STsZO92LSvSE1ZclbFmBXXa_qdrSHV3NFc95EASiwVBHSGm9k0lurkkLUgZLNETjRgabZ453MDUQ3Q/s400/IMG_2377.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Looks like you want a bit of a shake</div>
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Someone to tell you your mistakes</div>
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But what if I told you that you already know</div>
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Exactly where you're meant to grow</div>
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Cuz no one's gonna come and save you</div>
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You gotta pick up the pieces and mend your own bruise</div>
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The way I see it is that people walk side by side</div>
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Trying to become better by lowering their pride</div>
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No one can do it for another cuz that's the game</div>
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And when shit gets tough, there's no one to blame</div>
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The answers to your problems are already there</div>
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Not hidden in a single person, but out and bare</div>
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You don't need to manipulate, just open your eyes</div>
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It's so much simpler than any of us realize</div>
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Love is the beauty in all of the chaos</div>
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And it lies in every single one of us</div>
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When you can find that love within yourself</div>
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You don't need it from anybody else</div>
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It no longer becomes a type of currency</div>
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To divide and exchange and share "fairly"</div>
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But an unconditional fountain of light</div>
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A never ending flow that shines out with might</div>
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Given to anyone who crosses your path</div>
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Whether their presence does or doesn't last</div>
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Because it will no longer be given to be returned</div>
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Love's all around, the choice is yours to be burned</div>
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So the question is: will you open your heart</div>
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And lower your pride</div>
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Let the light seep deep inside?</div>
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Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-90744236486978914322016-11-30T19:15:00.003-08:002016-11-30T19:49:06.980-08:00Anxiety, My Lover<div class="p1">
Anxiety comes to me in shortness of breath, as I find myself gasping for air [that is polluted with lost dreams and hopes.]</div>
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<span class="s1">He comes to me with a sudden rapid beating in my chest, and for a moment I lose myself [as I feel the walls caving in on my heart, squeezing it for every last bit of light it has left.]</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He, the lover that has been with me for so long. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">He, who has gazed into my tired eyes and [selfishly] said “I will always be there.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">He, who has caused my fingers to shake.</span></div>
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He, who has taught me the meaning of peace [only in his absence.]</div>
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<span class="s1">He turns my excited butterflies into blind bats slamming against walls because they need to escape. </span></div>
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And I invite him back every time because I can’t let go. I’m anxious without my lover, Anxiety. Who am I without him? </div>
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He who comes to me when I’m at my loneliest, but at least he comes to me. </div>
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By: Banafshé Eshragi</div>
Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-65480330120776623402014-02-25T09:33:00.000-08:002014-02-25T17:17:23.620-08:00Sunless Sunny Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdDHcSfQXuSkhyphenhyphenitMGykgrL7i0Jf5ApX82zzAqOg-U91nO5jvTljH7QpI8K0dx3wR0LTwTi9UP-O41Jxgvq6EdzllpTHxqnRiiymO-9FC7ecSa6TlxVq1xdwH6uaN14J8BRCLuBgyT74/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdDHcSfQXuSkhyphenhyphenitMGykgrL7i0Jf5ApX82zzAqOg-U91nO5jvTljH7QpI8K0dx3wR0LTwTi9UP-O41Jxgvq6EdzllpTHxqnRiiymO-9FC7ecSa6TlxVq1xdwH6uaN14J8BRCLuBgyT74/s1600/images.jpg" height="267" width="400" /></a></div>
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I miss you in the sunniest of days</div>
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For your face is reflected in the light</div>
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And each time makes my heart sink</div>
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To think, to this view, you are blind </div>
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How cold your bed must be</div>
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And your company, the icy stones</div>
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Statues that have guarded the gates</div>
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To make sure that no one comes or goes..</div>
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I admit that at times I envy you </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBF9-3eUfEq_4_IrVizmoMLJbbhwi_XRuyOpewIbpoXnTgNwhCLXismSp6lGxUSQ3yUGeVzV255Ii4H2LBHqDqQYm1zTq3JBI0OJOpDqnvL1cult0aa2rwg7nEIWC45_04DzmlQEzsx0/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> So still, quiet and uninterrupted</div>
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Forever in your bed of soil </div>
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Decaying in body, but in mind not corrupted </div>
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And yet, I do wish we could both</div>
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Together, breathe in this breathtaking view </div>
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But with you breathless, and me, alone</div>
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Instead I am reminded of you </div>
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Forever in your stagnant condition</div>
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Stuck in the dead of winter's tear</div>
