Our Father Prayer: A Poem

“This, then, is how you should pray: “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come,

your will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven.“, Bible, Matthew 6:9



Our Father Prayer


Our hollow Father who is in the holy hypermarkets

Who is in the sacred banks

Who is in the sanctified arms factories

Who is in the heavenly presidential palaces

Who is in the saintly police stations

Who is in the messianic departments of defense

Who is in the divine stock markets

Who is in the faithful heart of every single riot police, field marshal, intelligence chief, national guard, cardinal, Rabi, and Ayatollah.

McDonald is your name

Coca-Cola is your name

Goldman Sachs is your name

Morgan Stanley is your name

Lockheed Martin is your name

Raytheon is your name

Starbucks is your name

BP is your name

G20 is your name

WTO is your name

WCO is your name

WHP is your name

WFG is your name

IMF is your name

IMI is your name

IAI is your name

IWI is your name

Enhanced interrogation techniques is your name

Simulated drowning is your name

Solitary confinement is your name

Sleep deprivation is your name

Human branding is your name

Kneecapping is your name

Keelhauling is your name

Scaphism is your name

Nail extraction is your name

Hypothermia is your name

Strappado is your name

American controlled fear is your name

Chinese water torture is your name

Iranian reverse hanging is your name

Our loving Father

CIA is his Archangel

NSA is his Archangel

MI6 is his Archangel

RGC is his Archangel

ISI is his Archangel

DCRI is his Archangel

BND is his Archangel

MOIS is his Archangel

Mossad is his Archangel

Shin Bet is his Archangel

Aman is his Archangel

AISI is his Archangel

AISE is his Archangel

And his kingdom comes

For the Lord, himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command,

With the voice and eyes and ears of his archangels,

With the sound of the trumpet of God,

With two hundred tons of napalm,

With sixteen hundred tons of white phosphorous

With four hundred tons of dense inert metal explosives

With eleven thousand air strikes in a week

With two hundred thousand gallons of Sarin gas

With seven thousand hypersonic missiles

With nine thousand flechette shells

With fifteen hundred deadly drones

His kingdom comes

And the dead will rise

And his will be done

On Gaza as it was on Vietnam

On Afghanistan as it was on Chile

On Iraq as it was on Yugoslavia

The dead will rise

and pours out his blood into the sky

Here is your lamb at your feet.

This is my blood, which confirms the covenant between Hellfire missile and the human body, drink it.

It is poured out as a sacrifice to forget the sins of many.

This is my body which is given for you, it is dismembered as a background to support your peace speeches, eat it.

For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink.

Our deadly Father

seated on an empyreal throne

Surrounded by his Arch agents

Sends us ISIS

Sends us Al Qaeda

Sends us Buku Haram

Sends Al Shabab

And blesses us all with the holy war on terror.


Give us porn to feed our cocks

Gives us veil to disappear our women

Give us Fox News to keep our faith

Let us see the JLO’s ass

Lets us vote for our favorite butchers

Let us march through the streets for May Day

Let us wear a Marxist t-shirt and drink 40$ cup of coffee in Broadway and dream of revolution

Let us stop the war from our living rooms through facebook while we’re watching Pornhub

Let us give flowers to cops while they’re reloading their M4s

Let us know you are deeply concerned by genocide in South Sudan so you send George Clooney to fix everything.

And you are deeply concerned by Michael Brown murdered by police so you send National Guard with tanks to give them your condolences.

And you are deeply concerned by civilians killed in Gaza so you ask them to dodge the bombs.

And you are deeply concerned by Human Rights violation in Europe so you rape 16 prisoner in Kahrizak to teach them manners.

And you are deeply concerned by cracking down the Green Movement in Iran so you caress the Wall Street occupiers with pepper spray.

And you are deeply concerned by hunger in India so you waste 133 billion pounds of food each year

And you are deeply concerned by  Taliban’s brutality in Afghanistan so you send your drones there and leave behind 2400 civilians dead

And the dead will rise

and pours out his blood into the sky

Here is your lamb at your feet.

This is my blood, drink it.

This is my body, eat it.

For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink.

