<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690</id><updated>2011-04-22T09:29:08.280+04:30</updated><title type='text'>lady in chains</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>89</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-116256714764193604</id><published>2006-11-03T18:33:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:39.154+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6815/1558/1600/nevermore.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6815/1558/320/nevermore.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;می فهمینش؟&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6815/1558/1600/nevermore.jpg"&gt; من که خیلی خوب&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-116256714764193604?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/116256714764193604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=116256714764193604&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/116256714764193604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/116256714764193604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/11/blog-post_116256714764193604.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-116254567605267886</id><published>2006-11-03T12:44:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-04T22:07:06.024+03:30</updated><title type='text'>زبان بی زبانی</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/252241164/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/95/252241164_b67017ad89_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" &gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/252241164/"&gt;DSC02309&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;پشت در ایستادم به استخاره کردن که آیا در بزنم برای وارد شدن یا نه! آیا اصلا وارد بشم یا نه؟ بالاخره یکی از آن حوالی رد شد و من ازش پرسیدم می تونم وارد کارگاه بشم؟ گفت: "آو کورس"،  و در رو باز کرد و منو به شخصی که ظاهرا با هم دوست بودن نشون داد و چنذ کلمه که من نفهمیدم گفت و رفت...&lt;br /&gt;سالن کارگاه تاریک بود. چند تا پله هم می خورد و می رفت پایین.  بوی جوش و آهن و زنگ نه تنها تو ذوقم نزد که بیشتر ذوق زده شدم. یه دونه ضبط فکسنی هم گوشه ی کارگاه روی میز بود که جای 2 تا کاست درب و داغون داشت و گر چه اصلا بهش نمیومد سی دی هم بخوره. ولی یه سی دی داشت توش می چرخید و جناب باب دیلون بود که داشت می خوند.  من اولین فکرم این بود که اگر این دستگاه پخش تا این حد داغون نبود و یا اگر به جای باب دیلون حتی لئونارد کوهن هم می خوند برای این فضا زیادی نو نوار و شسته رفته بود. قیافه ی مردک هم خودش تابلویی بود آویخته به کارگاهش و انگار سال ها با همین کارگاه جوش خورده و زنگ زده و خاک خورده. لباس کارگاهش یک شلوار بگی سبز بود و یه بلوزی که تنگیش در مقایسه با آن گشادی شلوار توی چشم می زد. ریش هاش تنک و مشکی و ژولیده بود و چشم هاش هوشیار هوشیار. انگار داشته با همه ی آن مجسمه های فلزیش عشق بازی می کرده که  حضور غریبه ای به ناگاه از آن اوج و خماری کشادذتش به زمین خواری که باید به محض اینکه رویش پا گذاشتی حواست جمع باشد. هنگ اور را هم کنار بگزاری.&lt;br /&gt;داشت به هر دری میزد که کمی مرتب تر به نظر بیاید که من کف دو جفت دست هایم را گرفتم جلوش و گفتم : "ایتس اوکی". نگاهم کرد. از تمیز کردن خودش دست کشید اما هنوز دست پاچه بود. او هم گفت من راحت باشم. یه بسته بیسکوییت بهم تعارف کرد. معلوم بود روز ها همان جا روی میز ولو بوده، اما یکی بر داشتم. خودش هم یکی برداشت و یکراست گذاشتش توی دهانش و بهتر که بگویم بلعیدش! شاید می خواست بفهماندم که طوریم نمی شود. شاید خواسته بود وظیفه ی پیش مرگیم را به جا بیاورد. شاید خوانده بود فکرم را. خندیدم و من هم سعی کردم مدل خودش بیسکوییت را ببلعم. به قهقهه خندید و بعد دستش را را دراز کرد و دور کارگاه چرخاند که یعنی بفرمایید. من هم کمی روی دو زانویم خم شدم و این بار کف دو دستم را کمی به هم نزدیک کردم و جلوی خودم نگه داشتم و سرم را هم  دو بار خم کردم به چپ که  یعنی باشد، شما هم به کارتان ادامه بدبد، من مزاحم کار شما نمی شوم. سرش را خم کرد و چشم هایش را بست که یعنی باشد. و بعد دوباره هر دو از صامت بودنمان زدیم زیر خنده و من دور شدم که دور کارگاه چرخی بزنم...&lt;br /&gt;هر بار یک کار فوق العاده در کارگاه می دیدم دلم می خواست بروم پیش مردکی که خلقشان کرده بود و بهش بگویم "براوو". اما نمی رفتم که مزاحمش نباشم. تا بالاخره یک ضلع کارگاه را که تمام کردم و خواستم بروم ضلع دیگه که دیدمش پشت سرم ایستاده و عکس العملم  نسبت به هر مجسمه اش را ارزیابی می کند. به محض دیدنش زدم زیر خنده. حرکاتم را مرور کردم ببینم کار بدی نکرده باشم! بعد دیدم که آمد یکی از مجسمه ها را بر داشت و ادا هایی را که در مقابل مجسمه در آورده بودم را تقلید کرد و قیافه ی مز حکی به خودش گرفت و بالاخره صدایش از حلقومش در آمد که: "دت بد؟" . من ابروهام نا خود آگاه و به عادت رفته بود بالا از دیدن ادا اطوار هایش و باز پخی زدم زیر خنده. نمی دانستم با زبان بی زبانیم چطور نظرم را راجع به کارش بگویم. آن همه مجسمه را به تحسین تماشا کرده بودم و فقط همان یکی را خو شم نیا مده بود. شاید هم همان یکی مجسمه برایش ارزش خاصی داشته و برای همین عکس العملم  برایش عجیب بوده. کاری نمی توانستم بکنم. خوب خوشم نیامده بود. شانه هایم را انداختم بالا و چشمم را گذاشتم روی هم، سرم را خم کردم به چپ و محکم گفتم "یس!" و همان اطوار قبلیم را نسبت به مجسمه تکرار کردم و دوباره راست ایستادم و نگاهش کردم. و این بار او کف دست هایش را به طرف من گرفت و دو دستش را در 2 طرف سرش به اغراق برد بالا  و با لرزشی که خنده اش در صدایش ایجاد می کرد  گفت: "اوکی" که یعنی تسلیم. و هر دو به نشانه ی مسالمت لبخند زدیم.&lt;br /&gt;.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;زبان بی زبانی خیلی زبان فوق العاده ایست. یاد آن فیلم نیکول کید من می افتم که خودش را جای دختر روسی که اینگلیسی نمی فهمد به دوست پسر مکاتبه ایش غالب کرده بود. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-116254567605267886?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/116254567605267886/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=116254567605267886&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/116254567605267886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/116254567605267886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/11/blog-post_03.html' title='زبان بی زبانی'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115945983260559745</id><published>2006-09-28T19:34:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:38.953+03:30</updated><title type='text'>come walk with me</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/joshi-porgy/253931904/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/118/253931904_001e308075_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/joshi-porgy/253931904/"&gt;come walk with me&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/joshi-porgy/"&gt;joshi-porgy&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;یک فیلم قدیمی کلاسیک سیاه و سفید را می بینی و فکر می کنی این سرنوشت توست. هنوز برایت اتفاق نیفتاده، اما همراه با شخصیت های فیلم دیوانه می شوی، به دیوانه خانه می روی از آنجا بیرون می آیی و بیشتر از اینکه به حال شخصیت فیلم گریه کنی به حال خودت گریه می کنی، جون می دانی که داری سرنوشتت را می بینی. از آن فرار نمی کنی. به سویش هم نمی شتابی، اما سرنوشتت همچون طلسمی در همه ی امور زندگیت دنبالت می کند و می خواهد تو را به آنجایی برساند که در فیلم دیده بودی و حقیقتش را حس کرده بودی. برای من خیلی از این داستان هنوز باقی مانده. برایم دیگر خنده دار است دانستن اینکه آیا این باقی مانده هم همانی خواهد بود که دیده ام؟! موقع تماشای فیلم برای دخترک زیاد گریه کردم. اما حالا برای خودم گریه نمی کنم. سرنوشتم را دوست دارم. نه اینکه تسلیمش باشم و در بندش. من به خدا همان راهی را می روم که دوست دارم بروم. نه آن راهی که مرا می رساند به آن نقطه ی فیلم. اصلا من از کجا می دانم کدام را به کجا؟!؟! خنده داریش در همین است که آنچه دیده ام و حالا اینجا برایش نام سر نوشت انتخاب کرده ام، خیلی زیرکانه درکوچه هایی منتظرم بوده که نمی شناخته ام. اگر من جز انچه ایده ال های ذهنم است حرکت کنم، ان  راه مستقیمی بوده که کج کرده ام. ولی همین راهی که دارم می روم را دوست تر دارم. حتی اگر تلخ ترین سرنوشت ها متعاقبش بیاید هم خیالی نیست. بازیم را همین طور که هست دوست دارم تا آخرش بروم.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115945983260559745?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115945983260559745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115945983260559745&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115945983260559745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115945983260559745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/09/come-walk-with-me.html' title='come walk with me'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115918313350961939</id><published>2006-09-25T14:42:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:38.888+03:30</updated><title type='text'>Ferit ozsen</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/252241161/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/96/252241161_6552daa3e0_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/252241161/"&gt;DSC02307&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;بدون کوچکترین اعتماد به نفسی به همه جای ساختمان سرک  می کشیدم و هر جا شخصی طوری نگاهم می کرد که انگار می خواهد بپرسد اینجا چی می خوای، سریع می گفتم که "ایران معماری می خونم. اومدم از دانشگاه دیدن کنم . عیبی نداره که اطراف رو نگاهی بندازم؟"&lt;br /&gt;همه شان خیلی مهربان و مودبانه برخورد می کردند. حتی می پرسیدند که آیا می خوام که همراهم باشن و همه جا رو به من نشون بدن یا نه؟ اکثرا جوابم منفی بود. تا رسیدم به این راهرو خلوت. پیرمرد را که دیدم دوباره همان حرف ها را تکرار کردم. شاید پیر مرد دید عدم اعتماد به نفسی را که در چهره ام موج می زد. انگلیسی را با لهجه ی قشنگی صحبت می کرد. با لبخندی که به من اعتماد می داد. گفت: "چرا که نه؟ " و بعد پرسید از من که چه می کنم و چه می خوانم و سال چندم و ....&lt;br /&gt;داشتم طول سالن را می رفتم و می آمدم که در اتاقش را باز کرد و گفت اینجا راحت باش. خودش هم رفت سراغ کتابخانه اش و حدود چند دقیقه آن را زیر و رو کرد تا آنچه را می خواست پیدا کند. من هم دست خط معماریش را برده بودم زیر ذره بین و این بار در دلم کاملا احساس اطمینان می کردم. مجله ای را آورد داد دستم و گفت: "اینها کار های من است". مجله خیلی قدیمی بود. همه شان هم کار های بی نهایت زیبایی بودند. چند کارت را هم آورد نشانم داد که کارت های تبلیغاتی نمایشگاه هایش بودند. پرسیدم می توانم یکی را یادگاری نگه دارم؟ یک ژست با نمک گرفت که "البته! " پرسیدم برایم امضایش می کند که  باز هم همان ژست را گرفت و برایم امضایش کرد و باز از من پرسید. کارم را تقدیر کرد. طوری که انگار واقعا شخص مهمی ام!&lt;br /&gt;از دانشگاه که آمدم بیرون از اینجا و آنجا فهمیدم رییس دانشگاه را ملاقات کرده بودم.  رییس یکی از هفت دانشگاه برتر اروپا را! &lt;br /&gt;برایم حتی توضیح داد که چطور مجسمه زیبای حبابش را روی آبها بر سکویی نصب کرده اند. مدلش را هم برایم آورد و نشانم داد. وقتی گفتم هم سن و سال پدرم است کلی خندید و هنوز نمی دانم چرا.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;شاید شما دلیلی ندبینید برای تعجب من. ولی من هنوز به این فکر می کنم که چطور ناخن هایم از استرس کبود شده بود وقتی رفته بودم به نمایندگی از کلاسمان با مدیر گروهمان صحبت کنم.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115918313350961939?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115918313350961939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115918313350961939&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115918313350961939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115918313350961939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/09/ferit-ozsen_25.html' title='Ferit ozsen'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115726798230377362</id><published>2006-09-03T10:30:00.002+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.898+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;طبق نظریه ی نسبیت انیشتین هر کسی زمان و فضای خاص خودش رو داره.&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;دیشب با همه ی خستگی خوابم نمی برد. پا شدم تو تاریکی طول اتاق رو قدم زدن. بعد رفتم دم پنجره ببینم چند تا ستاره ی دیگه رو دود و دم محو کرده.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;سمت شرق آسمون کمی کمرنگتر از سمت من و سمت غربم بود. فکر کردم خوش به حال من. کاش تا موقعی که من خوابم می بره سمت من تیره بمونه.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;تو خونه ی همسایه ی سمت شرق خورشید چه مدت زود تر طلوع می کنه؟ یاد نظریه ی نسبیت انیشتین می افتم. من زمان مکان خاص خودم رو دارم. من خودم معرف زمان و مکان خاص خودم هستم. همین حالا که دوست دارم دیرتر شب تموم بشه اگر قدمی به سمت شرق بردارم به خودم خیانت کردم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;رو پای راستم می پیچم به سمت مغرب. تا دیوار 3 قدم بیشتر فاصله ندارم. تازه یک میز هم سر راهم هست. میرم می شینم روی میز. تو خونه مختصات همه رو نسبت به خودم می سنجم. شب من از همه طولانی تره.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;اگر هواپیما داشتم راحت تر از روز فرار می کردم. هر وقت هم که دلم می خواست از شب فرار می کردم. اوووووه. فوق العاده نیست؟ تا این حد می تونیم حاکم بر مکان و زمان خودمون باشیم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;یاد انتوانت دو سنت اگزوپری می افتم. اون هیچ وقت از هواپیمای ملخیش چنین استفاده یی کرده بود؟&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;یهو دلم نقشه ی جهان می خواد. نقشه یی که مسیر رود ها رو قشنگ مشخص کرده باشه. قیمت قایق به مراتب کمتر از قیمت هواپیماست. امن تر هم هست. فوقش غرق می شی. فوقش همه ی بدنت پر از اب میشه و پوستت سفید کبود میشه. فوقش چند تا ماهی گازت می گیره. یا اصلا مار آنا کاندا می خوردت. ولی این جوری خیالت راحت تر هم هست که به بقای محیط وحش کمکی کردی. همه ی این ها از خاکستر شدن بهتره.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;این بار یاد هاکل برفین می افتم. یاد آقای مارکز هم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;حالا باید یه رود پیدا کنم که امتداد شرقی غربی داشته باشه با شیبی به سمت غرب.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;دلم گوگل ارث می خواد.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;از غربی ترین موقیعیتم توی خونه 4 قدم به سمت شمال شرقی بر می دارم و می شینم پای کامپیوتر و گوگل ارث رو دانلود می کنم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;سپیدی روز هر لحظه داره به من نزدیک تر میشه و من هنوز نه هواپیمایی دارم، نه قایقی و نه حتی رودی!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;گرسنه ام میشه. بیشتر یه چیزی شبیه ضعف ناشی از شب بیداری. یخچال محتوی گلابی های شیرین طبقه ی پایین هست. پایین رفتنم به معنی حرکت در بعد جدیدی از مختصات هست. از اونجایی که خونمون در کوهپایه نیست می تونم مطمئن باشم که معنیش همینه. این بعد جدید مختصات با نام ارتفاع رو طی میکنم و 2.80 متر پایین تر از موقعیت قبلیم پامو رو زمین می گذارم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt;حس جدیدم نسبت به تعلق داشتن به زمان و مکان خاص و حکومتم بر اون به اندازه ی کافی هیجان انگیز هست که حالا حالا ها فکرم رو و رفتارم رو به خودش مشغول کنه.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115726798230377362?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115726798230377362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115726798230377362&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115726798230377362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115726798230377362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/09/blog-post_115726798230377362.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115460861340278977</id><published>2006-08-03T16:05:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.682+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;محض خاطر جمع وجور کردن افکارم خودومو تو اتاق حبس کردم تا شب که می خوایم بریم بیرون بتونم خوش بگذرونم. دیشب &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;تا صبح 4 تا فیلم دیدم که همشون نیاز به فکر فراوون داره. &lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خودمو تو اتاق حبس کردمو دارم بارون بارونه رو از یک خواننده ی جدید گوش می دم و هر چی هم خوراکی تو اتاقم پیدا میشه دارم دونه دونه می خورم. که البته چیزی هم جز شکلات و آدامس پیدا نمی شه.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;یه کتاب هم دارم میخونم به اسم طوفان بزرگ اثر جناب آقای مارکز که توش همش اشاره هایی هست به کتاب صد سال تنهایی. و من می خوام آقای مارکز رو از شدت حسادت به همسرشون خفه کنم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;هوای اتاق گرمه و من دلم نمی خواد در جهت سرد کردنش قدمی بردارم. چون اونقدر از شدت گرما بی حال شدم که دلم میخواد همین طور ولو و فکری بمونم و این خانومه هم اونقدر بخونه بارون بارونه تا من خوابم ببره و خواب بارون ببینم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;شکلاتی که الان خوردم شکلاتی هست که 3 روز پیش بهم تعارف شد و من گاز کوچیکی ازش زدم و انداختمش تو کیفم. یک شکلات کاکائویی با طعم نعنا که من فکر نمی کنم از همین مملکت خودمون خریداری شده باشه و روی پاکت سیاه رنگش به انگلیسی نوشته شده بعد از نیمه شب و من فکر میکنم چرا این اسم؟ و فکر میکنم و فکر میکنم و از افکارم میشه یک داستان چیپ عاشقانه ساخت.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;هوا خیلی گرمه و من خیلی بی حالم و همه چیز همون طوری هست که باید باشه. یه بعد از ظهر گرم آفتابی تابستونی. همه در خواب نیم روزی غرقند و من در لذت یه ظهر گرم و آروم تابستونی غوطه ور. غم های بزرگ اونقدر دور به نظر می رسند که حتی شک می کنم واقعا وجود داشته باشن.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115460861340278977?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115460861340278977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115460861340278977&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115460861340278977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115460861340278977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/08/blog-post_03.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115452470399418918</id><published>2006-08-02T16:44:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.605+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;It was a few days to Norouz that I bought the book, "&lt;a href="http://www.gc.maricopa.edu/English/water.html"&gt;like water for chocolate&lt;/a&gt;"…&lt;br /&gt;I didn't know the magic of the book yet. But the magic spread it's spell all over me right at the moment I bought it.&lt;br /&gt;Tonight after about 5 month I watched the &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103994/"&gt;film&lt;/a&gt; which is made based on the book. One of those very few films that are just as great as their written book.&lt;br /&gt;When ever I feel down, and torn, and worn, the story's like the magic.&lt;br /&gt;All the worst things in the world seems like a heavenly gift. One step closer to the godly existence of ours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115452470399418918?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115452470399418918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115452470399418918&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115452470399418918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115452470399418918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/08/it-was-few-days-to-norouz-that-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115441909068326072</id><published>2006-08-01T11:24:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.430+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;بعد از یه عالمه "ناراحت هستم" ای که تو وبلاگم نوشتم، اینبار می خوام بنویسم که خوشحالم. و البته خوب میدونم که خداجان به خاطر این گناه بزرگم تنبیهم میکنه غل و زنجیرم میکنه به یه افسردگی دراز مدت. ولی عیب نداره. پرزنت را عشق است.&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;قضیه ی خوشحالی از اینجا شروع می شه که...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;برای اولین بار در عمرم کاری خیلی جدی رو شروع کردم. از اون کارهایی که ثبت میشه. این فوق العاده نیست؟ بهترین قسمت قضیه دوستانی هستن که به خاطر این کار باهشون آشنا شدم و معلمی که همه ی این ها رو باعث شد. نمی گم خیلی زود، ولی چند ماهه دیگه از نتیجه ی کار با خبرتون می کنم. شاید حتی محض تبلیغات.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خوشحالی به اینجا ختم نمیشه. یه معلم از نوعی کاملا متفاوت و جدید دارم که ... پیر مرد با اون موی سفیدش مثل خودم دیوانست. و من از این وجه مشترکم با این پیر مرد می تونم خنده دار ترین داستان ها رو هفته یی 1 بار برای دیگران تعریف کنم. من بعد از خاک بازی های فراوون دوران کودکیم حدود 8 سال بود که دست به خاک نزده بودم. و حالا دوباره خاک بازی هام به شکلی متفاوت شروع شده. و هم بازیم&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;و مشاوره بازی هام همین پیرمرد مو سفید چشم آبی ای هست که اگر چه ازش خیلی دلخور می شم وقتی می گه از تمثال سازی توبه کرده ولی وفتی برق شیطنت رو در چشم هاش می بینم که چه طور از طرفی به هر دستاویزی متوسل می شه که کار رو توجیه کنه...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;حالا من از قول این پیر مرد به شما یه نصیحت می کنم. مواظب باشین گل باهتون قهر نکنه که دیگه واویلاست.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خوشحالی به اینجا هم ختم نمیشه. یه دوست جدید دیگه هم پیدا کردم. همیشه دوست داشتم همون طور که اشخاص زیادی بودن که گاردین انجل من بودن، من هم گاردین انجل یه بنی بشری باشم. و حالا احساس می کنم که هستم. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;و جالب ترین دلیل خوشحالیم جناب خداست. من نمی دونم خدای شما چه خور شخصیتی هست. ولی من با شناختی که از خودم دارم می تونم بگم آقای خدای من تنها شخصیتی هست که می تونه از پس من بر بیاد. و من این رو جدیدا کشف کردم. یعنی به چشم خودم دیدم. یعنی همین پریروز در اوج ناراحتی بر خلاف دفعه های قبل اصلا از دست خدا دلخور نبودم. آمممم. یعنی... ببینید. این قضیه ی کشفیات یه قضیه ای هست که برای توضیحش باید حد اقل از 4 سال قبل رو توضیح بدم. من خودم بی خیال شدم. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;بازم دارم:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;ما یه همسایه داریم که اتاق من دیوار به دیوار با این همسایه ست. و پنجره ی اتاق من مشرف به خیاط خودمون و کمی هم حیاط خونه ی همسایه مونه. تو این خونه فقط یه پیر مرد و پیر زن زندگی می کنن که گاهی اوقات اگر یه مدتی که از خونه میام بیرون اثری ازشون نبینم نگرانشون می شم که نکنه...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;ولی فقط تابستونا تنها نیستن. بجه هاشون و نوه هاشون از تهران میان و حدود 1 ماه اونجا اقامت می گزینن و از اینجاست که داستان شروع می شه.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;من به یاری گوش هام که هیچ قصدی در شنیدن ندارن اسم همه ی اعضای خونواده رو می دونم. 2 تا نوه ی پسری این خانواده که اسمشون پوریاو کیانوش هست، به تصور من باید غالب بر 10 تا بلند گو قورت داده باشن. سنشون رو حدس می زنم 9 و 5 باشه. من از طریق همین 2 نفر در ضمن بازی هاشون در حیاط خونه شون بود که اسم همه ی اعضای خونواده رو کشف کردم. برای مثال به این مکالمه توجه کنین.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;کیانوش: مامان مرجاااااان&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;کیانوش: مامان مرجاااااااان&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;دوباره کیانوش: مامان مرجاااااان&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;مامان مرجان: بله؟&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;کیانوش: جیشم داره می ریزه!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خلاصه امسال تابستون هم من تئاتر زنده گوش میکنم در اتاقم. و گاهی از خنده دارم غلت می زنم روی زمین.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;به عقیده من کیانوش می تونه ژول ورن دوم باشه! من از این که بعد از ظهر ها از شدت سر و صدای این بچه آسایش ندارم ناراحت نیستم. ولی دارم عقده یی می شم که چرا نمی تونم برم باهش خاک بازی کنم. تازه حق ندارم که از دست هیچ بچه یی به خاطر اینکه بعد از ظهرا نمیره کنار مامانش بخوابه ناراحت بشم. چون خودم همیشه بعد از ظهرا یادم میومد که باید برم به کفش دوزکام شنا یاد بدم. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;بعد از این همه چیز خوشحال کننده یه چیز ناراحت کننده هم بگم. خیلی وحشتناکه که یک سال بگذره تا آدم بالاخره متوجه معنی زشت کاری بشه که همه ی مدت این یک سال به نظرش فوق العده بوده.&lt;span style="DISPLAY: none; mso-hide: all"&gt;دما آ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115441909068326072?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115441909068326072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115441909068326072&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115441909068326072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115441909068326072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/08/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115377513573544703</id><published>2006-07-25T00:28:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.365+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;داشتم کارهای ترجمه ام را انجام می دادم که سکوت به نظرم بسیار پر سر و صدا آمد. خیر سرم آمدم آهنگهایی از اوتمار لیبرت را انتخاب کردم که مانع از تمرکزم هم نشود. غاقل از اینکه آهنگ هایش مرا میبرد به روم باستان و مارکوس و لیژیا و...&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;باز هم با آهنگ کنار آمدم...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;تا رسید به این آهنگ که مرا با خود برد به آن صحنه از داستان که مارکوس لیزیا را برای اولین بار در حال آب تنی در برکه ای می بیند. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;ها ها ها.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt;روزی در مورد &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quo_Vadis_(novel)"&gt;این&lt;/a&gt; داستان بیشتر مینویسم.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115377513573544703?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115377513573544703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115377513573544703&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115377513573544703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115377513573544703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/blog-post_25.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115362905700165436</id><published>2006-07-23T07:59:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.274+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خواب دیدم با همه ی خانواده ام در یک مهمانی بزرگ حضور داریم. شاید عروسی بود. نمی دانم. فقط می دانم یک جور جشن بود. نمی دانم تمام مدت مهمانی دنبال چه چیزی می گشتم. این قسمت از خوابم را اصلا یادم نمی آید.فقط می دانم راکت تنیسی را که متعلق به برادر بزرگترم بود را در جایی پنهان کردم. به عنوان یادگاری. چیزهایی را هم در کیفم مخفی کردم که یادم نمی آید چی بود. و همین طور حقیقتی از این قسمت از خوابم که تا آخر خواب رازش را نگه داشتم. همآن چیزی که از خواب بیدارم کرده، که حالا می نویسم.&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;از آن مکان های عجیب و غریب اول خوابم بر می گردم به سالن بزرگ مهمانی. همه شاد شادند به جز من. حقیقتی را می دانم که نباید فاش کنم. حالا نه!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خواهرم و یکی از برادر هایم در وسط سالن می رقصند. من این طرف کنار مادر و پدرم ایستاده ام. به راکت تنیس برادر دیگرم فکر می کنم. ولی این چیزی نیست که غمگینم کرده.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;می روم سمت خواهرم و برادرم تا شاید چیزی به آنها بگویم. آنقدر شادند که دلم نمی آید. بر می گردم. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;به نزدیکی های پدر و مادرم که می رسم صدای انفجار می آید. درست از وسط سالن. من هر آنچه که احساس می کنم مهم نیست. همه احساساتم را مخفی می کنم و مادر و پدرم را از صحنه بیرون میبرم. بهشان اطمینان می دهم که انفجار در جایی غیر از جایی که خواهر و برادرم حضور داشتند رخ داده. موفق می شوم خیلشان را راحت کنم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;خودم به سالن بر می گردم. با کیف سر شانه ام که هنوز هم قسمتی از توجهم متوجه آنست. به نزدیکی های دود و دم و خون که می رسم می زنم زیر گریه. خیلی آرام. شخصی با شوخی بهم می فهماند که مگر چشم هایت کورند؟ خواهر و برادرت کلی آنطرف تر بودند. کمی خیالم راحت می شود. با خیال راحت کمی آنطرف دنبال &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;یک مرد بلند قد می گردم. ...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;هر دو شان را روی زمین پیدا می کنم. بی هوش. زخمی. خواهرم سمت راست سرش خیلی خفیف سوخته است. یک طرف سرش هیچ مویی ندارد. برادرم هم همین طور. تمام موها و مژه هایش سوخته اند. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;در کیفم دنبال چیزی می گردم. یادم نمی آید چی.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;مکانم عوض می شود. یادم نمی آید چرا! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;دوباره به داخل سالن بر می گردم. خودم به تنهایی زخم های خواهر و برادرم را پانسمان می کنم. چیزی که ناراحتم کرده خیلی فراتر از زخمی شدن خواهر و برادرم است. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;به هوش می آیند. خواهرم خیلی بلند گریه می کند. شوکه شده است. به اش اطمینان می دهم که حالش خوب است و سوختگی اش شدید نیست و خیلی زود زیباییش بر می گردد. واقعا همین طور است. برادرم خیلی قوی با مسأله برخورد می کند. پشتم گرم می شود. دوباره در کنارشان، بر می گردم به جایگاه کوچکترین فرزند خانواده. راز من راز آنها هم می تواند باشد. باید باشد. یک نفر را احتیاج دارم که دلداریم دهد. در حالیکه به راکت تنیس برادرم فکر می کنم حقیقت را می گویم. برادر بزرگمان مرده است.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;از خواب بیدار می شوم. همه ی بغضی که در تمام طول خواب خورده بودم در بیداری می ترکد.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt;هنوز هم می ترسم. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115362905700165436?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115362905700165436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115362905700165436&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115362905700165436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115362905700165436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/blog-post_23.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115357259073479312</id><published>2006-07-22T16:10:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.208+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;شاید خوندن &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israel"&gt;این&lt;/a&gt; برای شما هم جالب باشه.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115357259073479312?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115357259073479312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115357259073479312&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115357259073479312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115357259073479312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115352294741291266</id><published>2006-07-22T02:31:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.147+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Please God,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;May we always go on singing?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;I watched the film Sun Shine today. Great. Wonderful!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Took 3 hours of my time and I'm still planning to watch it again very soon.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;And I must inform you that, so far I was a nonpolitical person. Not that I'm going to be political from now on. I'm just gonna learn. Coz I gotta know. And I gotta choose! There are so many books to read. So many documentaries too watch. it just have to be my own way of learning.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;If you are interested to know since when I decided this, I must say; since the war of lobenan! I decided so late I know. But… &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /&gt;&lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;And.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt; I know so well there is no way to know what's for sure. I mean I know it's not easily understood by even the most genius people. But I don’t mean to … I don’t mean to learn thoroughly. I just don’t wanna be as dumb as I am now. And I wanna choose. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115352294741291266?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115352294741291266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115352294741291266&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115352294741291266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115352294741291266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/please-godmay-we-always-go-on-singing.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115347048341804043</id><published>2006-07-21T11:56:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.087+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;نمره یکی از درس های 5 واحدیمون به اسم طرح 3 دیروز اعلام شد وافتادن نصفی از بچه ها قضایایی رو به دنبال داشته که... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;دیروز یک &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;SMS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; به دستم رسید که بچه ها بیاین تحصن! به طور حتم دیر به دستم رسیده بود. هیچ کس بعد از ظهر پنج شنبه پا نمی شه بره تحصن. ولی اگر صبح به دستم رسیده بود می رفتم؟ این سوال برام پیش میاد که آیا همیشه مشکل بقیه مشکل من هم هست؟ آیا حضور من در اون تحصن نشونه ی دلسوزی من هست؟ یا شاید نشونه ی این که من نخود هر آشم؟ زشت ترین عکس العمل ممکن رو از خودم نشون می دم! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;SMS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; رو بلند برای اعضای حاضر خانواده می خونم و میگم که چنین حماقتی رو از شخص نویسنده انتظار نداشتم. چرا حماقت؟ دلایلم رو هم میگم. و بعد عذاب وجدان می گیرم! احساس می کنم که حق دارن. تمام کسایی که این تحصن براشون مهمه، حق دارن. ولی باز هم خودم رو از قضیه دور نگه می دارم. من در زمان مناسب همه رو تشویق به این کار کردم. هیچ کس اون زمان موقعیتش رو به خطر نینداخت. حالا که همون موقعیت به بحران کشیده شده هر کاری حاضرن انجام بدن؟!؟!؟!؟!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;مراجعه کنید به چند پست قبل تر تا متوجه قضیه بشید. اونجا که نوشتم:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;"می خواستم کمی فاشیست باشم. یار کشی کردم حتی......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="mso-bidi-language: FA"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115347048341804043?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115347048341804043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115347048341804043&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115347048341804043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115347048341804043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/5-3.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115317066665392215</id><published>2006-07-18T00:39:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:36.018+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;here I am. Back.&lt;br /&gt;Actually my weblog sucks recently.&lt;br /&gt;I mean after yesterday, after I presented my project, I tried so hard to be back to my weblog. During all these days that I was absent, I used to write on any possible place. My drafts. My drawing sheets. Or even in word Microsoft. Just anywhere. But posting seemed impossible to me. No courage to do it. I confess.&lt;br /&gt;It's a pity, right when I am about to write something to publish on weblog I feel like I have nothing new. Old naggings. And nothing else. There are happy and sad moments in everyone's life. But so far I've shared only the sad ones I'm afraid. And every time I come to make a change with a happy posting it's just impossible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But well. Now I do. Now that there is someone who cares for my crap I'll post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok. What's new?&lt;br /&gt;It's all university stuff. That how it made me down today. That how I felt bad after such a busy term. That how I thought "all these for what?"&lt;br /&gt;I came home and I didn’t know what I'm gonna do. I picked a book from library.. read it until I fell asleep. I woke up. No body was home. Loneliness is a good chance for obsessed people. I collected some songs. I played them and I sang along with them, loud and…&lt;br /&gt;Teary&lt;br /&gt;I listened to the song "show must go on" for about 5 times. Then it was "bohemian rhapsody turn.&lt;br /&gt;Blue café&lt;br /&gt;Parisienne walkways&lt;br /&gt;And finally "I wanna break free"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to break free. All I long for was to burn up my library. Burn up my thoughts. But it was just hysteric I knew. So I kept myself busy with singing till someone was back home and I had someone to sympathize me.&lt;br /&gt;All afterwards I was still hysteric. I watched a film and now I'm here. Must confess that STILL I am hysteric. Still I hate to look at my library. Still I cant do many things I wished to do right after my exams are over.&lt;br /&gt;Soon I'll be fine though. Everyone goes through such moments every once in a while. That's one of them for me too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115317066665392215?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115317066665392215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115317066665392215&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115317066665392215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115317066665392215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/here-i-am.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-115218433884534849</id><published>2006-07-06T14:41:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.954+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I still got no time to write. Still involved with examinations and presentations. Soon I'll be back with a better weblog. I promise. Though I recommend you not to count on my promises. Never ever!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-115218433884534849?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/115218433884534849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=115218433884534849&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115218433884534849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/115218433884534849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-still-got-no-time-to-write.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114960893871721592</id><published>2006-06-06T19:15:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.882+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>All is great. Although today afternoon I didn’t feel like getting out of the bed, although I felt depressed with all goodbyes, but life is still sweet and good.&lt;br /&gt;These days I'm not a lady in chains anymore. Mommy behaves me like a grown up. Like I know what's best for me, and what suits me. I wasn’t home all this holiday! And I received no critics for this! And it was Such a sweet holiday that now I feel depressed with it's finishment. Like when you are back from a long journey and you are back in routine. Now again I have to feel stressed with studies and work and …&lt;br /&gt;I'm not complaining. Life is great. Though there are buggers around but life is great. In the past month I've met so many new friends. And I feel satisfied with every new single friendship. Still I find nothing more exciting than meeting new friends! New people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114960893871721592?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114960893871721592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114960893871721592&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114960893871721592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114960893871721592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/06/all-is-great.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114893961984334774</id><published>2006-05-30T01:17:00.001+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.756+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;نمی تونم بنویسم. دچار خود سانسوری شدم. تا حالا شده بهتون این احساس دست بده که خیلی آدم بدی هستین؟ خوب من به شدت دچار همچین احساسی هستم. واسه همینم سعی می کنم ننویسم تا کسی نفهمه. باور کنید موضوع بی نهایت دردناکیه. اونقدر دردناک که چند روزه فقط دارم فیلم تماشا می کنم. که فراموش کنم این موضوع رو.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114893961984334774?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114893961984334774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114893961984334774&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114893961984334774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114893961984334774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114893961984334774.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114893957677110810</id><published>2006-05-30T01:17:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.691+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;نمی تونم بنویسم. دچار خود سانسوری شدم. تا حالا شده بهتون این احساس دست بده که خیلی آدم بدی هستین؟ خوب من به شدت دچار همچین احساسی هستم. واسه همینم سعی می کنم ننویسم تا کسی نفهمه. باور کنید موضوع بی نهایت دردناکیه. اونقدر دردناک که چند روزه فقط دارم فیلم تماشا می کنم. که فراموش کنم این موضوع رو.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114893957677110810?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114893957677110810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114893957677110810&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114893957677110810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114893957677110810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_30.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114824662563034776</id><published>2006-05-22T00:51:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.630+03:30</updated><title type='text'>امروز در طالع بینیم ثبت باید شود</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;امروز در موقعیت های مختلف هی بستنی نصیبم شد&lt;br /&gt;برای رفت و آمدم یکبار هم تاکسی لازم نشد. مامان جانم خاطرم را خیلی می خواهد. دوست جانم هم همین طور&lt;br /&gt;معلمم از مشق هام راضی بود&lt;br /&gt;دوستم بهم گفت خیلی خوبم. فکر کنم چون دستش را پانسمان کردم این را گفت. ولی بازهم خوشحالم کرد&lt;br /&gt;بلایی سر یک نفر در آوردم که می توانست سرم جیغ بکشد و باهم قهرکند. ولی نه جیغ کشید نه قهر کرد. فقط خندید.&lt;br /&gt;تو کلاس هر چقدر هم ریسه رفتم باز هم استاد جان بیرونم نکرد&lt;br /&gt;دیر رفتم سر قرار و با این حال کم غر شنیدم&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;پشه جان تا دلش خواست نیش زد، خجالت هم نکشید&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114824662563034776?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114824662563034776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114824662563034776&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114824662563034776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114824662563034776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114824662563034776.html' title='امروز در طالع بینیم ثبت باید شود'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114824578222393173</id><published>2006-05-22T00:35:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.567+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>خواب هایم را گم کرده ام.&lt;br /&gt;کجایند پس؟&lt;br /&gt;من بهشت کم می آورم در این نیای نمی دانم آیا واقعی&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114824578222393173?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114824578222393173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114824578222393173&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114824578222393173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114824578222393173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114824578222393173.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114824548423989021</id><published>2006-05-22T00:30:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.504+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>می خواستم کمی فاشیست باشم. یار کشی کردم حتی. که بیایید اعتراض کنیم به... بز که نیستیم. همه گفتند به و به دنبالش هم چه. موقع عمل اما، خودم بودم و خودم. همه ایستادند و تماشا کردند که چطور کلمه ها از دهان بنده خارج شد و چطور استاد بر من غضب کردند، که چطور به تریج قبایشان برخورد که من دانش جوی بی سواد داشتم برای ایشان دکتر با سواد تکلیف تعیین می کردم. غضب شد و من بر خود لرزیدم از ترس. نه ترس از استاد که از همین یاران با وفا و قولشان.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114824548423989021?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114824548423989021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114824548423989021&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114824548423989021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114824548423989021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_22.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114798894920777403</id><published>2006-05-19T01:17:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.436+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;امروز شده بودم یک کارگر درجه یک. به قول مامان خوشگلیم کد بانو.&lt;br /&gt;ولی خیلی خوب بود. کارگری رو می گم ها.&lt;br /&gt;حالام آخر شبی اینجا تو اتاق جان نشستم و جناب جو داسین هم می خونن و من هر چند دقیقه یک بار خیره می شم به تصویرم تو پنجره و باز سرمو می ندازم پایین و می نویسم. باز به خودم خیره می شم که: "آهای خودتی؟"&lt;br /&gt;اینها همش از یک ناباوری نشات می گیره. نباوری از برگشتن به اتاق جان و خوابیدن روی تخت و تا هر وقت دلم خواست بیدار بودن و ...&lt;br /&gt;به.&lt;br /&gt;من خیلی خسته ام. فقط ایتجا چند تا کلمه ی کلیدی می نویسم که بعدا راجع بهشون مفصل صحبت کنم.&lt;br /&gt;ابر شماره ی نه&lt;br /&gt;دوازده شیوه ی طراحی&lt;br /&gt;دالیدا&lt;br /&gt;یه آقاهه که من خیلی دوستش دارم و اسمش یادم رفته و امروز تلویزیون شرمندمون کرد و دو تا فیلم ازش پخش کرد&lt;br /&gt;مردم آزاری&lt;br /&gt;عملیات فاشیستی بنده در دانشگاه و ترغیب دیگران به فاشیست شدن&lt;br /&gt;اون مورچه هه که از نقطه ی آ می خواد بره به ب&lt;br /&gt;وضعیت معماری در سال دو هزار و پنجاه&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114798894920777403?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114798894920777403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114798894920777403&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114798894920777403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114798894920777403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114798894920777403.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114798777429542488</id><published>2006-05-19T00:58:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.372+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;ما هر دو یک فرشته داشتیم. فرشتمون یک دختر بچه بود که با ترازوش همیشه روی پل می نشست. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;ری را شاید&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;عکسش رو گرفتم و کردمش خاطره ی یک خاطر خواهی&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;امروز بعد از مدت ها دوباره دیدمش. بزرگتر، غمگین تر. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;پسری از صنف کارگران رستوران نزدیکش شد و شروع کرد با فرشتمون صحبت کردن.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;نیستی، نیستی و فرشته تنهاست.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;نزدیکشون شدم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;_اسمت چیه؟&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;_فرشته&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;_آهان. آره. من عکستو دارم فرشته. خیلی قشنگی.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;و دوباره لبخند زد. موقعی که بر می گشتم مستقیم خیره شدم تو چشمای او نره خری که اطراف فرشته می پلکید. هر چی خشم داشتم جمع&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;کردم تو چشم هام و بهش خیره شدم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;و حالا نمی دونم. شاید اون نره خر بود که هر روز برای فرشته از رستوران غذا می برد.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;شاید من فقط خیلی احمقانه خواستم ناجی فرشتمون باشم. اونم فقط با یک چشم غره. اونم به کسی که شاید واقعا فقط قصد کمک داشته. من از راه رسیده با چه اعتمادی به خودم &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;خواستم کمکی کرده باشم.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;کمکی؟&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;احساس حماقت می کنم. و حقارت&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114798777429542488?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114798777429542488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114798777429542488&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114798777429542488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114798777429542488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114798777429542488.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114798770973896977</id><published>2006-05-19T00:55:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.309+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>لحن صحبت استاد جدیدم که اصلا دوستش ندارم شبیه لحن صحبت استاد قدیمیم هست که خیلی دوستش داشتم. چقدر زود و غیر منتظره می گذره همه چیز. چقدر زود همه چیز یک خاطره ی دور دست می شه.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114798770973896977?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114798770973896977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114798770973896977&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114798770973896977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114798770973896977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_19.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114781064625832432</id><published>2006-05-16T23:43:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.241+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;یک نفر برام یک کامنت خیلی با نمک گذاشته. به خاطر پست قبلی نوشته: "باز با مامان باباتون دعواتون شده"&lt;br /&gt;ای داد بی داد. عجب انسان رسوایی هستم من. البته دعوا نبوده. قضیه همون کولی بودن من هست. کدوم پدر و مادری راضی به داشتن دختر کولی میشن که پدر مادر من دومیش باشن؟&lt;br /&gt;هه هه :دی. این هم از جواب تمام و کمال.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114781064625832432?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114781064625832432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114781064625832432&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114781064625832432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114781064625832432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_17.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114772736661240915</id><published>2006-05-16T00:37:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.179+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;اصلا من را چه به این حرف ها؟&lt;br /&gt;اصلا من دنیاتان را نمی خواهم. باشد بیخ ریش خودتان&lt;br /&gt;اصلا پرسدید از من که بیایم؟&lt;br /&gt;وقتی آمدم نقشی به من در ساختنش دادید؟&lt;br /&gt;کوچک که بودم گریه نکردم که نبودید؟&lt;br /&gt;سر کار بودید و من هنوز درست هم حرف نمی زدم.&lt;br /&gt;شکایتی کردم جز گریه از زور دلتنگیتان؟&lt;br /&gt;دنبالت ندویدم از آن همه دوست داشتن؟&lt;br /&gt;زیر ماشین نرفتم؟&lt;br /&gt;زیر ماشین که رفتم گریه هم نکردم. گریه چرا؟ از آن به بعد پیشم بودی. تا بیمارستان. تا خانه&lt;br /&gt;وقتی بابا آب داد را چپه می نوشتم خودتان را به من ندادید.خواستم و ندادید. گله هم نکردم. خدا می داند که نکردم.&lt;br /&gt;حالا، حالا....&lt;br /&gt;حالا دیگر من را با این حرف ها کاری نیست.&lt;br /&gt;من را با شما هم کاری نیست.&lt;br /&gt;دلم برایتان تنگ میشود به خدا. همین حالا هم دلتنگتانم.&lt;br /&gt;ولی من را اینجا کاری نیست. حرف هاتان من را مرهمی نیست.&lt;br /&gt;نه دنیاتان را می فهمم، نه حرفتان.&lt;br /&gt;من را سخن از عشقی می گویید که نمی بینم. من با خوش باوری تعریف از عشقی می کنم که نمی شناسید.&lt;br /&gt;اگر خانه ی شما اینجاست، ولی من را نه خانه ای هست نه تعلق خاطری&lt;br /&gt;بگذارید بروم. من را خانه دنیا نیست. اگر هست، اگر محکومم کردید به بودن، باز خانه ام اینجا نیست. یک جا نیست.&lt;br /&gt;من در تخیلاتم، در افکار پریشانم، کولی بار آمده ام.&lt;br /&gt;با من نبودید. زیستن در دنیاتان را یادم ندادید. گره از عقده هایم نگشادید.&lt;br /&gt;دنیاتان من را جهنم است.&lt;br /&gt;عشقتان بر من نفرت است&lt;br /&gt;بگذارید بروم&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114772736661240915?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114772736661240915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114772736661240915&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114772736661240915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114772736661240915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_16.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114763629190128040</id><published>2006-05-14T23:20:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.116+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;آقای جو داسین عزیز،&lt;br /&gt;من عاشق شما شده ام.&lt;br /&gt;حتی تحقیق نکرده ام تا بدانم به عمر پر عزتتان ادامه می دهید یا خیر.&lt;br /&gt;فقط می دانم با صدایتان روزی صد بار عاشق می شوم &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114763629190128040?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114763629190128040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114763629190128040&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763629190128040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763629190128040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_15.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114763531825876869</id><published>2006-05-14T22:59:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:35.056+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>من خنده خواستم؟ بخواهم خوبست؟ یا که بخندم؟&lt;br /&gt;قیافه ی اخمویی از من بیشتر نصیبتان نمی شود. بیهوده تلاش نکنید. شکستید هرچه من عاشقش بودم را. خودتان را شکستید&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114763531825876869?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114763531825876869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114763531825876869&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763531825876869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763531825876869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114763531825876869.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114763488074614086</id><published>2006-05-14T22:57:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.991+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>همه ی جاهایی که می پرستیدمشان خسته ام می کند. بد حالم می کنند.&lt;br /&gt;بگذارید پس بروم من. کسی نیست بیاید با هم فرار کنیم؟ کسی نیست مثل من؟ خسته ی خسته؟ تنهای تنها؟ بخواهد نعره بکشد بر سر دشت و قاب بگیرد صورت ماه را؟&lt;br /&gt;انقدر بدویم، بدویم که در آغوش باد هلاک شویم؟&lt;br /&gt;اصلا همرنگ باد می شویم. تیز پا و گریزان.&lt;br /&gt;نسیم شویم و بوزیم به زیبا رویان؟&lt;br /&gt;بکشانیمشان به آغوش خودمان؟&lt;br /&gt;در دامن هایشان بپیچیم؟&lt;br /&gt;آنها نیز با ما خواهند آمد. در تب عشق ما خواهند سوخت.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114763488074614086?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114763488074614086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114763488074614086&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763488074614086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763488074614086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114763488074614086.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114763411390060753</id><published>2006-05-14T22:42:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.931+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;ما دختری در دبیرستان داشتیم که زیبا نبود و چاق و شلخته بود. سطح درسیش متوسط بود. مثل خودمون ساده بود و بی ریا و صمیمی.&lt;br /&gt;با یک سال تاخیر در دانشگاه قبول شد و ما دوباره دیدیمش. با قیافه ای به غایت متفاوت. خدا پدر جراحی پلاستیک را بیامرزد. اونقدر زیبا شده  که باورش راحت نیست.&lt;br /&gt;همه ی اینها خیلی خوبه. ولی اینکه لحن حرف زدن و طرز رفتارش هم تغییر کرده جای تاسف داره. ما همون دختر صمیمی رو انتظار می کشیم ولی اون حالا دیگه از بالا به همه نگاه می کنه. روبوسی نمی کنه. با آغوش باز از کسی استقبال می کنه. فقط سرش رو بالا میگیری و نوک انگشت هاشو می آره جلو (با ژست پرنسس ها) تا ما هم نوک انگشت هاشو لمس کنیم.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114763411390060753?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114763411390060753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114763411390060753&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763411390060753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763411390060753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114763411390060753.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114763302785445527</id><published>2006-05-14T21:22:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.863+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;امروز آنقدر تنها بودم که می توانستم جلوی انسان ها را بگیرم و محبت گدایی کنم.&lt;br /&gt;به دروغ بگویم دوستشان دارم تا برای چند لحظه هم که شده، حتی کاذب دوستم بدارند.&lt;br /&gt;آنقدر تنها که از پنی خواستم مرا هم با خودش ببرد دندان پزشکی. حد اقل تنها کسیست که حتی موقعی که ازم متنفرست باز هم دلش برایم می سوزد. به حال سرگشته ام اشک می ریزد.&lt;br /&gt;سرگشتگیم بر سلیقه ی موسیقاییم نیز تاثیر گذاشته. اهنگ هایی که عمری سمتشان نرفتم برایم شده ان حلوا. به خراشیدن روح من نخراشیده کمک می کنند.&lt;br /&gt;از پنی جان می گفتم. دو کتاب هدیه ام داد. یک کتاب مقدس و یک کتاب به عنوان "یاد بگیریم حسود نباشیم". بهش گفتم اگر کتاب با این عنوان در کتاب خانه ام باشد که مهریست بر صحت ادعای مونا حسودست. جوابش را یا نشنیدم یا یادم نمی آید&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;اخبار امروز:&lt;br /&gt;1-برای اولین بار کاری را در زمینه ی معماری به طور رسمی انجام می دهم.&lt;br /&gt;2-پنی جان با کسب رتبه ی 69 در کنکور ارشد مخاز به انتخاب رشته شد.&lt;br /&gt;3-آقایی دورادور می خواهند مرا کمک کنند در انواع زمینه های معماری. البته طلب رشوه می کنند که من آب پاکی ریختم روی دستشان. از من می خواهند از آرشیو دانشگاه دزدی کنم. من نه تواناییش را دارم نه حوصله عذاب وجدان. با این حال شاید کمکی ارزشمند نصیبم شود&lt;br /&gt;4-من در قهر به سر می برم. قهر با همه ی کسانی که دوستشان دارد. معنیش اینست که به زودی افسردگی می بردم به قهقرای جهنم.&lt;br /&gt;5-فردا اسباب کشی می کنم به اتاق جان.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114763302785445527?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114763302785445527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114763302785445527&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763302785445527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114763302785445527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114763302785445527.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762855346349043</id><published>2006-05-14T21:11:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.802+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>نمی دانم چقدر راه بود که رفتم و چقدر درنگ بود که کردم.&lt;br /&gt;چهره ای آشنا نمی خواستم. همان چهره را می خواستم. همان خطوط را&lt;br /&gt;همه دیدندم که می رفتم و می آمدم. توی آن همه برف&lt;br /&gt;همه می گفتند سرد بود. پس چرا من سرمایی داغ داغ بودم؟ چه گفته بودی تو؟&lt;br /&gt;دیدی شعله هایم را؟ دروغ گو&lt;br /&gt;همه می گفتند که سرد است. اگر من پر از غم بودم، پس آن همه دروغ از کجا آوردم برای توجیح بودنم؟&lt;br /&gt;آن صورتک خندان را از کجا آوردم و تحویلشان دادم، هنوز نمی دانستم&lt;br /&gt;امروز می دانم. ذره ای از وجودم کم شده. سبک سبک&lt;br /&gt;بی خیالی، دوره ی نقاهت همین دردهاست که کشیدم&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762855346349043?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762855346349043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762855346349043&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762855346349043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762855346349043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114762855346349043.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762847858892726</id><published>2006-05-14T21:10:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.736+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>حسی که امشب دارم، افسردگی نیست. یک جور ترسه. کلی کار و فکر همزمان سرم ریخته. با اینکه برا همه چیز وقت کم دارم، بازم وقتمو هدر میدم. گیج شدم. گیج&lt;br /&gt;چند روز پیش یه لیست درست کردم از همه ی کار هایی که باید انجام بدم و چیزهایی که باید بخرم. خودم به وحشت افتادم. حالا تصمیم گرفتم ذهنم رو از همه چیز خالی کنم. یه جور مراقبه. شاید این معافیت از افکار باعث بشه با انرژی بیشتر بر گردم سر کارهام.&lt;br /&gt;کلی حالم خوب نیست. ولی حال بدم از غم نیست. از اینه که نمی دونم چه کار کنم.&lt;br /&gt;خدا به دادم برسه.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762847858892726?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762847858892726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762847858892726&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762847858892726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762847858892726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114762847858892726.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762840751157240</id><published>2006-05-14T21:09:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.676+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>چند بار، با چند نفر گفتی همه ی آن حرف هایی که روزگاری مال من بود؟&lt;br /&gt;باشد نگو، می دانم. من بودم و او. تا اینجا را می دانم&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762840751157240?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762840751157240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762840751157240&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762840751157240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762840751157240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114762840751157240.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762832294747004</id><published>2006-05-14T21:08:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.615+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>این بار که به اتاقم برگردم برایم مقدس است.&lt;br /&gt;تقدسش را جشن می گیرم با شمع، با عود، با بهترین موسیقی هایم.&lt;br /&gt;تنهاییمان را پر می کنیم با عکس، با نقاشی، با شعر&lt;br /&gt;من آبی می پوشم، اتاقم سبز&lt;br /&gt;من تنها یک چشمه میشوم در دل این جنگل&lt;br /&gt;می جوشم تا زندگی کنیم&lt;br /&gt;تنهایی من را تنها اتاقم میشناسد&lt;br /&gt;تنهاییهایم را تنها با اتاقم تقسیم میکنم.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762832294747004?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762832294747004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762832294747004&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762832294747004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762832294747004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114762832294747004.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762828219242348</id><published>2006-05-14T21:07:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.556+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>نمی دانم چرا می خواهم تو را شاد کنم؟&lt;br /&gt;بعد از همه ی آن گریه های خودم واقعا باید تو را شاد کنم؟&lt;br /&gt;می دانم نمیدانی. اگر می دانستی نه تو شاد می شدی، نه من می توانستم شادت کنم.&lt;br /&gt;من تبدیل می شوم به کوچکترین ذرات بودن. گفتم که. به همین بودن قانعم&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762828219242348?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762828219242348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762828219242348&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762828219242348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762828219242348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_114762828219242348.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762790286117175</id><published>2006-05-14T20:58:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:34.470+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>دیگه چند روزه موسیقی زنده گوش می دیم تو خونمون. این بناها تا دلتون بخواد واسمون می خونن. تازه از اون بالا صداشون اکو هم میشه.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762790286117175?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762790286117175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762790286117175&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762790286117175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762790286117175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post_14.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114762762920403043</id><published>2006-05-14T20:53:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.786+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>گریه دیگر چرا؟&lt;br /&gt;مرا که دیدی، آخر قصه نصیبت نشد؟&lt;br /&gt;باز می گویی نمی دانم!&lt;br /&gt;خودت را گول زدی و همه ی آینده ات را ساختی.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114762762920403043?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114762762920403043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114762762920403043&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762762920403043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114762762920403043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114647631087040185</id><published>2006-05-01T13:06:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.723+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>oh my GOD oh my GOD oh my GOD&lt;br /&gt;i'm recieving so much of stress&lt;br /&gt;the thing is i wanna chage my travel time and just cancel all my tickets and hotel room for friday and set off today just 3 hours from now with all other classmates and freinds. OH mY GOD&lt;br /&gt;i should satisfy my parents with it and they're totaly disagree. and i just am about to cry and i donno what to do to make them agree. they just dont want me to stay at my friends place and tthe frioends are calling me one after the other insisting my parents and if i dont let them now in 20mins we'll all fail and now my father's talking to the anut necessary talks and i must wait for them to finish. and i just am in hurry and they disconnect&lt;br /&gt;hey agrreeeeed they agreeeeeeeed&lt;br /&gt;i'm going to pack my bags&lt;br /&gt;byebyeeeeeeeeeeeee&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114647631087040185?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114647631087040185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114647631087040185&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114647631087040185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114647631087040185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/05/oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-im.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114638418635791395</id><published>2006-04-30T11:32:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.654+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="right"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Dear dear friends,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="right"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;All the worries of my past week ended. My dad was sick and now he's all fine. There used to be very high tension in the house while he was sick. Everybody was worried, (what might be the reason). But know everything's FINE. Mommy's happy as ever. Daddy too. And I again laugh at all the old sorrows.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="right"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;I've started reading the rest of one of the books I've started long before. It's great and I recommend reading it to all civil and architecture students. The book is so easy to read, all are the points you've studied in your university lessons before and it would be just a reminder. Understanding Structures by Fuller Mooler. (DARKE RAFTARE SAZEHA) &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;I need recommendations: I told you I'm going to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /&gt;&lt;st1:city&gt;&lt;st1:place&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;Tehran&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt; book fair on Tuesday. A bit late but still fine for my purposes. There is a long list of the books I must buy and a short list of the people I must meet and another list of the places I must go. I will write the list here in the next post and I hope you'll be kind enough with your great recommendations about the books I must buy and the places I must meet. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114638418635791395?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114638418635791395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114638418635791395&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114638418635791395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114638418635791395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/dear-dear-friendsall-worries-of-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114638415816793609</id><published>2006-04-30T11:31:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.591+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>من رفتنی شدم به نمایشگاه کتاب تهران. اونقدر لیست بلند بالایی از کتاب هایی که می خوام بخرم نوشتم که میترسم بشینم پولشو تخمین بزنم. چند خایی هم هست که باید سر بزنم بهشون. یعنی کفره که برم تهران و اونجاهارو نرم.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114638415816793609?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114638415816793609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114638415816793609&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114638415816793609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114638415816793609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_30.