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Unable to share this warmth with me</div>
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Unable to see that spring is near</div>
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The earth is transformed once again</div>
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With splashes of colour hit by sun rays</div>
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But the beauty of it all passes me by</div>
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For I miss you the most in the sunniest of days</div>
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Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-6903719615283995932014-02-05T11:56:00.000-08:002014-02-06T14:02:57.114-08:00The Mind is a Tyrant (incomplete)This mind of mine torments me, for what it finds to be of importance, my heart wants to forget. The heart longs to be set free, but it is weighed down by images that present themselves with no empathy, sounds that echo continuously, smells that present the images once more. Bombarded with a past that the heart longs to forget, for the heart cannot see, hear or smell. Nor can it touch, yet it can <i>be</i> touched. It does not store the past, but can only do so with the help of the tortuous mind.<br />
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Imagine a heart on its own. How free it would be, if it could be in the moment; if it could love and forget all the love it has lost? To have the memory of a goldfish in a tank. Everything would be something to explore once again. What do our experiences really teach us when they differ every time they occur, when the core of who we are remains the same? We learn to carry the emotional baggage but seldom really change ourselves. Yes the mind loves to play mind games and as it is masochistic, it is its own number one victim, and the heart, its second.<br />
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<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-57756930306649670452013-12-30T20:54:00.000-08:002013-12-30T20:54:37.851-08:00Untitled How difficult it is to let go completely<br />
When I still hear your laugh echoing in my head<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRmMRPCl8ThCaLs2XxECjr0_bt9af2X-xr9WNU3eXG7q8ezMinPjbgHg78338UaJAy3F-rX2UJWMGoSmt-svQMvgsyMKYRHZzRFB6fAZdWjC_BFyt-1woJ6Dl6iEfneVq0ObW_nc55KP0/s1600/myth_greek2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRmMRPCl8ThCaLs2XxECjr0_bt9af2X-xr9WNU3eXG7q8ezMinPjbgHg78338UaJAy3F-rX2UJWMGoSmt-svQMvgsyMKYRHZzRFB6fAZdWjC_BFyt-1woJ6Dl6iEfneVq0ObW_nc55KP0/s320/myth_greek2.jpg" width="203" /></a>And I long for a reply to a post I wrote<br />
I long for the phone calls that would never end<br />
I keep going over our last everythings<br />
Angry that I thought there would be more to spare<br />
Sorry that I acted like we had forever<br />
Even selfish, at times, to not really care<br />
And now...<br />
And now time cannot erase<br />
Though the mind begs it to<br />
What was or wasn't said and done<br />
So the only choice left to do<br />
Is let go of you<br />
But how difficult it is to let go completely<br />
When your laughter still echoes..<br />
<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-41566524108072108232013-10-14T08:25:00.000-07:002013-10-14T08:38:27.457-07:00Miley Cyrus: Yes I'm even talking about her.It won't be what you expect so give this article a chance! Miley Cyrus has been all over the news lately, with every self-important asshole (including me) weighing in on her actions and what it all means for future generations. However I, unlike most of the self-important assholes out there, think she's hitting the right nervous buttons, which is why everyone is talking about her. The truth is that we are still living in a society that doesn't view men and women to be sexually equal. It is amazing how many people I saw on Facebook post Sinead O'Conner's "Open Letter to Miley," which essentially calls her a prostitute and assumes that all executive decisions about Miley's career are made by older pedophiles. That's a bit unfair, isn't it?<br />
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Is it really hard for our society to think that perhaps a twenty year old girl chooses to openly show her sexuality and be unapologetic for it? Why must there always be an older predatory man behind it all. I'm not saying that the music business isn't jaded and that, unfortunately, this kind of thing doesn't happen where younger girls are abused and thrown away when they are no longer relevant. Of course it does. But the point is that people are so quick to assume that that must be the case in every situation, because girls are known as innocent beings who cannot possibly possess a need to be openly sexual unless forced into doing so. </div>
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What is more amusing is that all of this talk about her sexuality came about from a performance that wasn't even all that sexual. She wore the most outrageous outfit with the silliest hair, and somehow that made her into a whore? I doubt she was going for "sexy." Now imagine a naked guy with the same hair and silly bear outfit. Why is that funny, but Miley's rendition of it is sexual? It's incredibly sad that a woman gets so much scrutiny for her actions, especially when it has to do with her taking chances, and being a bit outrageous. Not all women have to be classy, nor do they have to be covered up completely or naked completely, they don't have to be apologetic, or humble, or submissive, or dominant, or or or...<br />
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The idea of equality isn't about making a mold of a woman that is ideal for one person. It's about allowing room for all of the different possibilities without looking down upon them. It's about letting people figure themselves out without forcing them into a category of "right" or "wrong", especially when it has to do with self-identity. </div>
Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-32696204141888654542013-09-30T18:53:00.002-07:002013-09-30T19:04:24.919-07:00A Dance With Nothing<br />
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The freedom to be nothing<br />
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To be <i>with</i> Nothing?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQyxRFR_WWvQthbVDJa7vflKPu5i5Fo635XyZdwZh8vVqoa7L8lcc0pLXM-uZ9t7yrRkmSelH18-8DGD119HqkTRYLbxQ9V9c_K9lm2zLNjoZp3dbvk7NA-6XqtPD-BxS7kpEGtMB6yfo/s1600/Untitled2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQyxRFR_WWvQthbVDJa7vflKPu5i5Fo635XyZdwZh8vVqoa7L8lcc0pLXM-uZ9t7yrRkmSelH18-8DGD119HqkTRYLbxQ9V9c_K9lm2zLNjoZp3dbvk7NA-6XqtPD-BxS7kpEGtMB6yfo/s400/Untitled2.png" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Print by Nilou Afshar<br />
www.nilouafshar.com</td></tr>
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We make eye contact</div>
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In an empty room<br />
Back and forth and back<br />