My name is Suana

And I fear

I walk in Tehran and I fear for I am a woman

I walk in Berlin and I fear for I am a black head

I walk in Gaza and I fear for I am an Arab

I walk in Rome and I fear for I am an Anarchist

I walk in Kobane and I fear for I am a Kurd

I walk in Kabul and I fear for I am a human

I walk in New York and I fear for I am nothing

O’ Father

I should have killed you when I had a chance

I should have killed you in Paris Commune 1871

I should have killed you in Petrograd October 1917

I should have killed you in Spain 1936

I should have killed you in Reggio Emilia 1945

I should have killed you in Paris 1968

I should have killed you in Turin Hot Autumn 1969

I should have killed you in Tehran 1979

I should have killed you in Cape Town 1994

I should have killed you in Seattle 1999

I should have killed you in Tunis 2010

I should have killed you in Cairo 2011

And I should kill you in Syria

And I should kill you in Iraq

And I should kill you right now

O Father,

Your scary blue hands block our way

And you pick up our haggard hurt lives from the branches of your garden

one by one ten by ten thousand by thousand

Oh those yellow petals and red flowers of men

And I saw death, an un-bloomed blossom, and I picked it from the sky of regret.

And I saw the sun, the happiness of thousand deranged scallops, and I kissed it from the farthest horizons

Oh fairies of forest, fairies of moon

Fairies asleep on no trees of no Hindu temples of no continent

The shivering crystal of times of the past grows there

By the Armando river

Where everyone who had a love lost it

And I drink the sky still like a desire for morning scent in early childhood

And I swim love always like a dripping wet blade among the Emily Dickenson’s horses which fall forever.

Fairies of earth, fairies of water

There shine all the sorrows of my people

There, by the Aral sea

Wind has taken my dreams

Winter has heard my wishes

My name is Suana

I pray and I fear.

I pray and I fear.

I pray and I fear.


Iran’s Nuclear Deal and Human Rights: Who Loses and Who Wins?

Omid Shams

The phone rings and it is one of my former colleagues from Iran. “They arrested Hossein as well.” she says as her voice trembles hysterically. This is the fifth call I have received in the past two weeks with the same bad news.

While the Iranian government is celebrating the lifting of international sanctions as a result of nuclear deal and the international investors rush to Iran’s highly profitable market, for Iranian activists, journalists and writers the new era of misery has just started. Since the beginning of the last round of nuclear negotiation, the number of detentions, executions and persecutions jumped to a whole new level.

Iranian intelligent service has launched two parallel projects: First, using foreign citizens as hostages to strengthen Iran’s position in nuclear negotiation and second, putting pressure on Iranian activists to suppress any potential domestic criticism. Amir Hekmati, Saeed Abedini both Iranian-American citizens were already in the hands of security forces when Jason Rezaian, Iranian-American journalist, and recently Siamak Namazi, Iranian-American businessman, were arrested. At the same time, a new wave of arrests and long-term imprisonments of Iranian intellectuals and activists has been launched by various security, paramilitary and intelligence departments.

Atena Farghdani, Iranian cartoonist and children’s rights activist, was arrested for the second time and sentenced to twelve years and nine months in prison. The court order was issued after a video of Atena was released in which she talked about the harassments and abuses she experienced in the prison. She was recently the subject of a virginity test in the prison. (1)

Bahareh Hedayat, Women’s rights and student movement activist, was sentenced to another two years in prison while she was about to finish her previous seven years prison term. (2)

Atena Daemi, children’s rights activist, was sentenced to 14 years in prison. (3) Mehdi Mousavi, Fatemeh Ekhtesari , Iranian Poets, were sentenced respectively to 11 years and 9 years in prison and 99 lashes for each. The prison sentence was for writing provocative poetry and 99 lashes were for “kissing”.(4)  Keyvan Karimi, filmmaker, was sentenced to six years in prison and 223 lashes for making documentaries about child laborers in Western Iran and having illegitimate relationships. (5)

These are just the few among many recent preposterous sentences against writers, artists and activists in Iran.

Shortly after the Iran’s nuclear deal was made, Iran’s supreme leader Ali Khamenei declared that this deal will not lead to any agreement over human rights in Iran. In his letter of approval of Iran’s deal, once again, he pointed out the regime’s conditions for commitment to the deal:

“The nuclear deal will be rendered void if any future sanctions are imposed on Iran by any country, or under any pretext — including “human rights” and alleged support of terrorism.” (6)


It seems that the Iranian regime is using the deal as a shield to harshly suppress the intellectuals and human rights activists once and for all. If we look back at the history of Islamic regime, we will find this as an old tactic.