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114625062513152546</id><published>2006-04-28T22:22:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.530+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>من چون آدرس اشخاصی رو که برام کامنت میذارن نمی دونم جواب کامنت هاشونو به صورت کامنت برای همون پست می نویسم ،&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114625062513152546?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114625062513152546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114625062513152546&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114625062513152546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114625062513152546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_114625062513152546.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114624231400930857</id><published>2006-04-28T20:07:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.396+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"&gt;نارادا یک روز به کریشنا گفت: سرورم، راز مایا را بر من بگشای.&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"&gt;چندی گذشت. نارادا، کریشنا را به بیابانی برد و با هم چند روزی راه رفتند. کریشنا گفت، نارادا تشنه ام. برو برایم آب بجوی. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"&gt;نارادا به جستجوی آب رفت. به دهکده ای رسید. به در خانه ای&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;کوفت. دختری بسیار زیبا در به رویش باز کرد. همین که نارادا چشمش به او افتاد همه چیز را از یاد برد. او را می نگریست. مست عشق او را به زنی خواست. با هم ازدواج کردند. زن برایش دو فرزند آورد. آنان دوازده سال با یکدیگر زندگی کردند. نارادا با زنش، فرزندانش، کشتزارها و گله هایش بود.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"&gt;شبی رودخانه طغیان کرد. سراسر دهکده را فرا گرفت. خانه ها فرو ریختند. آدمیان و جانوران را آب رد. نارادا شنا می کرد و با سیل در نبرد بود و زن و بچه های خود را گرفته، در آب می برد. یکی از بچه ها لز چنگش به در رفت. همچنان که می کوشید نجاتش دهد، بچه ی دیگر را نیز از دست داد. زنش از زور سیلاب از آغوشش کنده شد. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"&gt;نارادا بر ساحل افتاد و به تلخی می گریست. ناگاه از پشت سر صدای نرمی پرسید: "فرزندم، آب کو؟ تو رفتی برایم جامی آب بیاووری و من منتظر توام. اینک نیم ساعت است که رفته ای. نارادا با شگفتی پرسید:"نیم ساعت؟".&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"&gt;دوازده سال گذشته بود. دوازده سال شادی و رنج... چشم های مایا گذر کرده بود.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114624231400930857?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114624231400930857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114624231400930857&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114624231400930857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114624231400930857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_114624231400930857.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114621757826538590</id><published>2006-04-28T13:15:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.331+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>رسما خیلی پر رویید.&lt;br /&gt;تقدس؟ تقدس؟ این را می گویید تقدس؟ آخر شما از کجا میدانید؟&lt;br /&gt;شمایی که با چشم هاتان از تمام وجودم تنها ظاهرم را می کاوید، آخر چطور انتظار دارید باور کنم که می دانید؟&lt;br /&gt;چرا اینقدر اداعاتان میشود؟&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114621757826538590?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114621757826538590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114621757826538590&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621757826538590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621757826538590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_114621757826538590.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114621728247343925</id><published>2006-04-28T12:26:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.237+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;-"دور برش نپلک. آدم جالبی نیست. من میشناسمش.".&lt;br /&gt;+"من دور و برش نپلکیدم!!!".&lt;br /&gt;به همین 1 جواب قناعت کردم. بگذریم از اینکه تو دلم زیاد بهش حرف زدم.&lt;br /&gt;+"اصلا تو از کجا میشناسیش؟"&lt;br /&gt;-"می خوای بگم خونش کجاست؟ خونش فلان جاست."&lt;br /&gt;+"خب که چی؟"&lt;br /&gt;-"یعنی می خوام بگم اینقدر آمارم دقیقه!".&lt;br /&gt;+"خوش به حال تو!!!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;این بود نظرات شخصی 1 دختر گرگانی 21 ساله در مورد یکی از اساتید 35 ساله ی دانشگاه!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;چرا آدم ها دلشون می خواد برداشت شخصی شون رو از دیگران به هم غالب کنن؟ خجالت نمی کشن؟ گور بابای این آدمای محترم با نضرات محتعرم ترشون. اصلا آدم نامحترم را عشق است.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114621728247343925?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114621728247343925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114621728247343925&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621728247343925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621728247343925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_114621728247343925.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114621311903847943</id><published>2006-04-28T11:30:00.001+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.171+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;10 بار هی تکرار کردم. غلط کرد به خاطر من ناراحت بود. بیشتر حرفمون طول میکشید 10 ها بار دیگه هم می گفتم.&lt;br /&gt;من دوباره بین هق هق گریه گم شدم امروز. الکی که نبود. به غرورم بر خورده.&lt;br /&gt;اگر پنی جان بود می گفت "اوا؟؟؟؟".&lt;br /&gt;صدامو انداختم به سرم و همه رو بردم زیر سوال و گفتم کات. شاید پس فردا در بمونم به خاطر کات قاطعی که گفتم.&lt;br /&gt;الکی که نیست. با جناب خدا هم قهرم. دیشب رفتم به جایی که به عقل جن هم نمی رسید. با غرور گفتم ببین خدا جان که نمی ترسم. اومدم منت کشی و نه از لو لو می ترسم نه از...&lt;br /&gt;دستامو کردم تو بارونا و از ته دل خندیدم. هر چی عطر خاک بارون خورده بود کشیدم تو ریه هامو و با غرور فکر کردم الان شروع می کنم خدا رو اغفال کردن که باهم آشتی کنه.&lt;br /&gt;ولی آخه منصفانه ست خدا؟ تو فکرمومی خونی. عصبانی میشی و ترس می ندازی تو دلم که برم و بی خیال مراسم آشتی کنون شم؟&lt;br /&gt;باشه. بر نمی گردم. به این زودی ها بر نمی گردم.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114621311903847943?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114621311903847943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114621311903847943&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621311903847943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621311903847943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/10.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114621137638598619</id><published>2006-04-28T11:30:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.110+03:30</updated><title type='text'>من، چیکویی تیتا</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;دیگه نمی خوام دوستامو ببینم. دیروز جلوشون نقابم از چهرم افتاد و حالا دیگه نمی خوام دوستامو ببینم. اصلا من دیگه مونا نباشم خوبه؟ مونا این همه هست تو شهر، تو دنیا. منو می خواین چه کار؟ بذارین اسمم باشه چیکویی تیتا. همیشه این اسمو دوست داشتم. فامیلی اصلا نمی خوام. تاریخ و گذشته هم نمی خوام. منو به هیچی یاد نکنین. شما که چیکویی تیتا رو نمی شناختین. میشناختین؟&lt;br /&gt;وقتی نقابم از چهرم افتاد دوستام شخصی رو دیدن غیر از منی که دیده بودن. ولی اون بازم خودم نبودم. 1 نقاب دیگه بود که داشت رو میشد. زندگی اونقدر نقاب رو چهرم کشیده که....&lt;br /&gt;ولی اگر تاریخ رو ازم بگیرین باز من می مونم با خودم.&lt;br /&gt;من 1 بار در گذشته دوست هامو طلاق دادم. انرژی زیادی برد. خیلی زیاد. حلا دیگه انرژی شو تو خودم نمی بینم. ولی لازمه. برای اینکه دوباره خودم بشم لازمه.&lt;br /&gt;دیروز منی که چیزی نبودم جز خنده، جلوی دوستام به هق هق افتادم.&lt;br /&gt;ضعیف شدم. خودم اینو حس میکنم. می خوام شروع کنم کمی ورزش و عیاشی. بذارید اتاقم و بهم بر گردونن. بذارین خدامو بهشتمو پس بدن، اون وقت شب های عیاشی راه می ندازم بالای درخت ممنوعه. همه ی کسایی رو که دوست دارم دعوت میکنم به صحنه ی خیال و با تک تکشون می رقصم. من چیکویی تیتا میشم، بی هویت و آزاد. همون طور که همیشه تو اتاقم بودم. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114621137638598619?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114621137638598619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114621137638598619&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621137638598619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114621137638598619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_28.html' title='من، چیکویی تیتا'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114582076861295110</id><published>2006-04-23T23:02:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:33.049+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/51649417/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/30/51649417_100046b130_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/51649417/"&gt;portrait&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;مادر جووووووووووون&lt;br /&gt;یادش بخیر&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114582076861295110?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114582076861295110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114582076861295110&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114582076861295110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114582076861295110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/portrait-originally-uploaded-by.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114582025068677414</id><published>2006-04-23T22:54:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.975+03:30</updated><title type='text'>my ex room mates</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/133630546/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/48/133630546_8a897de616_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/133630546/"&gt;my sculpture lives&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I miss my room. I miss my room mates:(&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114582025068677414?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114582025068677414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114582025068677414&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114582025068677414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114582025068677414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/my-ex-room-mates.html' title='my ex room mates'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114530612200381611</id><published>2006-04-18T00:03:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.909+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;من نمی گم چقدر از هوش، ولی می گم چقدر از تخیل بی بهره ان همه ی اون کسایی که با افتخار خدا رو انکار می کنن. یعنی حاضر نیستن برای خاطر دل خودشون هم که شده، برای 1 بار هم که شده، علم ناقص بشری رو فدای قدرت احساس و تخیلی کنن که حدی نداره و مرزی؟&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;تا حالا اسم فیلم زندگی 2 گانه ی ورونیکا به گوشتون خورده؟ من فیلم رو ندیدم. ولی اسم فیلم معنی ای رو برام تداعی می کنه که باعث می شه به زندگانی 2 گانه ی خودم فکر کنم. اون قسمت از زندگیم که در خواب به سر می برم و اون قسمتی که در بیداری. خیلی خوبه که آدم بتونه رویاهاشو مو به مو به خاطر بیاره.&lt;br /&gt;همیشه که از خواب بیدار می شم برام مثل اینه که 1 ضربه ی محکم زدن به سرم و فراموشی گرفتم، و بعد کم کم، در طول روز...، یک جرقه و یهو تداعی می شه همه ی اون رویاها. و من معلق می مونم بین زندگی دو گانه ی خودم. واقعیت تلخ و رویای شیرین؟ واقعیت شیرین و رویای تلخ؟&lt;br /&gt;من به عنوان کسی که رویا هاشو به خاطر می یاره اعلام می کنم که، ...که؟ که مرز رویا و واقعیت اونقدر باریکه که، که ... نمیدونم.&lt;br /&gt;به طرز عجیبی داره این موضوع در ذهنم شکل می گیره که زندگی بالواقع لایه لایه ست. واقعا دارم به موضوعی که در فیلم ماتریکس مطرح شده اعتقاد پیدا میکنم. نه اعتقادی فقط در این حد که ماتریکس برام یک فلسفه ی جذاب باشه. اعتقاد در حدی که دارم گمان میکنم، بودند کسایی که از این لایه از زندگی خارج بشن، و در لایه هایی محیط بر لایه ی زندگی ما، نظاره گر ما باشن. حتی این فکر داره به ذهنم خطور می کنه که چطوره منم خودمو اماده ی رفتن کنم؟ همین حالاشم قسمتی از آمادگی شکل گرفته. من اعتقاد پیدا کردم.&lt;br /&gt;به نظر شما شباهتی هست بین شازده کوچولو،فیلم ماترکس و دنیای لایه لایه؟&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;من به افتخار همه ی رویاهام و اعتقاداتم، و یا شاید تخیلاتم تصمیم دارم در پروژه ی طراحی این ترمم، کمی دیوانگی به خرج بدم.&lt;br /&gt;در دهه ی اخیر معماری شکل گرفته به اسم معماری فولدینگ یا لایه لایه که به نحوی معانی فوق رو هم در بر می گیره. البته این نظر شخصی بندست. به هر حال من می خوام لقمه ای چاق تر از دهان مبارکم بردارم و .......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;امروز کوچمون پر بود از عطر اقاقیا.&lt;br /&gt;امروز دل من گرفته بود.&lt;br /&gt;امروز ریه هامو پر کردم از عطر اقاقیا و ذوق کردمو از جناب خدا پرسیدم، تو هم دلت واسه من تنگ شده؟&lt;br /&gt;امروز فهمیدم جناب خدا باهم قهره. منم وقت نداشتم نازشو بکشم تا با هم آشتی کنیم. برا این کارا زمان لازمه. مکان لازمه. فرصت مناسب لازمه. ولی من نه تنها پس فردا امتحان اسکیس دارم، که مکانش رو هم ندارم. حالا حالا مونده تا تیکه زمین سه در پنج منو دوباره بهم بر گردونن.&lt;br /&gt;امروز من باید درس می خوندم برای پس فردا ولی در عوض همه کار کردم جز درس خوندن. حالام عذاب وجدان دارم که کمی استرس چاشنیش شده.&lt;br /&gt;خوش خبری. کتاب فضا زمان معماری رو هم خوندم تموم شد.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;برای اسکیسم دعا کنین خواننده جونا &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114530612200381611?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114530612200381611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114530612200381611&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114530612200381611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114530612200381611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_18.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114516854452584221</id><published>2006-04-16T09:50:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.845+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>For this term we are to design official-commercial-cultural center in 9000 m^2 lot. We passed our first skiss on the past Sunday, and the second one is going to be on wednesday. In first skiss I did good, and I'm thinking of some new ideas to improve my project.&lt;br /&gt;Because of my modular design our professor talked about my project as a modern work. But what I don’t wanna be is a modern architect. And of course we are not living in 1930 to feel proud of our modern designs. I prefer to do some FOLDING architecture. But…&lt;br /&gt;What disappoints me is, there is no sample architecture for the present age in Iran. We have no echo-tech architecture. No folding architecture. no Punctuated equilibrium architecture. And no organic architecture. Although we might have some deconstructed and post modern buildings, but they're again so poor in concept and idea.&lt;br /&gt;So apart from all these, I'd better think about the concepts I wanna use in my project.. but that's even hard to reach.&lt;br /&gt;Any recommendation is more than welcomed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I realized that AT TIME, more than anything I wish to enter the fine-arts university of Tehran. I donno if I'm ready to do anything to reach this aim, but sometimes I feel I can try.&lt;br /&gt;So, again any recommendation is more than welcomed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----------&lt;br /&gt;things that occupy my mind:&lt;br /&gt;1-find some free time to do more practices on ...&lt;br /&gt;2-imrpove my sketching skills&lt;br /&gt;3-to finish reading "time, space and architecture"&lt;br /&gt;4-go and look for a fine back pack or bag to buy.&lt;br /&gt;5-whether to buy a backpack or a bag?&lt;br /&gt;6-if I must talk to Pennie or not.&lt;br /&gt;7-why I feel bad right after I talk to Pennie?&lt;br /&gt;8-there is a book series that I must find and buy. My brother used to have them in his library but I'm the reason most of them are lost.&lt;br /&gt;9-to find accompany for Tehran book fair. (my brothers are both there, but I can't live in their place. And of course things I'm after in Tehran are totally different from the things they're after!)&lt;br /&gt;10-if I'll find the chance to go to Tehran or notL.&lt;br /&gt;11-i haven't called Angie yet and she wont ever forgive meL.&lt;br /&gt;12-i haven’t called mona yet and she wont ever forgive me.&lt;br /&gt;13-how to study my lessons the way they suit me!&lt;br /&gt;15-where have I lost my "TARAHI EGHLIMI" book??!?!?! I've paid 9800 tomans on it. I need to read it again soon for I've totally forgotten everything I've read in it.&lt;br /&gt;16-how to confirm my attention in concrete community? I'm after some serious scientific corporation&lt;br /&gt;17-when I can buy the new camera? Where to steal 1 milion toman?&lt;br /&gt;18-when I can have my room back to do singing practices?!?! it's cruelty to sing by my parents side. You have no idea!&lt;br /&gt;19-i envy one of our professors, "Dr Kamelnia"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114516854452584221?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114516854452584221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114516854452584221&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114516854452584221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114516854452584221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/for-this-term-we-are-to-design.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114516832328745927</id><published>2006-04-16T09:46:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.785+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;past written texts:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;امروز بالاخره اونقدر بزرگ شدم که بفهمم چرا فیلم همشهری کین شاهکاره!&lt;br /&gt;1 حرفی هم برادرم وقتی کوچیکتر بودم زد که حالا دلیلشو درک می کنم. بهم گفت: "تا سن 19 سالگیت کتاب داستان ها بیشتر از هر کتابی به دردت می خوره."&lt;br /&gt;البته من الان 21 سالمه و هنوزم که هنوزه داستان از زندگیم حذف نشده. ولی خودمو مدیون تک تک کتابایی میدونم که تا به حال خوندم.&lt;br /&gt;امروز حتی اونقدر بزرگ شدم که ربط مکتب های مختلف رو بهم درک می کردم. و تاثیرشون روی معماری، موسیقی، سیاست، فیلم سازی، نقاشی...&lt;br /&gt;معنی کلمه ی نوستالژی رو به طور عام و خاص بهتر از هر موقعی فهمیدم.وووووو.........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;امروز در کنار همه ی مدروکات 1 چیز مهم هم کشف کردم.(دو نقطه دی) اونم اینکه: من بیشتر از اینکه عاشق آدم های با صورت زیبا بشم، عاشق آدم هایی با فن بیان خوب میشم.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;امروز 1 آقایی به مدت 2 ساعت حرفای خوب خوب میزد. آخر صحبتاش که ازمون پرسید چه مقدار از حرفاشو فهمیدیم من با جرات گفتم همشو. این واسه خودم که خیلی خوب بود. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114516832328745927?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114516832328745927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114516832328745927&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114516832328745927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114516832328745927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/past-written-texts-1.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114475117985094287</id><published>2006-04-11T13:55:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.722+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="TEXT-JUSTIFY: kashida; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: justify; TEXT-KASHIDA: 0%"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="TEXT-JUSTIFY: kashida; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: justify; TEXT-KASHIDA: 0%"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;دارم کتاب معماری معاصر غرب رو می خونم. خیلی خوبه. برای همه خوبه. خلاصه شده ی چند کتاب خیلی خوب:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="TEXT-JUSTIFY: kashida; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: justify; TEXT-KASHIDA: 0%"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;فضا، زمان، معماری&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="TEXT-JUSTIFY: kashida; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: justify; TEXT-KASHIDA: 0%"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;تاریخ معماری مدرن.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl" style="TEXT-JUSTIFY: kashida; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: justify; TEXT-KASHIDA: 0%"&gt;&lt;span lang="FA" style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;واقعا کاش همه می خوندن و از عقب افتادگی معماری کشورمون خبردار میشدن. اونوقت شاید سرمایه دارها این همه پول رو خرج ساختن این همه ساختمون های بی ارزش نمی کردن. برای پیشرفت معماری کشور فقط سواد معمارها کافی نیست.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114475117985094287?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114475117985094287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114475117985094287&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114475117985094287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114475117985094287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_114475117985094287.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114475109948552047</id><published>2006-04-11T13:53:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.654+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;من دارم آهننگ های خانم دولسه پونتس رو دانلود می کنم. مامانمم مثل من عاشق آهنگاش شدن. من همین اواخر فهمیدم سلیقه ی موسیقایی من و مامان خوشگلیم عین همه.&lt;br /&gt; امروز با مامان بابام رفتیم یکی از اون محله های خیلی قدیمی مشهد. جای باغ نادری. بعد هم از جلوی دبیرستان فردوسی رد شدیم. موقعی که من بچه بودم برادرم اونجا میرفت دبیرستان. منم همیشه بهش حسودیم میشد. بعد از سالها بود که دوباره دبیرستان رو میدیدم. بعد هم رفتیم خیابن تهران. جای خونه ی قدیمیمون. پر از خاطره بود واسم. من همیشه خاطراتم به 2 دسته تفسیم میشه. قبل از 6 سالگی در خونه ی قدیمی و بعد از 6 سالگی در خونه ی جدید.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;بچگی هایم پر بود از سر شکستن و به طبقات خالی خانه سرک کشیدن. از کم های در بالا رفتن و از آن بالاها پایین جهیدن. بچگی هایم پر بود از مادر بزرگی که در نبود مادرم مراقبم بود. و جمله ای از من، تنها جمله ای از من که جاودانه شد. "ساعت تا کجا بیاد مامانم میاد؟". به همین دلیل بود که خیلی زود ساعت خواندن را یاد گرفتم. برای لحظه شماری ورود مادرم به خانه. چرا مادرم بیشتر از اینکه سهم من باشد باید سهم آن دانش آموزان احمق میشد؟ آخر من کی به مادرم اجازه دادم دیگران را در سهم من شریک کند؟&lt;br /&gt;حتی کودکیم پر میشد از مدرسه ی مادرم. و دخترکانی که دانش آموزان مادرم بودند. چقدر لوس بودند در برخورد با منی که ... چه بگویم؟&lt;br /&gt;بچگیم زندانی شد در مهد کودکی که در مدرسه ی مادرم احداث شد و من در آن 4 دیواری شریک شدم با نیکو که لام تا کام حرف نمی زد و سروش که وحشی بود و مربی ای که مهربان بود. آخر به من کتاب سیندرلا را هدیه کرد و من گمش کردم.