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Nothing and I share this dance</div>
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And in this moment<br />
I have Nothing, and Nothing has me</div>
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Nothing holds me as we move</div>
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Back and forth, on and on</div>
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Intoxicated by the beat of the drum</div>
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Oh what a lover Nothing is to me</div>
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For it knows our love is temporary</div>
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And yet, it also knows that one day I will return</div>
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For nothing burns the way Nothing burns</div>
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Holding me, scolding me</div>
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Tossing and turning me</div>
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Nothing, a silent lover </div>
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Who gives me a chance</div>
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And we, together and alone</div>
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Share this dance</div>
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Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-68696994763091210872013-09-27T15:41:00.001-07:002013-09-27T15:41:46.756-07:00Real Talk and Self PityHow do people know what they're good at? I look at some people and they just know what they want and how to get it. They're always active, always doing something, achieving some goal. Even the ones that don't necessarily know what they want still seem to have their heads on straighter than me. Is it this society's obsession with presenting an inflated image of themselves that's got me feeling less than capable? It's strange because I was at a friend's birthday party the other day, and another friend of mine confessed that he thought I was doing everything right and that he looked up to me. I found that so fucking odd because I wondered what he saw in me that I just don't see in myself. I feel like I haven't done anything right. I've lived twenty five years and I have nothing to show for it. Just a few words on a page that no one reads anyway.<br />
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Have I become unbearably lazy? I know a lot of people say that about me, and mostly it's to my face. There's definitely some truth to it, but I see the way I work when I have a vision that's clear, and honestly I can work at something all day long. I've been applying to "real jobs" lately. It doesn't help to look at an application, read the job description and feel like you aren't qualified for anything. Real talk man, real talk. Hell, I can't even get a serving job, and I have plenty of experience with serving and different customer service related work. Yeah I'm probably feeling a little too bad for myself. I've got a void that I don't know how to fill. Most days I accept it, but sometimes it makes me anxious and I need to get it out.<br /><br />So that's that. C'est la vie.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-50470646639990621242013-09-26T17:46:00.000-07:002013-09-30T18:54:46.485-07:00I Can Feel You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrMhZu8F_Np16e1gxC-1zmy5cwENhSLFsM-tXXFntt5Ks53wTKZNHtsZhHLbS0wA6SvRXPW_2XZdcTPOirBA9Xlk3uiLaUHQd6SietDXxDj9orIoD7g7d9k9ZKLVkjdVB-3qbH16SPv8/s1600/Rain-Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrMhZu8F_Np16e1gxC-1zmy5cwENhSLFsM-tXXFntt5Ks53wTKZNHtsZhHLbS0wA6SvRXPW_2XZdcTPOirBA9Xlk3uiLaUHQd6SietDXxDj9orIoD7g7d9k9ZKLVkjdVB-3qbH16SPv8/s400/Rain-Room.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can feel you in the wind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You're the tear drop that
drops down my chin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You're the sweet flower
that blooms in the spring</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am bound to you by the joy you bring</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You're every rain drop
that drops on my head</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Burried in my heart
to the very end</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For you are the colour in my
life</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You're the sharpness of a
knife</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You're the sweet touch
that touches my soul</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And you are the love I'll
never let go</span></span></div>
Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-17388742633451631942013-09-20T13:36:00.003-07:002013-09-20T13:36:59.568-07:00Disappointed, But Still Motivated!As I was coming home today, I encountered a woman in her late sixties, and she had dyed her hair purple, a deep lilac, which I love. It was such a beautiful colour and it suited it her quite well. I found myself itching to tell her how beautiful it was, but we were on the subway and she was sitting so far away from me. By the time I had thought of wanting to do this, up to the point when I had to leave the train, I had already thought about it too much, making myself incredibly self-conscious. I had the usual worries of seeming creepy, even though I was going to give her a compliment, which I'm sure she would have appreciated. But the mind plays tricks on you, and unfortunately I let my mind win.<br />
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It got me thinking that sometimes we are all too self-conscious. I'm not this way all the time, and when I let myself be impulsive on some occasions, I end up feeling really good about it. Why not take a chance to connect to someone? To let them know that they caught your eye and that we aren't all just moving objects trying to get from location A to B. It made me want to make more of an effort with strangers. Conversations with strangers are sometimes the funnest to have because there are no expectations. Honestly, it can feel really good to leave your mark on someone you don't know and will probably never see again, even for a moment, and to let them leave their mark on you.<br />
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In this moment of sudden inspiration to be more connected, I thought to myself "from now on I'm going to smile at anyone who makes eye contact with me." Naturally, I came back to my senses and thought "fuck that." Obviously I'm not going to actually smile at everyone that makes eye contact with me, because I don't want to attract all the crazies (which I end up doing enough as is) but at least I thought about it. So I suppose lesson numero due would be: Everyone is a dickhead, but a lot of the times when you're nice to people they are nice back, unless they are super dickheads, in which case you can flip them the finger and tell them to go fuck a duck. Again, you are welcome.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-74442486294876585972013-09-18T21:05:00.000-07:002013-09-18T21:05:00.795-07:00Random thoughtsI haven't written a blog in a while, partly because I've experience many changes in the past few weeks, but mostly because I'm beginning to censor myself again. I'm not sure why this happens, but I get into a mood where I think that what I'm saying isn't worth mentioning. But the good news is that I end up getting over it and realize that I never had anything to say that was worth mentioning, but I said it anyway. So because I have nothing significant to say, I think I will do a little rant. Free flow that shit.<br />