On 20 July 1988 Iranian regime reluctantly accepted resolution 598 and the bloody war between Iran and Iraq was over. However, less than a month after the agreement, Khomeini’s ghastly decree was issued (some would say it had been issued even a day before the agreement):
” Since those hypocrites (leftist prisoners) do not believe in Islam and their leaders confessed to their apostasy and regarding that they are at war with our nation […] those who are in prisons throughout the country persisting on their hypocritical belief are the enemy of God and are sentenced to death. […] having mercy upon these enemies of God is nothing but credulity. ”

Prisoners were tried once again with simple questions: Are you Muslim? Do you believe in God? Are you willing to denounce your respective organization in TV interview? Are you willing to execute the other members of the organization? “No” for answer meant immediate execution.
The estimated fatalities is between 2500- 6000. (7)
Once again, we are on the verge of a new agreement, which I support with all my heart since it might possibly prevent another bloody war. But there are signs that the days after the agreement would be similar to 1988 when the regime relieved of the international pressures came for those who were making trouble inside the country. Just like a drunken violent husband who smiles at neighbors assuring them that everything is alright inside the house. Then he locks the door and comes for his frightened trembling family.

About a week ago, Iran’s supreme leader warned against the “cultural and intellectual infiltration” in Iran. Shortly after more than 50 student activists, writers, journalists and artists were arrested. Recently, Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Army announced that the recent arrests are related to a “network of infiltrations led by foreign hostile countries”.

For Iranian activists such announcement has a clear message. Soon enough, there will be a big TV show of confessions. In 1998 Iranian intelligence service admitted the existence of an elimination project that led to assassination of more than 20 Iranian intellectuals. Iran’s supreme leader asserted in his speech that “I cannot believe that these agents were not connected to the foreign intelligence agencies and did not take orders from them.” (8)

Shortly after a video of brutal interrogation of former intelligence agents leaked, in which they confessed of being connected to CIA and Mossad. One of the interrogators later explained in the court’s hearing: “when the supreme leader believes that these agents are connected to the foreign intelligence agencies, I have the religious and professional duty to get the same confession out of them by any means.”

It seems that the same scenario is on the agenda once again. The Iranian regime is intentionally and stubbornly worsening the human rights situation to send a clear message to the international community and the Iranian opposition: “From now on the matter of human rights in Iran must stay out of question.”

And So far, Iranian regime seems to be relatively successful in persuading the international community to compromise over the systematic violation of human rights in Iran after nuclear deal.

The Latest UN report on Human Right Situation in Iran, issued on October 2015, has faced absolute media silence. In the same month, Philipp Geist, German artist, was invited by German Embassy to present a light installation on the body of “Liberty Tower” in Tehran. (9) His project entitled “Gate of Words” and he projected the words “Freedom”, “Democracy” and “Peace” in different languages on Liberty Tower while on the other side of the city the real “Gate of Words” called “Evin prison” is holding more than 1000 artists, writers, journalists, and activists simply because of their “words”.

Today, the international community, especially EU’s fundamental values, is facing a historical test. Do they compromise over the human rights in Iran in exchange for securing a crucial deal with Iranian regime?

I hear the trembling voice over the phone: “I can’t talk much on the phone. You know… It’s getting difficult to breathe; really difficult. Do something if you can.”




1- https://www.amnesty.org.uk/actions/free-atena-farghadani-iran-prison-drawing-cartoons-artist.

2- http://www.iranhumanrights.org/2015/09/cartoon-122/

3- http://www.amnesty.org.au/action/action/37406/

4- http://www.iranhumanrights.org/2015/10/two-poets-sentenced/

5- http://www.iranhumanrights.org/2015/10/keyvan-karimi/

6- http://edition.cnn.com/2015/10/21/middleeast/iran-nuclear-deal/

7- http://www.iranhrdc.org/english/publications/reports/3158-deadly-fatwa-iran-s-1988-prison-massacre.html#2

8- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chain_murders_of_Iran

9- https://vimeo.com/140564976





Surface of Image and Depth of Reality: On worldwide response to image of Aylan Kurdi

Omid Shams

 But certainly the present age, which prefers the sign to the thing signified, the copy to the original, representation to reality, the appearance to the essence….