&lt;br /&gt;پر بود از تنهایی منی که خواهر برادر هایم در مدرسه صبح را به بعد از ظهر میرساندند و من در خانه. پر بود از لگو. پر بود از شنل ها و دامن های پف داری که من با چادر نماز های مادرم درست می کردم. عروسک هایم برای ایفای نقش در داستان های من زیادی نا منعطف بودند. باید خودم دست به کار میشدم در امر خطیر ایفای نقش دختری که همه ی شاهزادگان عاشقش بودند.&lt;br /&gt;پر از ماشین کنترلی برادرم. و آروزی من در نگهداری حیوانات و مخالفت پدرم.&lt;br /&gt;اگرعجیب ترین قسمت آن بچگی ها ضبط صوتی بود که صدای کودکانه ام را جاودانه کردو نوار قصه هایم را از بین برد، در عوض زیبا ترین قسمتش بیدار شدن از خواب در تخت پدر و مادرم بود و قصه هایشان برای سحر و جادو کردن من و سپردنم به رویاهای شبانه. ولی چه تلخ بود روز هایی که من دیر تر بیدار شده بودم و رفته بودند آن قصه گویان و ساحران شبانه. چقدر اشک بود. چقدر به دنبال آن اشکها هق هق بود. چقدر تنهایی بود.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114475109948552047?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114475109948552047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114475109948552047&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114475109948552047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114475109948552047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post_11.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114470225005215445</id><published>2006-04-10T23:53:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.387+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;امروز بعد از چند روز نشستم خونه و دارم شکمی از عزای کلمات مدفون شده در می آرم.&lt;br /&gt;در تنهایی خودم تبدیل میشوم به ماده شیری بی تاج و تخت که می درد همه چیز را. اگر چه نه در ظاهر ولی در باطنم همه ی نرره شیرها را ریز ریز کردم.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;دیروز قبل از امتحان اسکیسم به جای درس خوندن داشتم می رقصیدم. یک فرصت ناب دست داد و من تنها شدم و پذیرایی خونه رو کردم پیست رقص و فقط یکی از آهنگهای جو داسین هی تکرار می شد و من هی بیشتر تو خودم غرق میشدم. خلاصه دیروز قبل از اسکیسم کلی رومانتیک شده بودم. ولی در عوض سر اسکیس اونقدر سر حال بودم که یه ذره هم بهم سخت نگذشت.&lt;br /&gt;دارم 1 کتاب جدید می خونم به اسم کافه زیر دریا. دوباره یکی از اون کتاباست که شبیه خوابای منه. واسه همین دوستش دارم. البته نه فقط واسه این 1 دلیل&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;چند روز پیش یکی از دوست هایم در حقم بد جنسی کرد. برگشتم پرسیدم ازش، "تو هم بدبخت شدی مگر؟". با تعجب نگاهم کرد. نفهمید چه میگویم. بدبخت تر از این حرف ها بود.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114470225005215445?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114470225005215445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114470225005215445&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114470225005215445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114470225005215445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114442646014551197</id><published>2006-04-07T19:39:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.327+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Past written texts:&lt;br /&gt;85/01/04&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The vanishing&lt;br /&gt;I watched the film today. It could be the story of my life. Still is. In search of something in the rest of your life. No matter what. but it uses up all you memory and mind. It uses up all your passion and songs. It uses up all your strength, and if you are waiting for the day that you'll forget, you'll let go of it, IT'S NEVER.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't cry for the drama. But I was scared. For I have sacred places too. Sacred collection of songs. I never refer to them, for I dunno what's gonna happen to me. I do have dreams also. and when I wake up I search for a sign I search for a meaning. And there's always someone to preach me, to try to convince me that I must go after something meaningful in my life.&lt;br /&gt;But my life has got its own meaning.&lt;br /&gt;I have a lost teacher (I've told about). One thing he taught me was to never censor myself. now I'm in the situation. I have nothing in my life to hide from ANYONE. I've revealed everything to my parents. To my everyone. I've written it. I've cried it. And now, I'm known by all of them.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone knows that I have dreams of lost desires.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone knows, I won it by becoming a loser.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone knows the reason why I'm always after new songs to sing my life.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone knows that I'll never creep outta my childish cover.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;But still everyone knows very little.&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days passed unconsciously. I wasn't home. I was the mother of 4 children. Two 16 year old boys. A girl 6 month younger than me. and another 7 year old baby.&lt;br /&gt;Because of that short 24 hours the 7 year old baby still calls me mommy. I was a good mommy indeed. I took off my sport close and I wore like Indian women does. That way I more looked like mommies. I washed their dishes. I warmed their meals. I slept them. I played with them. and i made them call me mommy instead,&lt;br /&gt;Wow. It's much of fun to be a mommy. I told my own mommy about it and she said. that's how virtual things are. Much of fun. She added, but for me it's more worriness than fun when you are sick, when you are sad, when you are unsatisfied, .........&lt;br /&gt;I dunno. I still consider it a fun. To raise a baby. And to give all your life for it. to make that baby a better man. Not one like yourself. Better, the best.&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My birthday's gone. I didn't make wishes really. i had no candle light to blow out. I didn't even talk to the moon, to the god. I didn't have the chance for any of them. i didn't talk to my persimmon tree. i didn't do many things that I always used to do on my birthdays. but no matter. What matters is that I feel like I am 21. And I am satisfied with that. For I don't really wish to be a sweetheart 18. I don't mind that I'm not a teen any more. What matters is what I feel at heart. And what I feel at heart is hard to explain.&lt;br /&gt;I received a very beautiful song lyric for my birthday. I haven't heard the song yet. But right now I'm downloading it. For this song will always remind of the time that I was a brand new 21 year old girl&lt;br /&gt;-----------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;I donno when Iran TV showed SO FAR SO CLOSE. But it was when I watched it for the first time. It was wonderful and I'm still so really sorry for it didn't go for Oscar.&lt;br /&gt;In film there was scene in which I felt like flying. Oh let me explain it.&lt;br /&gt;In my room is placed in the upper floor of the house. And its windows opens to the yard. The window is so big. 3 meter length and 2 meters height. My bed is placed right under the window. And when ever i sleep i have a big part of sky in frontta me. The south sky. In this sky there is group of stars that i always meet in the night or midnight. In this starry night, there are 7 starts that catches my eyes more than other. One is my love star. The other 6 are always together. 3 in one line and another 3 in another. One group is on horizon line and the other is on vertical. I named the stars when I was 14 years old. When I finished the book "three musketeers. I named 4 of them after 4 musketeers and the other 2 after 2 other precious characters of mine.&lt;br /&gt;the 6 stars are the one's that I always talk to, and i call them my best friends and ... well they've always meant so much to me.&lt;br /&gt;The 6 stars that I'm talking about are exactly the ones that are mentioned and addressed in the film. SAHABIE JABBAR. And if you've seen the film and if you also remember the scene that I'm talking about, you'll also remember that in film it was said if you look at them at the Norouz night and make a wish, your dream will come true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114442646014551197?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114442646014551197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114442646014551197&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114442646014551197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114442646014551197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/past-written-texts-850104-vanishing-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114433650165921560</id><published>2006-04-06T18:44:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.261+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hello and regards after a looooong time.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I was busy entertaining myself and so many others on the holidays.&lt;br /&gt;How do you doooooo? I missed you all. And more than anything I missed myself sitting at my pc telling you craps.&lt;br /&gt;My classes started. And I wasn’t home for past 2 nights. I couldn’t even sleep for I had to work with the other partners, so we make our conference ready for today. Just imagine that right after "13 be dar" I started studing so hard.&lt;br /&gt; I'm close to another depression for my classes started..&lt;br /&gt;NO. I LIED! Not only I'm not close, but actually I feel over happy. I received a gift today from a precious friend of mine. I went to K-Pub today to pay all my debts and to buy new books. And I received a book free as EIDY gift. Yoohooooooo. I was about to kiss him. But I was shy and instead I said: "kiiiisseeeeees".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I found a new friend today. Actually not so much new. But we got friendly today and we had things to talk about. She's lovely and energetic. Sweet and classy. Shiny and brilliant. And a bigger bookworm than I am! We have common friends, and… . well that caused me to feel close and comfortable with her. And to aware you of an old truth I must say, world is sooooooo small. For maybe I've known her for three or 4 years but I could never remember it was her!!!&lt;br /&gt;I also  bought some new books with her idea and I dunno if I'd like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heeeeeey. Before I forget, let me introduce you some good books to read. Please forgive me for I have to write them fingilish. Persian English:D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In water melon sugar--à Richard Brautigan&lt;br /&gt;Les belles images.--à Simone De Beauvoir.&lt;br /&gt;Like water for chocolate -àlaura Fsqivel&lt;br /&gt;Seyde ghezel ala dar America -à Richard Brautigan&lt;br /&gt;Li bar sotto il mare -à Stefano Benni&lt;br /&gt;vivir para contarla -àGabriel Garcia Marquez&lt;br /&gt;This is list of the books I read this holiday. And all are recommended to read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To tell you about the differences between this holiday and the past years holidays, I must say it was funny. Just imagine me and my sister and my 2 brothers sleeping in a very big hall. All in a row with some distance between each. And sometimes all of us fall into sleep in frontta tv after watching a film. So my parents are again back in their own room and it's almost 15 days that I haven’t slept on bed.&lt;br /&gt;The only thing that could worry me about this kindda sleeping was a habbit of mine. (eating apples in the midnight). But when you sleep in the same space with 3 others you always have to worry that the sound of you biting the apple wouldn’t wake them up. But well. One night I tried it and when I asked them the other day if my eating apple woke them up, they all claimed that they haven’t heard the noise. So I happily started my habits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because of my today home works I didn’t sleep last night. So I slept today afternoon and I had the strangest dreams. Actually it did me right. I mean I felt real good after having those dreams. And again, after a long time I missed someone I had forgotten for about 3 month. Missing that person again means so much to me. For it's a certification for I can forget some of my bad memories of a bitter sweet past. It's becoming complicated again I know. Well… I must stop censoring myself. For it's one of the things I've learnt from a great man. Ok . let me tell you like this.-à&lt;br /&gt;Different people come to your life and each of them leave some affection on you in very different ways. In my life I can remember 3 main people that affected my life so hard. And 2 of them, (except penny) left also bad affections on my life. And it's about the bittersweet memories they left on my mind. I see dreams about them. And in my dreams I see the things that sometimes are true. Sometimes it's a simple dream about a converstations we have. And sometimes it's so magical and tragical and symbolic. Last night I had one of those symbolic dreams of mine, which was revealing the devilish aspect of my teacher's personality. I know it's true. I know my teacher is devilish. And I know for a long time I was badly interested in this devilish teacher. I know that even those times that I was interested in him I had dreams about his devilish aspects, but I never believed in them, for he was a living God on the earth. But well. Soon the God disappeared and devil came out and… it was another story of my life which simply ended.&lt;br /&gt;But today when iwoke up, first I couldn’t remember any glimpse of my dream. But I was talking with my sister that suddenly a vision came on my mind, and YES, it was the dream that I was remembering. And I was like:&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?!?!?! Another dream of him? Another one again symbolic and magic?!?!?! But the truth was I was suddenly relieved. I was suddenly happy and charged. And not only I didn't feel bad but I felt like I miss my teacher. I felt like even the devil is …&lt;br /&gt;Oh, that's almost all…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114433650165921560?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114433650165921560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114433650165921560&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114433650165921560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114433650165921560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/04/hello-and-regards-after-looooong-time.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114285472083482845</id><published>2006-03-20T14:54:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.125+03:30</updated><title type='text'>10 hours remaining to new year</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;10 hours remaining to new year.&lt;br /&gt;last night i stayed awake as much as i could to think over the year passed.&lt;br /&gt;thing's i've gained, and things i've lost. mostly friends.&lt;br /&gt;all the good and bad i did.&lt;br /&gt;all the happiness and sadness i brought to my family and friends life.&lt;br /&gt;all the lonelinesses i made.&lt;br /&gt;how much i loved, how much i hated.&lt;br /&gt;how i cried and laughed.&lt;br /&gt;how i shouted and sympathized.&lt;br /&gt;all the new places i saw.&lt;br /&gt;all the new people i met.&lt;br /&gt;all the new things i learned.&lt;br /&gt;all the dreams i made come true.&lt;br /&gt;all the dreamers dreams i made come true.&lt;br /&gt;all the good i forgot, all the bad i learnt.&lt;br /&gt;this year again i lost a best freind. a teacher. i don't know how. but i lost it. i lost something i build all my last year upon. something i remembered of the most. and all was strength when i used to think about it.&lt;br /&gt;oooooh. this one's so complicated to be said in this rush hour of the last year.&lt;br /&gt;back when i was a child, it was realy hard to imagine me 21. it was even hard to imagine me 18. i used to watch mommy's journals and i used to envy the beautiful models. there was a woman among them that i wished the most to look like her when i grow young. i always used to imagine me with short skirts and long legs. that time i used to think i'll be married by age 21, i was only 6! or maybe less.&lt;br /&gt;i remember the time that i assumed 20 as the biggest number. i mentioned it and my brother said: 1000 is bigger than 20. even 1000 isn't the biggest number. i remember i went to mommy complaining that "behrooz says 20 isn't the biggest number." i expected mommy to correct him.&lt;br /&gt;can you believe that the only reason that made me go to school was mommy scaring me of my fututing becoming a servent washing toilets? not to wash the toilets in future was the only motive for me to go to school.&lt;br /&gt;i started writing diaries since i was 10. after 11 years i write still the same. with the same theme. in my diaries i used to write:&lt;br /&gt;dear older mona? you fine? you ok? have you turned into beautifull lady or no? are you happy? are you as wise as me!?&lt;br /&gt;this used to be the first line of almost all the new texts.&lt;br /&gt;this year has new song to me again. a french song by joe dassin. in future, when it becomes another memory, it'll be a memory of a girl who gazed into a blue picture and sank in it. memory of me who was about to dance to the rythme of this new year's song. in this memory i'll always have short brown hair, brown eyes and eyebrews with a face laughing. eyes shining. legs shaking of a desire to dance in the middle of a cafe.&lt;br /&gt;what will i become 365 days after this? will my hair be still the same? or i've dyed it? NO! NEVER!&lt;br /&gt;you know? i still haven't started learning the things i was to start befor the new year. i was to start learning french. i was to get my driving license. i was to learn making websites. i was to finally start wrting a book...........&lt;br /&gt;and i also was to finish so many things i've started long befor and i still am struggeling. i have started reading so many architectures book and i'm still on!!!! at summer i translated a book and i started translating another and it's still unfinished!&lt;br /&gt;instead there are things that i've done and done and overdone. i've read so many litrature books(mommy and daddy are both worrid about my eyes). i've watched too many films. i've taken soooooooo many pictures. i've downloaded so much of music. i've talked so much. i've gone to k-pub more than usual.&lt;br /&gt;there are also things that i've done and i'm all satisfied with them and i won't menton them here for i don't like you to .... .leave it!:D&lt;br /&gt;important events that taken place this year:&lt;br /&gt;1-we have a new member in family. (my sister married)&lt;br /&gt;2-i made one of my dreams come true. (that's the thing i don't wanna mention here)&lt;br /&gt;3-i met a gentleman. i was about to fall in love that ........:)) no. nothing happened.&lt;br /&gt;4- i might start working with a group. i'm still thinking about it. that's depending on so many factors. the biggest factor is i must start studing harder than ever. (anyway, all the decistion and opportunity is because of what happend this year)&lt;br /&gt;5-i cut my hair&lt;br /&gt;6-i started taking blue pills!!!!&lt;br /&gt;7-i revealed one of my biggest secrets to 3 of freinds.&lt;br /&gt;8-i REstarted my freindship with 2 and half of old freinds.&lt;br /&gt;9-i fell outta love. (i thought it was love). NO. none of you readers can guess whome i mean. NO. not even you.:D NO. it was in a much different way.&lt;br /&gt;10-i started having strange dreams.&lt;br /&gt;11- i quited listening to a colection of my favourite songs.&lt;br /&gt;12-i started this weblog.&lt;br /&gt;13- i got acquainted with a precious freind who encouraged me to start this weblog.&lt;br /&gt;14-i made an sketch of my desire house.(it's sooooo simple and cute)&lt;br /&gt;15-for the first time in my life there was a sitiuation in which i felt like a princess, or maybe a queen.&lt;br /&gt;16-i realized without my mother i will simply die. i won't be killed. it will be a natural death. i've got reasoble certifications.&lt;br /&gt;17-.i realized it's we that decide what is the best. there is no ideal best in the world. there are no factors for determining the best. that's how we value something, someone.&lt;br /&gt;18-i think, i guess(i mean i'm not sure)....the biggest art is to have a kind pure heart. is to make other people dreams come true. to value their desires.for me Amilie is still the portrait of an angel. this idea came to my mind yesterday. yesterday belongs to this old year.&lt;br /&gt;19-i gained a freedom that never in my life i've ever had.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;at time i can't remember of so many things. so this part is to be continued.&lt;br /&gt;there are also things that has remained unchanged in me:&lt;br /&gt;1-i'm still childish.&lt;br /&gt;2-i still believe most importants events of our life take place when we haven't scheduled them&lt;br /&gt;3-i still believe no one will ever love me like my parents does.&lt;br /&gt;4-i still believe in God. more than ever. prettier than ever. it's increasing as time passes by. it's been so since i realized what God is.&lt;br /&gt;5-i still wish to be beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;6-i still donno if i was guilty&lt;br /&gt;7-i still am weak in showing my parents how much i love them.&lt;br /&gt;8-i still donno what profession i'll have in future(if i may have any profession)&lt;br /&gt;9-i still donno if i'll forget or no.&lt;br /&gt;10-&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;things that made me happy this year:&lt;br /&gt;1-having that dream come true:D&lt;br /&gt;2-people who told me i'm goodlooking&lt;br /&gt;3-gaining the freedom i never had&lt;br /&gt;4-succeeding in studing harder than befor(university lessons i mean)&lt;br /&gt;5-my daddy promising to pay money for 3 essentiol demands of mine&lt;br /&gt;6-daddy buying me something&lt;br /&gt;7-daddy and mommy showing me new emotions.&lt;br /&gt;8-every book i bought brough happiness to my life&lt;br /&gt;9-that teacher&lt;br /&gt;10-REstarting my friendship....&lt;br /&gt;11-having that new precious friend. everytime we talk it's a big fun and happiness&lt;br /&gt;12-every message i recieved from a friend made me happy.&lt;br /&gt;13-my sister and i sleeping on my parents twin bed and my sister reading me books till i sleep&lt;br /&gt;14-the new member made me both happy and sad.( the sad part is i don't have my sister as much as i used to have). (the happy part is .....soooooooooo much)&lt;br /&gt;15-&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to be continued.