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You know what I can't stand? Nothing. I stand everything. That's not true, I'm not that patient. I can't stand people who don't leave the door open for you when they clearly see you walking RIGHT behind them. They just open it enough for themselves and keep on walking. Fucking pricks. It's especially annoying when you're holding a bunch of heavy bags. I also can't stand it when people pass you on the sidewalk to walk in front of you, only to walk much slower than you were walking. What the fuck? Why??? It's funny because based on the shit that pisses me off, I feel like if I were a driver, I'd have really bad road rage. However, since I am not a driver, I only have sidewalk rage. Is that even a thing? It should be because I have it.<br />
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People are so strange. They always seem to get in each other's way, but that's only because we all tend to think that we are the center of the universe. I know some people like to think they're selfless like that, but they're just lying to themselves. Everyone always thinks that bad shit only happens to them, and when it does they calm their nerves by saying "karma's a bitch! That asshole will get what (s)he deserves." Whenever I hear such a phrase, it always fascinates me that people don't associate something bad that's happened to them with karma kicking<i> them</i> in the ass for being dickheads. Basically the conclusion of this rant is: everyone's a dickhead. Life lessons from Banafshé. You are welcome.<br />
<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-38602788524922352812013-08-25T18:12:00.001-07:002013-09-30T18:55:00.817-07:00Cigarette LingersI wrote this poem many years ago, but it's one of my favourites.<br />
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The smell of cigarettes and sex lingers<br />
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In my head, bed sheets, sweat</div>
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Instantly I regret
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Not saying what I should have said</div>
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But there was no need to speak</div>
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The room wreaked
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Of unspoken words
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Scars and hurts
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And who did it first</div>
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Who entered who?
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I entered you</div>
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Yes through your head and sweat
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The stench of silence,
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You cant forget</div>
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You entered me physically mentally</div>
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Fast but gently
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you pushed and pulled</div>
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Too hot, too cold
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All but a memory now
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Yet I feel it somehow</div>
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The smell of cigarettes and sex lingers</div>
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Your sweat was on me
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Clinging stinging seeping through my
skin</div>
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Deeper and deeper in</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMDgwf567ylu1k6cMg2-TPh7V03j9yiig8sH0T3DGGaGPHN42xXyvhZjYPuwSUX0h8Do74_-7pY1AULJSlleGD3XwMs8bVlj8syXHVa0dYNh4hIDnShshqglPd6LNyUFr4yBZK7z76DE/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMDgwf567ylu1k6cMg2-TPh7V03j9yiig8sH0T3DGGaGPHN42xXyvhZjYPuwSUX0h8Do74_-7pY1AULJSlleGD3XwMs8bVlj8syXHVa0dYNh4hIDnShshqglPd6LNyUFr4yBZK7z76DE/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a>So loud,
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Profound
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In the moment</div>
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Handed you my life to be left open</div>
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Serenaded by your kiss on my chest</div>
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Emptiness, you took the rest</div>
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And yet the cigarette lingers...</div>
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Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-40286622059096371112013-08-24T20:27:00.000-07:002013-08-25T07:50:55.329-07:00Breathing ColoursMoments pass and I find myself staring off. I'm seeing but I'm not looking, for my eyes don't focus on anything. But they blur colours and shapes all into one. Memories race like the images in a window of a moving car, and suddenly I feel guilty for not giving each of them the time they deserve.<br />
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It is in these moments that I remind myself to be aware of my surroundings. I remind myself that I'm breathing and as I inhale, first my stomach, and then my chest begin to slowly rise. I close my eyes and I imagine myself sitting as I am. With each inhale, I imagine a stream of colours going through my nostrils, down my throat. As they fill up my lungs, I feel my heart pumping the colourful stream into every inch of my body. I am filled with colour. And so I exhale.<br />
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First my chest, and then my stomach begin to descend as the colour exits through my mouth, surrounding and embarrassing my skin. I open my eyes and I see that colours, and shapes are no longer blurred all into one, but each of them have their own place. I no longer think of memories for my mind is still. I am simply happy to be aware and to feel the love of a rhythm, energy, vibration, connection greater than my own. It is the rhythm, energy, vibration, and connection of everyone combined into one, and I know that I am lucky to be a part of it.<br />
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<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-63564370971588288972013-08-24T18:59:00.002-07:002013-08-24T20:52:21.338-07:00Choose or Lose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0IiN27KMM9EG7DkCiacteiORbc5BIJFDJwWIAh0C0jFTQhh3iVEFgcZt89TL43DBWfoFKv3dFPZON1gOkuQ6ZwTdGfSBMeYPaX8jR03ArzFVpuQ9GaCggNrUPW1MPqBsBKFglWS3T8Nk/s1600/let-go-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0IiN27KMM9EG7DkCiacteiORbc5BIJFDJwWIAh0C0jFTQhh3iVEFgcZt89TL43DBWfoFKv3dFPZON1gOkuQ6ZwTdGfSBMeYPaX8jR03ArzFVpuQ9GaCggNrUPW1MPqBsBKFglWS3T8Nk/s400/let-go-2.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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In the depths of my soul
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I know I can't let go</div>
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Of the past that was</div>
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Because</div>
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I'm so wrapped up
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And tangled up</div>
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You must know</div>
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How I feel</div>
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The need to peel</div>
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Away the weight</div>
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Of memories</div>
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That come too late</div>
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In the night</div>
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In the core of my being</div>
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I look but I'm not seeing</div>
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That I've trapped myself</div>
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In the deepest hell</div>
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I was told to let go</div>
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But I cling on</div>
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To nothing
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Slowly rotting</div>
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And I'm growing restless</div>
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Can but then can't help this</div>
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Feeling of loss</div>
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But I must
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Take it slow</div>
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I know you know</div>
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How hard it can be</div>
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You're the one who told me</div>
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To make a choice</div>
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That I have to chose</div>
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Or else I lose</div>
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Everything that's in the depths of my
soul</div>
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I know the time's come for me to let go.</div>
Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-79666466725706608832013-08-23T12:05:00.000-07:002013-08-25T10:42:40.105-07:00Stronger Girls, Sensitive Boys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been thinking a lot about the way people raise or want to raise their children. So often I've heard my own peers talk about the way their treatment of their child would differ if they had a girl versus a boy, and sometimes I find it breaking my heart. In their remarks, there lies a subtle double standard that I'm not sure they always realize is there. Or even more astonishing is that sometimes they do realize it but accept it as a part of life; it is what it is and it can't be helped. Girls are more difficult to have because they are fragile and so easily hurt and taken advantage of, and so must be protected. On the other hand, boys are simple because they are not emotionally as complex, and therefore are not hard to understand or deal with. Both of these opinions trouble me a great deal because I find myself asking: What kind of people do we want to raise? And are we aware that our thoughts about raising girls versus boys can impact the way they view themselves and their own limitations and abilities?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAa6rdUIvzwgFonPOKtGJTiGJHkFIGJ3glAGUWVVpBmpLwFlrc7DlYlY8ctaVPr1YUimmBKhNzJU7r2ruSnrgxaOF434LmilQ3ptAkRocW4Wo5zTqlBC2iu-Np3IPK_hWW7WRq-MJ49SE/s1600/228346643576537677_JK1sHJ7l_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAa6rdUIvzwgFonPOKtGJTiGJHkFIGJ3glAGUWVVpBmpLwFlrc7DlYlY8ctaVPr1YUimmBKhNzJU7r2ruSnrgxaOF434LmilQ3ptAkRocW4Wo5zTqlBC2iu-Np3IPK_hWW7WRq-MJ49SE/s1600/228346643576537677_JK1sHJ7l_c.jpg" /></a></div>
It's always been my thinking that girls shouldn't be treated as fragile creatures that are at risk of having their virginity stolen. A girl should grow up with the understanding that she needs to protect her own body, but that taking certain risks and sometimes getting hurt are also a part of growing up. Recently I read a<a href="http://www.theferrett.com/ferrettworks/2013/08/dear-daughter-i-hope-you-have-some-fucking-awesome-sex/" target="_blank"> blogger's letter to his daughter</a>, and I loved the sentiment of the letter because it was about setting a girl free to discover her sexuality and to understand that, no, she is not a victim to other people's sexual desires simply because she has a vagina. The idea of constantly watching over girls, pampering them, setting stricter rules and curfews is ridiculous to me. If it's a tough world out there, then a girl deserves to experience it and learn from it just as much as a boy. This builds character, confidence, and a sense of control. It's also always bothered me that when two heterosexual teenagers engage in a sexual act, we view the girl as the one who is being taken advantage of. How are you so sure that she isn't also taking advantage of him? Why is it not viewed as a learning experience for the both of them? The boy is getting what he wants, and the girl is oblivious and too naive to understand what is going on. *rolling my eyes*<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviENi48WyN9ZSoxOgRjhtgbPY3f1x20YXv5M5BfVLGSSYv7mXJIpYhkpzzeVU1SnDyiozze02rX5OG1MPfp15yRsBQFDXN0JFOC9cmpEYw4mukL6zZXKqTMCz_uSp5yrWudNFT8CvxI0/s1600/tumblr_m9kui98lHh1rf3jsmo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviENi48WyN9ZSoxOgRjhtgbPY3f1x20YXv5M5BfVLGSSYv7mXJIpYhkpzzeVU1SnDyiozze02rX5OG1MPfp15yRsBQFDXN0JFOC9cmpEYw4mukL6zZXKqTMCz_uSp5yrWudNFT8CvxI0/s400/tumblr_m9kui98lHh1rf3jsmo1_500.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the solution: Just mix them all up <br />