&lt;br /&gt;P.S.dear fizi, i missed your message in which you introduced some architecture sites. thank you for your comments.(as long as i haven't used my english for so long i'm forgetting words. that's why i switch to wrting in farsi.)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114285472083482845?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114285472083482845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114285472083482845&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114285472083482845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114285472083482845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/10-hours-remaining-to-new-year.html' title='10 hours remaining to new year'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114267554473689096</id><published>2006-03-18T13:16:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:32.064+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.اونقدر نازمو کشید که پاره شد. منم تصمیم گرفتم کلی نازشو بکشم&lt;br /&gt;!!ببینم خوشش میاد&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.پ.ن. ممنون از لینکها، فیزی. خیلی خوب بود.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114267554473689096?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114267554473689096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114267554473689096&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114267554473689096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114267554473689096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/blog-post_18.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114252101542133718</id><published>2006-03-16T18:24:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.772+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.arcspace.com"&gt;www.arcspace.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;.راستش خیلی به خودم فشار آوردم تا بالاخره دلم راضی شد این سایت رو اینجا معرفی کنم&lt;br /&gt;اگر معماری می خونید که شک نکنید این سایت خیلی به دردتون می خوره. اگرهم معماری نمی خونید ولی ذوق معماری دارید هم، 1 سر بزنید بد نیست&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114252101542133718?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114252101542133718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114252101542133718&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114252101542133718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114252101542133718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/www.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114252081718718359</id><published>2006-03-16T18:19:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.711+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;تنها چیزی که همین الانه حوس کردم 1 دوربین توپه که باهش برم عکاسی. قراره موبایلی که در آینده خواهم داشت (گوش شیطون کر) بفروشم، با پولام بگذارم رو هم، باهشون 1 دوربین بخرم&lt;br /&gt;بابا جان میگن آخر مگه تو عکاسی؟&lt;br /&gt;منم می گم، آخر بابا جان، چرا که نشم؟&lt;br /&gt;.از این مدل حرفا زیاد می شنوم من&lt;br /&gt;آخر مگه تو نقاشی؟&lt;br /&gt;آخر مگه تو مترجمی؟&lt;br /&gt;آخر مگه تو نویسنده یی؟&lt;br /&gt;آخر مگه تو موزیسینی؟&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;راست می گن آخه. من هیچ کدوم نیستم. ولی خوب پس من چه کارم؟  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;(بابا جان می گن شما خانم معماری. (بابان دیگه. از این حرفا بابا جان به من نزنه، کی بزنه&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114252081718718359?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114252081718718359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114252081718718359&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114252081718718359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114252081718718359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/1.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114252054135832723</id><published>2006-03-16T18:14:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.653+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;.دیشب رفته بودیم خرید، 1 آقا دایره زنه اومد جلو که بهش پول بدم. کف دایرشم 2 تا 200 تومانی بود&lt;br /&gt;.گفتم ، خوب آقا جان، شما یکم دایره بزن ببینم اصلا دلم شاد میشه که بخوام پولی بدم&lt;br /&gt;!!!!گفت ، محرمه. شما همین جوری کمک کن&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114252054135832723?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114252054135832723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114252054135832723&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114252054135832723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114252054135832723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/blog-post_16.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114249548965952606</id><published>2006-03-16T11:20:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.591+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;مرز بین واقعیت و رویا خیلی باریکه ها.&lt;br /&gt;امروز با ناراحتی از مامانم پرسیدم، یعنی به نظر شما ........؟&lt;br /&gt;مامانم خیلی ساده فقط گفتن نه.&lt;br /&gt;گفتم آخه خودتون گفتین!&lt;br /&gt;مامانم با تعجب نگام کردن، پرسیدن من کی گفتم؟!&lt;br /&gt;منم خیلی راحت بی خیال قضیه شدم، گفتم احتمالا خواب دیدم.&lt;br /&gt;واقعا هم فقط می خواستم مطمئن بشم که خواب دیده بودم.&lt;br /&gt;مکافاتی دارم منم با این خواب دیدنم!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;از لارا فابیان هم 2-3 تا آهنگ دانلود کردم.&lt;br /&gt;"I will love again"&lt;br /&gt;از هر خواننده که می خوام آهنگ دانلود کنم، می بینم حداقل 1 آهنگ مشترکا با خانم لارا پازینی خونده. و الحق این خانم با هر کس خونده صداشو تحت الشعاع قرار داده. باریکلا لارای ناز و مهربون!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 مشکل جدید هم به مشکلاتم اضافه شد. دارم فکر می کنم، من به کیا باید عیدی بدم؟ خوب بالاخره منم تا چند روز دیگه 21 سالم میشه. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114249548965952606?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114249548965952606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114249548965952606&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114249548965952606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114249548965952606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/blog-post_15.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114241456685817973</id><published>2006-03-15T12:51:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.526+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between dream and reality. This astonishment kept me in bed for 3 extra hours today, and I slept till 10 am.&lt;br /&gt;Last night I didn’t really have a lonely celebration. I mean after I made myself some banana milk and  danced with a glass in my hand with Ti Amo I heard the door opened and my sister with her hus appeared. So we had our 4Shanbe Soori with another family friend. Mostly including fathers and mothers and si-si girls. I really wished I had my celebration alone than to go to the other end of town to greet the people I was seeing most of them for the very first time. Time to say goodbye was the only moment that my eyes shined of happiness.&lt;br /&gt;Has it ever happened to you that you'd be in lack of money to buy birthday gifts? Right now I'm in 19000 toman debt. all because of the books I've bought recently. Mommy believes I'm an addict. She's right. Beside the sickness of expressing me, addiction is another sickness that bothers me :D. I've asked both mommy and daddy that instead of buying me gifts, give me the money, for first of all I have to pay my depts. And they wonder why not even a little I resemble them. They're never in debts. and to tell you the truth buying gifts ain't the only thing that bothers me. There are too many books in K-pub that has been seducing me for days to buy them.&lt;br /&gt;My internet connection is such a sucker today. I can't download music. And I can't open so many pages. Beside last night celebration and also nightmares I had, this is another bugger that comes to ruin my day. My lucky day it must be.&lt;br /&gt;I'd better leave. Today I got nothing to write but nagging.&lt;br /&gt;That's how I passed the celebration. L&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114241456685817973?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114241456685817973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114241456685817973&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114241456685817973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114241456685817973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/sometimes-its-hard-to-tell-difference.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114241164359446044</id><published>2006-03-15T12:03:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.400+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't mind if you laugh at me. I won't mind if you mock. I'll also laugh with you. Not laughing. I know it's grinning. But I still won't mind. I know it's funny. Funny that last night, Ti Amo was in a shape of a dancing heart and today, it's in shape of tears. It's funny, I don't deny. But it's all God's fault, I don't lie.&lt;br /&gt;My astonishment remains. That dream doesn’t leave my mind. And I wonder how, why, why, why, I had to dream that dream!&lt;br /&gt;15 days ago I had a magnificence dream. That dream broke all the spells. I woke up and danced to the rhythm of happiness. Rhythm of earth heart beat and melody of my love songs. Love songs in shape of dreamful reality. But still love song. For 15 days I lived happily. In the character of beautiful girl. Lonely but happy. For 15 days I had all my dreams alive. I could dance with any rhythm, coz I had all the melodies on my mind. Last night another spell spread it's web on me. Chained my heart and imprisoned me. 3 words dream spell was stronger that the kiss spell. I don't know how Sleeping beauty and Snow White's spell broke with a single kiss, while my spell ain't breaking even with …&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114241164359446044?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114241164359446044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114241164359446044&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114241164359446044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114241164359446044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-dont-mind-if-you-laugh-at-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114240970673694299</id><published>2006-03-15T11:29:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.269+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;چقدر نمی فهمم من! از این همه نفهمیدن در شگفتم! چه حکمتی داره هی و هی خواب دیدن کسانی که رفتن برای همیشه. یا خدا خواب منو با خواب یک نفر دیگه قاطی کرده, یا اینکه حضرت خوابگرد می خواسته بره تو خواب یکی دیگه و سر از خواب من در آورده.&lt;br /&gt;هنوز که یادمه بگذارین همینجا ثبتش کنم. من داشتم زار می زدم که بهم گفت: جان؟ چی شده؟ درست مدلی که خودم به یک نفری که داره گریه میکنه, میگم: جان چی شده.&lt;br /&gt;همین یک جمله گند زد به روزم رفت. میخواستم بهش بگم, گندت بزنن. این مهربونیا به تو نیومده. ولی به جاش از خواب پریدمو تا 3 ساعت بعد تو جام غلت زدم.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114240970673694299?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114240970673694299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114240970673694299&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114240970673694299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114240970673694299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/blog-post_14.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114235145094542309</id><published>2006-03-14T19:18:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.208+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I found some of Helene Segara tracks. Yes. It was wonderful. Her voice is great.&lt;br /&gt;But what I listen these days is mostly a song named I'll Make Love To You. By Boys 2 Men. It's about celebrating a girl birthday. And well, if you don't know I must inform you that on march 22nd it's my birthday. Tonight is 4Shanbe Soori, and although during the past month, I've made so many plans for tonight, but all screwed up. Still I don't know if there'll be somewhere to go. Right now one might call and ask me somewhere. But so far I'm to stay at home and celebrate all alone. My bros are far away. And my sister and her husband got some private plans :D. our celebration is gonna be on Friday with my bros back home and all the family. So I ain't complaining. I'm an expert in celebrating all alone.:D&lt;br /&gt;Uh-oh, i remembered something to say here. Today in front of 50 people including university professors and students I stood up to talk about architecture and concrete. All the attendees were civil engineers and they were making contracts of their future works and participations in concrete activities. In architecture univ we also study about concrete constructions. But while we have only 2 units, civil students have 10 units all about concrete. But about the use of concrete in constructions and elevations … of course it's architects that know the best. so after 2 boys and a girl among students went to talk about what a student must do in such communities, I raised my hand and asked if I could talk! I was let and while I was shivering from legs part I went in frontta that 50 to talk about architects place in concrete community. Fortunately it didn't turn out bad. And my speak seemed reasonable to the attendees.&lt;br /&gt;But well, sometimes you have to put away all your doubts and shyness to enter the scientific communications. And in further future work battle field.&lt;br /&gt;And of course what encouraged me to talk was a professor named Dr Abrishami. Today he made one of the best speeches I've ever heard. One of those great men that I always wish we had more in Iran.&lt;br /&gt;HAPPY 4SHANBE SOOORIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII.&lt;br /&gt;I'm leave to go celebraaate.&lt;br /&gt;p.s. thank you Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous Helen segara Ti Amo song is great. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114235145094542309?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114235145094542309/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114235145094542309&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114235145094542309'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114235145094542309'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-found-some-of-helene-segara-tracks.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114227775193281017</id><published>2006-03-13T22:46:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.145+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;من گفته بودم جیرجیکارو دوست دارم, نگفته بودم؟&lt;br /&gt;الانم یه جیرجیرکه داره با سازدهنیش, اهنگ تنهاییه خودشو می خونه. آخیییییی&lt;br /&gt;کی می دونه آلن سگارا چه جوری نوشته میشه؟ میخوام برم آهنگاشو دانلود کنم. یه خانوم با سلیقه گفته اهنگاش قشنگه.&lt;br /&gt;دارم "تلخکامی برای سه خابگرد" رو می خونم. از جناب مارکز. یه اقا مهربونه که عقیده داره صدای من شبیه صدای فروغ فرخزاده, گفته تا همه ی کتابای مارکزو نخوندم نرم سراغ "زنده ام تا روایت کنم". چشم.&lt;br /&gt;فعلا با این فونته بی ریخت بسوزین و بسازین تا من فونته خوشگل پیدا کنم&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114227775193281017?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114227775193281017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114227775193281017&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114227775193281017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114227775193281017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/blog-post_13.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114150089658659439</id><published>2006-03-04T23:00:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:31.025+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;yesterday was:&lt;br /&gt;1384/12/12&lt;br /&gt;2006/3/3&lt;br /&gt;1427/2/2&lt;br /&gt;specail day in calenders. wasnt it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we are rebuilding the 1st floor of the house. one of the workers that work on the house is a 18 year old boy. today i went upstair to see their work that i heard him singing:&lt;br /&gt;"zendegi ay zendegi...&lt;br /&gt;khaste am&lt;br /&gt;khaste am"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;translation:&lt;br /&gt;"life! oh life!&lt;br /&gt;i'm tired"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;his father was sent to jail when he was 3. he is living with a 15 year old brother and his mother. so he is the one who works to support a family.&lt;br /&gt;when he was singing the song i liked to stay and talk to him. tell him that i'm tired too. that well... i'm not doing physical works. i'm not worried about feeding a family. i don't lack money. but i'm just as tired. so tired that i love to listen to him singing "khaste am, khaste am". that i lack too much too. i lack something that i can't buy it even with selling the earth, the universe. that what i lack can be what he never lacks in his future. that i would envy him. that i do envy him. and i am tired too.&lt;br /&gt;i didn't have the chance to tell him any of these. i just ran downstairs. made some benana milk for us.&lt;br /&gt;when i asked him to stop his work to drink the benana milk he blushed. i stayed back till he drank it all. when he was returning the glass, i asked if he liked it. he nodded yes and blushed again. i'm sure he would've blushed with every other word. i'm sure that he never had ....&lt;br /&gt;and he also never had....&lt;br /&gt;he hadnt even ...&lt;br /&gt;or even....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i've made some new decisions today. that from now on on the way back home i will get off the taxi sooner, so that i have a long way walk to home. actually long way run to the house. this will have some advantages of course. i'll save 50 tomans a day! i'll do some excersize. and of course i can think better when i run.&lt;br /&gt;there of course exist some disadvantages too. one is that mommy didnt like my idea at all and claimed that i'm not a child anymore!!! there are more. but i'm an optimist. so let all the disadvantages be! i do what i like to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;room status: everyone's asleep except me and my sister. the fun thing is that lately my sister and i are again sleeping in the same room and again after 10 years or more on the same bed. (my parents twin bed). we'll be sleeping in this room and on this bed till we have the house ready. that means for almost a month! NO NO. don't get me wrong! I aint complaining! :)&lt;br /&gt;music: demis roussos---&gt;forever and ever&lt;br /&gt;sister: reading a book&lt;br /&gt;me: happy and worried about tommorrow exam&lt;br /&gt;if you ask why i keep on writing here while i always nag about lack of time? that's because i'm the one who likes experesing herself in any possible way. or she'll blow up. there are so many people like this. believe me. you can even consider it a sickness! i myself consider it a sickness.&lt;br /&gt;have you read Milan Kundra's Immortaliy? read it and you'll know!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0060932384/002-1963892-5276069?v=glance&amp;n=283155"&gt;http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0060932384/002-1963892-5276069?v=glance&amp;amp;n=283155&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so, writing for me is like eating and sleeping. so, don't ever question me about this again;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114150089658659439?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114150089658659439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114150089658659439&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114150089658659439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114150089658659439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/forever-and-ever-sister-reading-book.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114140149092696826</id><published>2006-03-03T19:28:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.964+03:30</updated><title type='text'>the most blue sky.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"&gt;&lt;a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/106329121/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="" src="http://static.flickr.com/43/106329121_c8ca03ee2b_m.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/106329121/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;a village&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Originally uploaded by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;today we went gardening. we bought some new trees and flowers to plant and we had a nice job there. well believe me! gardening's the most refreshing work in the world.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;the soil everywhere, was rememberng the memory of green sleeves. and we had a heavy warm rain all over the city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;have you heard the Norooz red fishes are sick??? don't buy them from unreliable places.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on sunday i have a final exam and a conferance on wednesday. i haven't studied for any of them and at time i'm busy reading "The NewYork Atumn" movie script. &lt;a href="http://www.weeklyscript.com/Autumn%20In%20New%20York.txt"&gt;http://www.weeklyscript.com/Autumn%20In%20New%20York.txt&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;back from gardening and so much tired. much of homework and classes for tommorrow. i feel pity for the poor me.&lt;br /&gt;also sorry about the shots i've lost today, i'm thinking of having a better camera as soon as possible. i couldnt really have a fine shot of the most blue purple sky i've seen since i donno when.&lt;br /&gt;visiting the Simply Scripts site seduces me to go and buy some new DVDs.&lt;br /&gt;i like to watch "the newyork atumn" once more. and also "shine".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i remember one of ur professors claiming that there are only 2 misfortunes in all his life. 1-lack of time 2-much of fat:D&lt;br /&gt;now i see that LACK OF TIME is becoming my misfortune either. 24 hours a day aint enough for anyone!&lt;br clear="all"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114140149092696826?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114140149092696826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114140149092696826&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114140149092696826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114140149092696826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/most-blue-sky.html' title='the most blue sky.'