in a genderless pot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the flip side, the double standard created between girls and boys isn't fair for boys either. It's insulting to think that a person is incapable of being emotionally complex simply because he has a penis. I understand that sometimes, due to hormonal changes, males and females have different reactions to situations, especially as teenagers. I simply mean to highlight that the way we view them to be that extremely different from birth also has an impact on how they will react and grow. "Oh a boy needs to be toughened up" Sometimes yes, as I have argued that this is equally necessary for girls, but sometimes no. A boy also needs to learn to be sensitive and to respect the importance of communication in a relationship. These are tools that are extremely important for his future when he decides to engage in a more intimate relationship with a partner(s). I don't think fathers and sons have enough heart to heart conversations. "Boys don't do that" But why? Communication and being in tune with your emotions is a part of being an adult because that's the only way that most problems can be solved in a mature and civilized way.<br />
<br />
I suppose it all comes down to balance. I understand that it's easy to have an opinion about such things when you're not a parent, but these thoughts are important to me. If I do ever become a parent I want to have a girl who knows that she is strong, and whose strength I can see in the way that she stands and looks people in the eye. I want a boy who is able to be sensitive and nurturing when it's important, a boy who knows how to share his feelings at a time when his partner needs to hear it most. But most of all, I want to have children who know who they are, and do not feel limited by their physical appearances, understanding that a person's anatomy will never determine what they can and cannot accomplish.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-6309149804313036392013-08-05T14:15:00.001-07:002013-08-05T14:18:12.639-07:00One MomentI have written so many drafts about different topics, but haven't published them because I've gotten it into my head again that I have nothing worth writing about. The truth is that none of us have anything new to contribute to the world. I think the answers are all out there, but it's the information we choose to take in, highlight in our lives, and arrange in combinations that make our need to create unique. So no I have nothing new to contribute to anybody's mind, and certainly not to my own, but writing makes me feel better and I have a way of expressing my thoughts that seems to be somewhat interesting for some people.<br />
<br />
However, since I'm quite bored of my own opinion and haven't been reading enough to be motivated to write about anything, I will once again take the easy way out and share another poem. This is an old poem I wrote at least six or seven years ago. I wanted to make a tongue twister, or something like that. I wrote it at the place I used to work (Casa Loma represent!) Enjoy, or don't.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Patty ponders and wonders
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How much longer her lover
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Will linger onto her
finger
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Like a string or a bee's
stinger?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wickedly waiting for the
delicate destiny
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">of her final fantasy.
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">His luscious, delicious
and viciously gracious lips locked around
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Patty's pouting and
wounding and rounding mouth.
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Together they are
completely obscene and insane
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the most loving way.
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Patty's puzzle fits
exactly with his lips
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the kiss.. ever
lasting, ever grasping, both reflecting
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Nothing's better
than this"</span></div>
</div>
Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-41087208113080516392013-07-22T09:11:00.001-07:002013-07-22T09:11:53.538-07:00Thank Your BodyThose who live in the past feel depressed, those who live in the future feel anxious, but those who can master the skill of living in the present feel peace. This is a skill I wish to master because I am constantly moving from the past to the future and in these thoughts I lose myself completely. I lose time, I lose a sense of self, I lose my mind eventually and I am left with nothing.<br />
<br />
I was talking to my grandma the other day, and she mentioned an idea that I've thought about many times, and have actually also experienced. It's the idea of being aware and present. To remind yourself that when you are looking at a tree, it's not just an image, but it's right there in front you, moving, living, connecting with its environment. Or when your hand touches your face, it's not by accident, but it's something that you made it do, and it's your hand that touches your skin. There is so much enjoyment in thinking about these images and actions, that otherwise seem trivial, with full consciousness. In that moment, you don't think about anything but the fact that you're moving, and breathing, and you're here. That in itself is something to feel peaceful about. The next minute no longer matters, and everything that's happened in the past no longer matters.<br /><br />I would recommend this to everyone. Take a bit of time in your day to make yourself aware again. It's an amazing accomplishment to simply be. Sometimes I think about the biological effort my body makes every fraction of a second to breath, to have my heart beat, to exist. These are all taken for granted, when they should be appreciated. It's important to take time to thank your body for working so hard. I don't do that enough, well hardly ever to be honest, but I have days when it hits me and I am thankful for those days the most.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-58387605223396837502013-07-17T13:44:00.000-07:002013-07-17T13:44:56.137-07:00A Friend Who Kills<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2NzluCgXDgpotJJtCjtdITmF2Qdwd1WYunWxqxkbXLQEijFzV9ND664mjpXpNCAyTvo_8JHyGzNVylK4Aeg4HfiEjK409ZG9Mbh_swKBL9YHM70tWfjCHXerFgwKqV5JL1fqRFUSUuw/s1600/eternal_clock-300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2NzluCgXDgpotJJtCjtdITmF2Qdwd1WYunWxqxkbXLQEijFzV9ND664mjpXpNCAyTvo_8JHyGzNVylK4Aeg4HfiEjK409ZG9Mbh_swKBL9YHM70tWfjCHXerFgwKqV5JL1fqRFUSUuw/s320/eternal_clock-300x300.