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-114122952107794147</id><published>2006-03-01T19:42:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.906+03:30</updated><title type='text'>i was left on the snow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"&gt;&lt;a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/106314956/"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="" src="http://static.flickr.com/40/106314956_ef3a5f38eb_m.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/106314956/"&gt;i was left on the snow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;winter is passing by either. and right when it ends i'll born and my spring starts.&lt;br /&gt;green as i am.&lt;br /&gt;happy as i smile.&lt;br /&gt;i'll dance in it's rain.&lt;br /&gt;i'll sing with it's new born birds.&lt;br /&gt;i'll fly with it's clouds.&lt;br /&gt;i'll run to catch the wind...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;winter's becoming another bittersweet memory. and i've spread all my memories all around. i've sung it, written it, recorded it, orr....&lt;br /&gt;just take a look at photo!&lt;br clear="all"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-114122952107794147?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/114122952107794147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=114122952107794147&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114122952107794147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/114122952107794147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2006/03/i-was-left-on-snow.html' title='i was left on the snow'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112983561467277842</id><published>2005-10-20T22:42:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.846+03:30</updated><title type='text'>God bless animals</title><content type='html'>tonight i went to k-pub again to buy some architectural books i needed. and if you wanna find a meaning for bookworm, it's just me!&lt;br /&gt;on the way to k-pub,OH you have no idea, day after day it's becoming harder to pass through streets. boys are really getting aliens! i just can't understand why they're so savage. i always think God bless animals when i see the boys wondering in streets with their disgusting lusty dirty looks. well, i'm not the riligious type, but i always care about the cloth i wear. and except my hair that they'been the same since i was 10, i always wear long cloth, mostly dark, and very ordinary black pants. and all in all i'm the ordinary type. i mean i never show off with my cloth. but the boys have no sympathy. they look, the dirtiest looks, and they might even open they're mouth too say something. the point is i donno why i never hear what they say. i'm lucky i guess! it's even hard to wait for the taxies, for there stand any type of car in frontta you honking! and if you suggest i must just challenge them with words, i must inform you that i'm the timid type. it's even becoming my nightmare that i might get so angry to punch them in their faces and then they'll chase me all the way home and in some good sitiuation they'll kidnapp me!!!!&lt;br /&gt;i think i must start driving for the God's sake!!!&lt;br /&gt;that's how things go on in Iran. or i'd better say in holy Mashhad. streets are blowing of high population. wonderers are everywhere. parks, streets, passages. the funny thing is the parks of course. when ever i go there for running everyone consider my running as some fasion show!!!!!!! for this reason i've given up running in the parks. God knows nothing could make me happy like running could.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112983561467277842?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112983561467277842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112983561467277842&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112983561467277842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112983561467277842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/god-bless-animals.html' title='God bless animals'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112957721004590092</id><published>2005-10-17T22:10:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.727+03:30</updated><title type='text'>lonely lady Mona</title><content type='html'>oh i'm in a shallow sleepy mood. i hear mommy and sis whispering not to wake me up. oh it seems to be later than 3. i missed the class !!!!!!!! why no one ever wakes me up?&lt;br /&gt;they're still whispering and suddenly door opens and i open my eyes like a child who's about to start nagging and crying, complaining for waking her up . " darling" she said :&lt;br /&gt;-father and i arent going to be back till late, maryam's going on shopping with Z .are u to go anywhere or u stay alone ? " &lt;br /&gt;how she looks beautiful. Angie mommy. they're going somewhere good :( .all with out me.)&lt;br /&gt;-am i to be alone ? no i'll go somewhere if possible &lt;br /&gt;she likes to complain. but she knows me, so she just kindly reminds me of my keys and take cares and goodbye. i'm again in that shallow sleepy mood thinking of possible places to go. how i wish to go horseback riding or to airport or somewhere except the city. but how ? i'm all alone .i jump outta bed. the first to call is Sh ,they're busy with guests. S 's not home. M's not home either .the other M? no i don't call her .... and i wont call one more single person ... .is it possible if i get out on somewhere all alone? what to do ?!?!?! ... .now i'm in frontta mirror .how pale i look .i have no where to go? what can i do at home all alone? Aint it what u used to wish? being left all alone at home? but this has happened so much lately. i'm truly fed up. books ???? YUK .what's going to fill my midnight then. i've slept in the afternoon and a sleepless midnight is waiting for me there to hold me .&lt;br /&gt;i look pale. the computer was left on all while i was asleep .i turn the speakers on .ALL I WANT FOR CHRISMASS IS YOU .&lt;br /&gt;oh .it's car engine sound .they're leaving and i'm not really going to say goodbye. cruel family. i'm finally doomed to stay at home .GOOD BYE TO YOU i tell them deep from the heart. nice time .no body hear me from here. let them think i'm angry and in tiff .&lt;br /&gt;THERE'S A HERO, now Mariah carey sings. but here's no hero! and THERE'S AN ANSWER ,she goes on. But i can't see any answer! lady fool!&lt;br /&gt;apple pie !!! oh we've got apple pie with some juice. it's gonna bring joy to my lonesome evening .i'm the lady of the house. let's see what we can do to make our Mona happy ..................&lt;br /&gt;first I must shift to another music. Something not lying! THERE"S A HERO!!!! Sure!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"blind love is true&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the love that I got for you is gone&lt;br /&gt;If the river I've cried ain't that long&lt;br /&gt;Then I'm wrong, yes I'm wrong, this ain't a love song&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the pain that I'm feeling so strong&lt;br /&gt;Is the reason that I'm holding on&lt;br /&gt;Then I'm wrong, yeah I'm wrong - this ain't a love song"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's dedicate this lovesong to our lonely lady Mona&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112957721004590092?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112957721004590092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112957721004590092&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112957721004590092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112957721004590092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/lonely-lady-mona.html' title='lonely lady Mona'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112957436071005208</id><published>2005-10-17T22:07:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.672+03:30</updated><title type='text'>cricada story</title><content type='html'>oh me the murderer.&lt;br /&gt;the friday befor last we went camping, and there i found a cricket (cricada) and i brought it home to have his chirp melody during the day. so i imprisoned him in a match box and i brough it home and left it somewhere to take care of later. soon it was lost in the home and we could just hear him chirring from the utility room. finding a cricada in utility room?!?!?! oh god. of course i didnt know his chirt would sicken everyone. i thought they'll like it either. but well, just as soon as i knew it's a bugger to everyone it became a bugger to myself too! and then the exlorations started to find the poor cricada. and imagine the cricada seeing my mommy with insecticide spray in her hand.he would faint!!!&lt;br /&gt;so i tried hard to find him myself and instead i hear mommy reporting daddy the other day that she's spread the spray all over the untility room andnow the chirts have stopped.&lt;br /&gt;OH GOD&gt; it means he was killed??!?!?!&lt;br /&gt;so i spared some tears believing he was really dead and i was the killer. but just again the other day we heard him chiriing very weakly. i happened to be so happy and also so sad for this. and getting rid of consiouse pains i lived a week so happy not even rememberring him or caring if he chirrs healthy.&lt;br /&gt;just today i remembered he hasent chirred for a long time. and as matter of fact again just today i heard mommy telling daddy happily about finding the cricada's dead body in a POT!!!!!!!!! :(((((&lt;br /&gt;oh my God!!!! i am a murderer.... i'm a deviiiiiiiiiiiil. i caused his death. all i wanted was just good.&lt;br /&gt;me that i couldnt even hurt an ant has killed a cricada!&lt;br /&gt;apologize me God. apologize meee! :((&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112957436071005208?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112957436071005208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112957436071005208&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112957436071005208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112957436071005208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/cricada-story.html' title='cricada story'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112957423330121332</id><published>2005-10-17T22:05:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.617+03:30</updated><title type='text'>like when a mermaid had a cutten leg</title><content type='html'>oh my God, i'm shivering all through. and if any of you know me, you mighht also know how blood freaks me out. aaaaaay... today daddy cut his hand doing some mechanical things. uuuuuh... he cut his palm so deep that it was really painfull to him. i know it was painful coz it shows on his face when ever he's aching from something. and me? oh if you already donno, blood is just the scariest thing to me in the world. and imaggine me alone with daddy. i sat him somewhere and while shaking i was looking for some first aid stuff and i found the bandage and stuff and heeeeeeeeeeen. i should've done the bondage!!!! when daddy saw me about to cry and all shiver he was not to let me do it, but i finally managed to control my temper and like a brave girl who's seen blood all her life time i started. and ummm.... i did. i donno a good job or not. but i did it.&lt;br /&gt;i just remembered of how penny doing it when a mermaid had a cutten leg.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112957423330121332?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112957423330121332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112957423330121332&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112957423330121332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112957423330121332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/like-when-mermaid-had-cutten-leg.html' title='like when a mermaid had a cutten leg'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112919025464106908</id><published>2005-10-13T11:27:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.561+03:30</updated><title type='text'>Niobe all tears</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/51830869/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/28/51830869_ee6ae0aebb_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/monabolouri/51830869/"&gt;mystic2&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/monabolouri/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;regrets?&lt;br /&gt;i had a few&lt;br /&gt;but then again too few to mention&lt;br /&gt;sings pavarotti today again.:(&lt;br /&gt;me?&lt;br /&gt;no i'm not in love with this unlovely bloody hell called earth. :(&lt;br /&gt;God? &lt;br /&gt;we're in tiff&lt;br /&gt;me?&lt;br /&gt;sad, so sad&lt;br /&gt;God?&lt;br /&gt;he is punishing me&lt;br /&gt;me?&lt;br /&gt;no i can't take it&lt;br /&gt;God?&lt;br /&gt;he believes i can&lt;br /&gt;me?&lt;br /&gt;i feel like Odd One's Out(O O O)&lt;br /&gt;God?&lt;br /&gt;he doesnt care :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well yes. me, i am getting punished. me, i am not loved. me? i've lost even God.&lt;br /&gt;God? kenare god neshaste mige lengesh kon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;akhhh. i know i was sinful yesterday. i know i seeked for punishment. i know i couldnt forget. i know i couldnt sleep last night. i know that i can't eat today. i just know how it is to be punished. i dont object against being punished... but i just am saying... no i can't take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dammit! mommy just got in the room to call for lunch. as ever she didnt knock. how embarrassing it is when someone see your face wet of tears. i answered i'm not coming for lunch and i'm just adding to my sins. and i must just wait for more and more punishments to come to me and crush me and i cry no i can't take it. and and and ....................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"so what is a man?&lt;br /&gt;what has he got?&lt;br /&gt;if not hims&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;dammiiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttt. oh my God!!! how dare they? just daddy came into my room calling me for lunch. and not even he knocks on my damn door! and God knows why parents have the right to get into children rooms with no coughs or knockings. it was bearable to know mommy saw me with tears. but daddy!!! oh no, not him!!! and God damn me! i told him harshly. NO PLS, i'm stuffed!!!! how dare i? how dare i tell them lies or sadden them with my tears? i just donno what kindda devil i am! i deserve all my punishments. but i still say i can't take them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you know what? just the day before yesterday i was counting my friends to feel good about it. i thought, thank God i've got precious friends. but now, just now, i know... no lady, you're absolutely wrong.&lt;br /&gt;just the day befor yesterday it was that i claimed i'm in love with this lovely bloody hell called earth. and just today i wonder how could i?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you know? i think you'd better just stop reading the craps i'm writing here! &lt;br /&gt;i just think you mustent shake hands with lucifer. and I'M the lucifer&lt;br /&gt;and i just think all my dreams are crucified&lt;br /&gt;because i thought maybe i wanna be outta my damn mind and i was, yesterday i was...&lt;br /&gt;and now for a life time i won't forgive me!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"run, hide, all that was sacred to us, sacred to us, see the signs&lt;br /&gt;the convenant has been broken by man kind, leaving us with no shelter, with no shoulder, to rest our heads on&lt;br /&gt;who's got my back now? when all we left is deceptive, so disconnected, so what is the truth now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hum? who's got my back now? when God is in tiff with me? when friends look so deceptive, so senseless, so heartless, so much of a liar! when i look at their face, i seek peace and i find astonishment! when i look for kindness and i see harshness. when all i want is ..............and all they share is ..............&lt;br /&gt;maybe i'm worthless. i wish daddy could understand why i dont eat or why i cry. i wish he could know that i'm all love but... . i wish he could see deeper inside me. but they don't ask, or they ask and they don't listen. i wish he could see my love is just wondering somewhere in my round atmosphere and like me has got no shelter to lean on. i wish  he could understand that for all these reason i don't wanna be, that i'm not eating, i'm objecting, i'm mourning, ..........&lt;br /&gt;that i wanna be alone, that i feel like O O O, or i just can't solve it. they find it too dangerous too listen to me. and i just donno how i get to....................&lt;br /&gt;and friends.... . why today they were so ugly? so senceless? is it a partta punishment? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. I swear not.i swear I've never looked for people or friend's kindness. I swear I've never expected nothing, I swear I swear. But when God is in tiff with me, who else do I have to lean on?!?!?!?!&lt;br /&gt;How do I know he is in tiff? Because I just can't simply feel him around. And I simply see all my dreams crucified.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112919025464106908?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112919025464106908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112919025464106908&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112919025464106908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112919025464106908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/niobe-all-tears.html' title='Niobe all tears'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112915049909486448</id><published>2005-10-13T00:24:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.504+03:30</updated><title type='text'>blue sky (by harald)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/norwegianmale/15057466/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/14/15057466_5f1c1f7a8b_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/norwegianmale/15057466/"&gt;blue sky&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/norwegianmale/"&gt;The Norwegian&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112915049909486448?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112915049909486448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112915049909486448&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112915049909486448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112915049909486448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/blue-sky-by-harald.html' title='blue sky (by harald)'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112914582769947934</id><published>2005-10-12T23:07:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.437+03:30</updated><title type='text'>the road to hell...(by harald)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/norwegianmale/50267142/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/29/50267142_fbccb1e5f9_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/norwegianmale/50267142/"&gt;the road to hell...&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/norwegianmale/"&gt;The Norwegian&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112914582769947934?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112914582769947934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112914582769947934&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112914582769947934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112914582769947934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/road-to-hellby-harald.html' title='the road to hell...(by harald)'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112906125004789386</id><published>2005-10-11T23:37:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.383+03:30</updated><title type='text'>Sabat</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51644586/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/24/51644586_639d80e5b2_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51644586/"&gt;Sabat&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/51866772@N00/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;how does it feel to be in there?&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112906125004789386?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112906125004789386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112906125004789386&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906125004789386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906125004789386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/sabat.html' title='Sabat'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112906050302797969</id><published>2005-10-11T23:25:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.326+03:30</updated><title type='text'>purified, rarified</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51642563/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/33/51642563_d5e4a21192_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51642563/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/51866772@N00/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;it's the children who fall in love.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112906050302797969?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112906050302797969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112906050302797969&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906050302797969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906050302797969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/purified-rarified.html' title='purified, rarified'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112906012752446536</id><published>2005-10-11T23:18:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.273+03:30</updated><title type='text'>gossiping?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51641020/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/28/51641020_084005c38d_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51641020/"&gt;gossiping?&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/51866772@N00/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;khusf-spring2005&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112906012752446536?