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Time nurtures and heals</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With each breath it steals</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For it is a ruthless companion</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In its continuous pursuit </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of ticking life away</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From dreamers</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Leading life astray</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From believers</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Making hopefuls hopeless</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The strongest become boneless</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But perhaps time has compassion</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For as it ticks, it so happens</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To take the pain away</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From the broken </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Erase the stain </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That's unspoken</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ruthless, but truthful</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A friend to those who need less of it</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">An enemy to those who stress from it</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For it is always there for us to use </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And yet, always there for us to lose </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A friend who kills, but still a friend</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A ruthless companion to the end</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-14468015190801807022013-06-19T09:42:00.001-07:002013-06-19T09:42:28.210-07:00Where Will We Be?I often think of how I will be remembered years to come, if at all. I'm sure it's a thought that passes everybody's mind since we all want to be immortal in a way; to live on through our lineage, or at least through memories. I think about the process of documentation, especially when it comes to my own name. There are so many varieties that I myself get a bit confused. On my passport it is spelled Banafsheh Eshragi Azar, but in Iran my last name would actually be Eshraghi Azar, with an "h". In school, I've always spelled my Banafshé Eshragi, omitting the "h" and the "Azar" and adding an accent aigu (why? I have no idea.) It started a long enough time ago that it's become the way I'm use to signing and spelling my name whenever I'm asked.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-tp_jYAE6Z4t2Pag032Eygup0iLh-E2jrbLLGJ5dVdUkhndrimg4jJ5LB2covbsu-GcoLBQQJLrBrxuE8IYITWxMVngan_Unm2vVTwLBc51MfNM4xxrXp6IG3uZfm9a30GbZaEkUmeY/s1600/F2MiltonEpitaph.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-tp_jYAE6Z4t2Pag032Eygup0iLh-E2jrbLLGJ5dVdUkhndrimg4jJ5LB2covbsu-GcoLBQQJLrBrxuE8IYITWxMVngan_Unm2vVTwLBc51MfNM4xxrXp6IG3uZfm9a30GbZaEkUmeY/s320/F2MiltonEpitaph.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original manuscript </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The point is, I think of how confusing it would be for a historian years to come. Not that I expect to be researched by a historian (I'm not trying to become anyone important in life), but for whatever reason if I were to be researched, he/she'd really have a field day trying to come up with theories as to why I have so many different spellings. It's similar to reading a poem by Chaucer or Shakespeare. The spelling of words change, as well as their meanings, showing how fluid language is with its continuous evolution. I wonder if the English we speak now will be difficult to understand for people 200 years from now, the way Middle English is difficult for us to understand now. These thoughts always fascinate me.<br />
<br />
<br />Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-48018745020344282092013-06-13T08:21:00.001-07:002013-06-13T08:21:17.220-07:0050 Shades of What the Fuck??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-XY4LsnZA4xcqLb6zsJfFC6NzAeamxj7oC6hae85gXs6yKQUp3g9GeZTIE6I4M9EnR-6bwq89vltE2v45GATM3oydukVRObMX7yQRtsZ96PEiQpgu8lTu_-FHfOhjXDGVRsUJf0Y318/s1600/Bondage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-XY4LsnZA4xcqLb6zsJfFC6NzAeamxj7oC6hae85gXs6yKQUp3g9GeZTIE6I4M9EnR-6bwq89vltE2v45GATM3oydukVRObMX7yQRtsZ96PEiQpgu8lTu_-FHfOhjXDGVRsUJf0Y318/s400/Bondage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I've wanted to write my opinion about this book for some time now, and I know all of the hype has already passed and no one probably cares, but there are bigger issues to discuss within the realm of E.L. James' <i>50 Shades of Grey </i>that I find worth writing about. When all of the excitement started about this seemingly sexually liberating novel, I didn't want to be left behind, so somehow I found the first novel of the trilogy online and I began to read. Luckily I'm a fast reader and therefore didn't waste too much of my time on it, although I could argue that any time spent at all is already too much.<br />
<br />
I was appalled at the thought that an intelligent person would pay money for such an offensive book. Of course the girl must be an inexperienced virgin naively waiting to be devoured by, who could only be described as, a rich, manipulative, controlling, abusive vulture. How is this sexy again? What really got me was the inaccurate depiction of a BDSM relationship. BDSM is not about abuse and manipulation. Rather, it is about two experienced adults who know themselves sexually, and are in control of the situation, even when/if they are taking on a submissive role. This novel, on the other hand, did nothing but make domestic abuse "sexy" by romanticizing it. <i>Oh my god... how hot that he wont let me out of his sight and gets jealous when I talk about my guy friends and decides when and where we will have sex because I am not allowed to have a life, or a mind of my own.... but at least he bribes me by flying me on his airplane because he's super rich...</i>.Are you fucking kidding me??<br />
<br />
Not to mention that Christian's addiction to BDSM is constantly explained by a traumatic sexual experience he had as a teenager, which suggests: a) you must be fucked up to like BDSM (which is false), b) his controlling, abusive behaviour is justified by his past, therefore making it, not only okay, but appealing. Christian is described with this mysterious, "I'm really a good guy deep down inside" kind of bullshit, and Anastasia doesn't know what's going on with anything half the time, except for the fact that she's all googly eyed over him. Even if I were to forget how sexist and sexually misguiding the book is, I would never be able to forgive the horrible writing. Again, how are intelligent people reading this and enjoying it? It reads like a pubescent girl's journal. The amount of times Anastasia says "holy cow" or "oh my gosh" when she is turned on is enough to make me want to bash my head into a cement wall. Enough said.<br />
<br />
I believe that any healthy sexual relationship consists of adults who have had their own experiences and know their own bodies and needs. It saddens me that a book taking on the veil of sexually liberating females of all ages, all around the world, presented a female character who is a blob with no back bone, and no sign of maturing intelligence. It also saddens me that different forms of sexual expression are never discussed in sex ed, when people should be educated in an healthy and safe environment, but completely welcomed by millions, when what is actually described in the book is an abusive relationship. Something here isn't right.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-15310344415697906362013-06-11T08:03:00.000-07:002013-06-11T08:03:04.510-07:00I hate titlesI've hit a brick wall. I feel like have so much to say but this god damn space bar doesn't work because I'm a shit disturber and I took it off my laptop thinking I could properly put it back on, so here we are now. I have to hit it so hard each time for it to work, that it slowly begins to bring my anger out. This. God. Damn. Space bar.<br />
<br />
Besides that little mishap, life seems to be pretty good, especially since I've begun to connect/meditate once again. I feel more at peace with myself and my life for now. It's almost like I had forgotten that life could be fun, and not knowing what will happen could be exciting. These thought always used to excite me, but when it came close to actually living it out, it began to become scary. Now I feel like I'm going back to the way I was. A lot of small experiences have helped me along the way.<br />
<br />
Going out and doing shit by myself has been helpful. After talking to different people, I came to the realization that sometimes we need to put ourselves out of our own comfort zones. It's only in these moments that we truly learn anything. Out of your comfort zone, you're more alert, more susceptible, more willing to listen and observe. It's a good place to be for improvement because, even though it's difficult, people survive it all the time and they feel better about themselves for it. So that's all I got at the moment.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-68033060285197903442013-06-04T13:40:00.002-07:002013-06-04T13:40:47.952-07:00To Love a Black Bird<div style="text-align: center;">
He was sitting on a bench in the park</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
His favorite bench to sit on when it got dark</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A chance to get away from home and her</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A chance to escape and be alone from her</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Surrounded by the silence of the night</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Each crisp exhale made him feel light</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He could look at the stars and the soft moon</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Take comfort in uniting with them soon</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But such a shame to have to say goodbye</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Each night to this vibrant view of a starry sky</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For it was on one of these escapades</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That his restless heart, its decision made</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Set on a black bird with feathers that embraced</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The wind, and with its wide wings it graced</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The wind, and as soon as he saw it fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was a love that he could not deny</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The pang of his heart hurt his chest</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From his heart, this black bird, took the best</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And he willingly gave himself away</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
His soul to soar with her, for it wouldn't stay</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She caused the breeze on his face </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She caused his knees to lose their place</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And just as she had come with a single blink</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She took off swiftly as she spread her wings </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A moment so quick, but it felt like a life time</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He thought, "to love a creature that can never be mine"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To love so deeply that he could let go</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of the only love he'd ever know</div>
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Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5599281809347637328.post-25525382234055385652013-06-01T08:21:00.002-07:002013-06-01T20:01:36.647-07:00Connecting to Myself<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've recently started meditating more, except it's not really meditating, but "connecting". I used to go to these spiritual classes called "Erfan" and basically the concept is to sit for however long you feel it necessary and connect to your body and to the environment around you. There are different types of connections that aim to help you in different ways, and all I can say is that it's really helped me in more ways that I am aware of. Its effects aren't always shown right away, but present themselves to me in the way I find myself reacting to daily obstacles and the way I feel inside.<br />
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I've always been a rational person and I can analyze a situation for an eternity, but with Erfan, I've actually noticed a change that can't be described with words or with logic, it's just there. It happens deep within you and you don't need to convince yourself to be calm or forgiving or to love when you receive no love back, it just happens. That's the most amazing part of the whole process; it's effortless in a way. However, because it can seem so effortless, people find it hard to believe that it will have an effect on them, but it's all about trust and surrendering yourself to that moment.<br />
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The biggest contradiction I've always faced has been between my logical, practical mind, and a spiritual belief within me that there is more to people and to the world than meets the eye. With these classes, I've realized that sometimes the most sensible decision is the decision to let go of reason and to have faith. I think people come to that point many times in their lives when their faith in people and in themselves is tested. One story that pops into mind is for some reason or another my mom had kept some information from one of her friends and later when she admitted to doing so her friend replied, "I love you and I trust you, so when you decided not to tell me everything, I trusted that you had a good reason for it and I didn't question it." That always stuck in my head and I remember thinking "now that's love."<br />
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I'm still not that trusting, and I definitely can't say that I'm always completely forgiving, but I trust that, with time, I too will get there.Banafshé E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04381364524622203866noreply@blogger.com0