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112906012752446536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112906012752446536&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906012752446536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906012752446536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/gossiping.html' title='gossiping?'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112906007018164704</id><published>2005-10-11T23:17:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.217+03:30</updated><title type='text'>pomegranate</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51640165/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/30/51640165_d5d44a7a0b_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51640165/"&gt;pomegranate&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/51866772@N00/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112906007018164704?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112906007018164704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112906007018164704&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906007018164704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112906007018164704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/pomegranate.html' title='pomegranate'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112905925157674019</id><published>2005-10-11T23:04:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.162+03:30</updated><title type='text'>paradise lost</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51247429/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/25/51247429_7a5b2a51d9_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51247429/"&gt;paradise lost&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/51866772@N00/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;once upon a time, there was narrow rivulet in a small village. it was cold in the mid of the winter. paradise was lost when there was no snowy blosoms on tree branches and no greenleaves either. &lt;br /&gt;i guess i was lucky to find this paradise lost somewhere in that narrow rivulet.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112905925157674019?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112905925157674019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112905925157674019&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112905925157674019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112905925157674019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/paradise-lost.html' title='paradise lost'/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112905879332685317</id><published>2005-10-11T22:56:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.105+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51254551/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/27/51254551_977bfbc2ab_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/51866772@N00/51254551/"&gt;1&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;  Originally uploaded by &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/51866772@N00/"&gt;ladyinchains&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112905879332685317?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112905879332685317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112905879332685317&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112905879332685317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112905879332685317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/1-originally-uploaded-by-ladyinchains.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112905692449926144</id><published>2005-10-11T21:38:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:30.048+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>today was a bit strange. something v.s yesterday. i didnt eat at all today .and not any more i was realy so much in love with this lovely bloddy hell named universe. and .................&lt;br /&gt;well, i woke up happily and lively, desgning that paradise house accopanied with vangeliz music.( it could give me the right feeling to design my aquarium house in that cold area!!!(of course aquarium doesnt mean my house is a glassy one, the house was designed mainly inside a hill, but becoz of some factors i decided to name it aquarium house). then i went to university, back home and....&lt;br /&gt;well... when i was back home at noon i was a kindda... i donno. but i'm ready to go to hell for what i was today. i don't think i can ever forgive myself for the devil i was. and... huh. i was an electrical Devil. you know? my hand was making spike of electriciy with everything i was touching. shaking hands, opening doors, .... . and i thought it must be a sign to show pple whith what a devil they're shaking hands! and i remembered of this song that i used to listen around 9 years ago!&lt;br /&gt;"dont shake hands,&lt;br /&gt;oh baby don't shake hands with lucifer,&lt;br /&gt;take your chance,&lt;br /&gt;cause baby all dreams will be crucified"&lt;br /&gt;back when i was eleven i was the baby one. now after 9 years i feel like that i'm the devil who ....&lt;br /&gt;:( . why was i like this today?!?!?! why?!!! i'm ready to give away a year of my life just to ommit my today from my history :(&lt;br /&gt;well. in the afternoon i had to go to the university again and i went there with an extremely depressed face. all the time i was thinking, even if i pass a life time being a mobe, God wont apologize me for my today! and so ODD, there were still spikes of electricity when ever i was touching something!&lt;br /&gt;but well, university was a big fun today. after 7 hours in university i have almost forgtten about my sins and i could laugh, not really from the bottom of my heart, but i could laugh...&lt;br /&gt;now i'm home again, and again i feel depressed.&lt;br /&gt;there are 3 books i wanna buy to read. but 1st: i barely find the time&lt;br /&gt;2nd: i'm not sure if i can find the books&lt;br /&gt;3rd: i must save my money to buy a very dear freind a very dear gift. her name is Mona just like me. we've been freind since we were 8 and we are too much alike. we've been in tiff since janury and i waited so long for her birthday. i couldnt find any better excuse to go to her, make her happy and surprised. i really waited!!!! and i have no idea how i could be so patient!&lt;br /&gt;goddammit. i'm listening to this cinema paradiso soundtrack and everytime it feels awfully ---- i donno.&lt;br /&gt;it's really aches to write today. everything reminds me of my devilish aspect of personality. :(((((((((((((((((((((&lt;br /&gt;today one of the professors said: "in bachehan ke ashegh mishan" "it's the children who fall in love". maybe he meant how purified and rarified their souls are.&lt;br /&gt;another professor talked about how love could affect our designings. how our designs are the indicators of our inner feelings. and how we could find the architecture in everything around or some architectural melodis, and he played one of yanni symphonies with his mouth mainly reapting "did did did dir id................................."&lt;br /&gt;well...&lt;br /&gt;i must really leave. i need some prayers to feel better. but i'm sure God is in tiff with me. i'm sure he'll accept no excuses. maybe i should wait untill his birthday either!!! but does any one know when his birthday is?!?!?!?! well... .Budha says we must find him in us. maybe his birthday is right when i was born!! but it's a long long way to MY birthday. i'll die till then! i must find a way to apologize him! but what? what kindda big good things i could do to make him forget???? to make ME forget????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;room condition: messy, one lamp on, no view to my persimon tree&lt;br /&gt;music: cinema paradiso soundtracks&lt;br /&gt;sky: the cutains covers my window so that i can't see the sky :( i dont deserve anything good today. i must be punished&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodnight&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112905692449926144?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112905692449926144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112905692449926144&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112905692449926144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112905692449926144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/today-was-bit-strange.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112896529267634531</id><published>2005-10-10T20:44:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:29.659+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And...&lt;br /&gt;YASS. i had a perfect busy day today and i'll have a perfect busy day tommorrow.&lt;br /&gt;as tommorrow's assignments we have to design a house named "Paradise house". the name is paradise cause we're free to choose the site. ain't it great? we might even choose the site on Mars. or some star or planet in Andromeda galaxy!&lt;br /&gt;and for the site i thought... maybe i'll choose somewhere on a cold tiny planet which is almost always night and with a tiny layer of ice on the ground and no green tree around but with a wonderfull lovely reflection of moon rays on the everlasting ice rocks!&lt;br /&gt;WOW. ain't it great?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And i must infrom you that i love this lovely bloody hell called univers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112896529267634531?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112896529267634531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112896529267634531&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112896529267634531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112896529267634531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/and.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112896322323079697</id><published>2005-10-10T19:30:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:29.604+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>i just made me 2 sandwiches and i ate both! now i feel like "shame on you mona, shame on you"&lt;br /&gt;anyway i ate them and i had the right to do so. i was at school all day, really working, really studing, and still too much assighnment for toommorrow. but i'm just about to have fun for the rest of the night, i've had enough for today.&lt;br /&gt;i have a new idea for my blog. to postscript my writing condition in all my writings. you'll see what i mean at the end of this post.&lt;br /&gt;you know? at time i'm a mixture of a agressive, thankfull, tired, dissapointed and at the same time hopfull, stuffed girl. i look also yellow today. with eyes so much tired and hairs clean but messy. oooooh. i liked me till 1 o clock today but not anymore!&lt;br /&gt;i'm listening to deepak chopra to ease my mind, but it aint really helping so i switch to... .ummm. any recomendations? YASS. YASS. Analyse by lady Cranberries, (cranberries ain't her name though!)&lt;br /&gt;heh! i must say this for sure! you know? recently i can't keep myself from laughing or smiling right at the moments that i must look serious! on the way back home, too wicked and worn i got off the taxi and i was facing home that i realized 3 boys at the corner of the street are seriousely claiming: "khanum, khanum, ... in varagh az tu kife shoma oftad" ("miss, this paper fell outta your bag"). and i turned back and looked at them so thankfully and i smiled kindly and steped towards them to take the paper... that, i saw some ridiculous signs on their faces which was telling, they're possibly making fun of me! but ... ha ha ha. they did it really good and serious that i really couldnt keep myself from accompany them in laughing for the mistake i did!!! so while i was trying to keep my face muscles in right place, it was just obviouse how i'm laughing inside. and finally tired of holding the muscles i burst just into a smile. but i think even my smile was ridiculous enough to make them laugh louder!&lt;br /&gt;anyway, thankl  God i made 3 bored boys laugh!&lt;br /&gt;now i'm tried of Cranberries too and i switch to Moby---&gt; why does my heart feel so bad?&lt;br /&gt;and now----&gt; be my baby&lt;br /&gt;and it really feels good every time i listen to this...&lt;br /&gt;ohhh. i came to write to feel better but i still feel so damn tired when i think of all the things i should do for tommorrow and tommorrows. :( it's a long time that i havent watched a movie or read a book or ate ice cream or ... .:( . i just donno why i love this lovely bloody earth named hell so much. but it sometimes really puts me down when i think of too many things i wanna have and i dont... . but i want it and i want it so bad that ill have it some day i'm sure.&lt;br /&gt;hey this posting of mine seems too much like diary this time! this weblog wasnt supposed to be for diaries. :(&lt;br /&gt;well at least the good thing with this one is that it's not another romantic article of mine! i just donno why everything i write turn out to be so romantic!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;for tommorrow i must designe a house named paradise house( khaneye behesht). we can choose the site at any bloody place. even in space!!! so i'm really about to try it! hey!! YASS. lemme tell you about it!&lt;br /&gt;i want the house to be in some really cold place! even if it's gonna be in outter space i'll choose the site in some planet that has very long nights so that the house has to be designed for night life. there's always a thin layer of ice on the ground. and there aint a single tree on this planet. just flat flat ground-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"regrets, i've had a few, but then again too few too mention" sings pavarotti&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-and you know? in my tiny planet night sky, there always exist a moon too shine on my house romantic habitants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:( .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;maybe i must think of another site for my house!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ok. now my room condition&lt;br /&gt;sky---&gt;dark and a bit cold or i feel cold&lt;br /&gt;music---&gt;pavarotti&lt;br /&gt;room---&gt;there's just one small lovely lamp on. when i wanna look out the window i see mostly myself and a little of my persimon tree who's loosing it's greenleeves very soon:(&lt;br /&gt;time---&gt;8:22pm&lt;br /&gt;time---&gt;to say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;goodbye&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112896322323079697?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112896322323079697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112896322323079697&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112896322323079697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112896322323079697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/i-just-made-me-2-sandwiches-and-i-ate.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112880770511426822</id><published>2005-10-09T01:09:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:29.549+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>you know? i just thought me? i'm as big as...&lt;br /&gt;on no, let's start like this. me?&lt;br /&gt;ummmm.&lt;br /&gt;OH&lt;br /&gt;one in miliard miliards?&lt;br /&gt;idiot! there exist no miliard miliards.&lt;br /&gt;well. a spot in the world?&lt;br /&gt;uuuuh. NO!&lt;br /&gt;one more consumer?&lt;br /&gt;Dirty!&lt;br /&gt;one more body?&lt;br /&gt;Dirtier!&lt;br /&gt;one more soul?&lt;br /&gt;TOO romantic&lt;br /&gt;reincarnation?&lt;br /&gt;"don't think too much about the things that doesnt change the path of your life", says Penny&lt;br /&gt;akhhhhh&lt;br /&gt;what is it with me?&lt;br /&gt;today in the car i was listening to some music from i donno moeen or whome! just it was playing and i didnt mind. actually...&lt;br /&gt;well some times! no! most of the times, music takes you to old places. it's not fair. the music took me to RAHST. on the roads around! and ...&lt;br /&gt;so what?&lt;br /&gt;here i sit all alone dreaming about...&lt;br /&gt;so what?&lt;br /&gt;i'm a studious book worm recently!&lt;br /&gt;how cliche!&lt;br /&gt;i wanna just turn around!!!!&lt;br /&gt;you know? turn around!&lt;br /&gt;i dont wanna care about anything that professors say!&lt;br /&gt;maybe...&lt;br /&gt;ummmm. maybe i wanna dance in a club.&lt;br /&gt;maybe i wanna ride on a motor cycle.&lt;br /&gt;maybe i wanna drink and shout WOoooooooo&lt;br /&gt;maybe i wanna be outta my damn mind&lt;br /&gt;or maybe i wanna float in the sky&lt;br /&gt;or the sea&lt;br /&gt;gazing at the dazle of the moon&lt;br /&gt;or let the sun beams sting my eyes&lt;br /&gt;or...&lt;br /&gt;maybe i wanna talk dirty&lt;br /&gt;or maybe i wanna run all the world&lt;br /&gt;or maybe i wanna cry till it aches&lt;br /&gt;or maybe i wanna swim in pple blood&lt;br /&gt;or their tears&lt;br /&gt;and i become tears&lt;br /&gt;like Niobe All Tears&lt;br /&gt;or maybe i wanna be bald&lt;br /&gt;or...&lt;br /&gt;let me be&lt;br /&gt;just let me be...&lt;br /&gt;and maybe&lt;br /&gt;maybe&lt;br /&gt;then i find out what i must be,&lt;br /&gt;and meybe&lt;br /&gt;only maybe&lt;br /&gt;it's with you that i wanna be&lt;br /&gt;never in the sea&lt;br /&gt;never in the air&lt;br /&gt;just to breath you air&lt;br /&gt;but you never let me&lt;br /&gt;let me be&lt;br /&gt;or let me find out if i wanna be&lt;br /&gt;you want me around and you choose the worst way to keep me&lt;br /&gt;and maybe&lt;br /&gt;all maybe&lt;br /&gt;i'm that fish slipping away&lt;br /&gt;or that bird flying away&lt;br /&gt;or maybe&lt;br /&gt;probably&lt;br /&gt;that butterfly&lt;br /&gt;fading away in your&lt;br /&gt;in your sweated hands&lt;br /&gt;and you'll cry&lt;br /&gt;and i'll fly&lt;br /&gt;no wings though&lt;br /&gt;but i fly&lt;br /&gt;no wings?&lt;br /&gt;and i fly?&lt;br /&gt;don't worry ever never baby&lt;br /&gt;you're hands have sweated&lt;br /&gt;and me?&lt;br /&gt;no i'm not&lt;br /&gt;not even maybe&lt;br /&gt;and i'll die&lt;br /&gt;not even lady&lt;br /&gt;and why?&lt;br /&gt;don't you care baby&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112880770511426822?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112880770511426822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112880770511426822&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112880770511426822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112880770511426822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/10/you-know-i-just-thought-me-im-as-big.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16426690.post-112798535272413287</id><published>2005-09-29T11:56:00.000+03:30</published><updated>2006-11-03T18:48:29.489+03:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>as an introction, how about telling you about this "Lady in chains"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andromeda in mythology&lt;br /&gt;(ăndrŏm´ĭd) , in Greek mythology, princess of Ethiopia, daughter of King Cepheus, king of Ethiopia, and Cassiopeia. According to most legends Cassiopeia angered Poseidon by saying that Andromeda (or possibly Cassiopeia herself) was more beautiful than the nereids. Poseidon sent a sea monster to prey upon the country; he could be appeased only by the sacrifice of the king's daughter. Andromeda in sacrifice was chained to a rock by the sea; but she was rescued by perseus, who killed the monster and later married her. Cassiopeia, Cepheus, and Andromeda were all set among the stars as constellations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andromeda, in astronomy&lt;br /&gt;Andromeda, northern constellation located to the NE of Pegasus and to the S of Cassiopeia. Its brightest star, Alpheratz (Alpha Andromedae), marks the northeast corner of the Great Square in Pegasus. The constellation also contains the bright stars Mirach (Beta Andromedae) and Almach (Gamma Andromedae) and the famous Great Nebula, or Andromeda Galaxy, the only galaxy visible to the naked eye in the Northern Hemisphere. Andromeda reaches its highest point in the evening sky in November.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andromeda Galaxy&lt;br /&gt;cataloged as M31 and NGC 224, the closest large galaxy to the Milky Way and the only one visible to the naked eye in the Northern Hemisphere. It is also known as the Great Nebula in Andromeda. It is 2.2 million light-years away and is part of the local group of several galaxies that includes the Milky Way, which it resembles in shape and composition. It has a diameter of about 165,000 light-years and contains at least 200 billion stars. Its two brightest companion galaxies are M32 and M110. The light arriving at earth from the Andromeda Galaxy is shifted toward the blue end of the spectrum, whereas the light from all other cosmic sources&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and now Andromeda in Mona's fantasy&lt;br /&gt;back when i was a kid, thanx to Isaac Asimov, i got acquainted with space affair. and God knows from then on the enthusiasm for starry night never died or decreased in me.&lt;br /&gt;most of my fantasies used to taked place up there by my lady in chains side. and how i used to imagine her, imagine me, up there.&lt;br /&gt;i used to think, well maybe they also have sea and water up there in their galaxy. the sea by which there was a rock, and the rock to which the princess was chained. and the princess who had starry eyed in her black and white dress of starry night.&lt;br /&gt;now it's like that the old fantasy is my present reality. visible or not, i do have chains around me. and there's the rock, and also the sea, the free stormy charming ocean in frontta me. and the desire to fly upon it, or drawn too deep in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you know what i suddenly came to my mind????&lt;br /&gt;lol. This fantastic song of Ray Charles: Unchain My Heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16426690-112798535272413287?l=monabolouri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/feeds/112798535272413287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16426690&amp;postID=112798535272413287&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112798535272413287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16426690/posts/default/112798535272413287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://monabolouri.blogspot.com/2005/09/as-introction-how-about-telling-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Maryam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07386901470288218251</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