Feuerbach, Preface to the second edition of The Essence of Christianity

Image of drowned Syrian boy echoed around the world. Thousands of people are sharing the photos and sending tweets and status updates sympathizing with the family and expressing their dismay. One might say this is the power of the image. And it is true. Image is indeed the most powerful phenomenon of our time even much more powerful than reality itself. In fact, Image surpasses the reality. It encapsulates the reality and delivers it to the exchange order.

What is disappearing in this process is totality. Image, in contrast with reality, is limited, framed and partial. Therefore the only way to perceive the totality in an image is through generalization, or better to say, fetishism. The Reality, which is fragmented and dissolved into images, loses its third dimension, its depth. It will be reduced and limited to the surface. Any reaction to the images of reality is motivated by and addressed towards the surface and will never reach or even realize the depth and totality. Without depth and totality, there will be no comprehensive perception (understanding). And without perception, what remains is nothing but mere consumption.  This is how the late logic of image introduces the reality as an object to the exchange order. Now reality finds its meaning in the exchange value.

A certain image is received and in exchange a certain reaction (nothing in form of perception or emotion, only sentiment) is sent that determines the value of that part of reality represented by image. At this point, the autonomy of image begins. The exchange value of reality, that is, the level of intensity of reaction depends on the marketing of image and nothing else. Those who control the marketing of image, also control the value and the meaning of reality which is represented by that image. They control which part of reality must be revealed and which parts must be hidden. Therefore, they also control the reflections upon the reality by controlling the frame and perspective of image. There is no other way to explain the surprising global reaction to the image of tragic death of Aylan Kurdi and shocking inattention to another image of tragic death of Aziz Badr, 4 years old Yezidi kid who ran away from ISIS wandering in desert for days until his eyes were burnt and blinded by sun and he was found paralyzed and mute and died shortly after.  These two images supposedly represent the same brutal reality and they were both presented in the market of global media, yet their value is incomparable.  It is simply because there is no connection between the surface of image and the depth and totality of the reality behind it.

Polish Refugees in Iran 1943

Polish Refugees in Iran 1943

The reaction to the incomplete image will be incomplete as well. And since the image is temporary by nature, it only causes temporary responses.

We are recently seeing beautiful images of solidarity, kindness and generosity from people around the world. But it seems like dressing the wounds on arms and legs while the throat is cut loose. People (well, some people) are doing their best to help; but since they are not seeing the whole picture, they are not able to ask the most important questions and examine the situation thoroughly. So they simply wouldn’t be able to stop the bleeding. Soon they’ll get tired of pressing their hands on wrong wounds.

They could have asked: why are we welcoming these people while our governments are bombing their countries? Who are these people running from? How those scary murderers suddenly appeared in those countries? Who armed them at the first place? How can these groups sell oil and gas to supply themselves? Who is buying oil and gas from them? Why our governments armed the same groups in Syria that they enlisted them as terrorists in western countries? Wasn’t any better solution for stopping oppressive Syrian regime than arming the most barbaric groups with the most reactionary ideologies?

Greek refugees in Syria 1943

Greek refugees in Syria 1943

How long can we keep doing this? Is it possible to move the whole population of a country and distribute them in other countries? Why our governments attacked Iraq and left it in total chaos as a safe haven for terrorist organizations? Did our governments find any trace of those mass destruction weapons that they claimed they will find in Iraq? Isn’t it an absurd irony that we are helping people whose enemies are being armed by our governments’ allies? Wouldn’t it be better if we stop the total destruction of these countries instead of welcoming their refugees? Isn’t it suspicious that the most powerful armies of the world all together cannot defeat a terrorist organization that has known ground bases in a known geographic region? Aren’t they the same armies that once occupied this whole geographic region in a week?

These are not the questions raised by the image of dead Aylan Kurdi. But these questions may lead to the reasons of his death. And if we
follow these questions and demand for answers, we’ll see that he was long dead before sea swallowed him.

These questions will also be useful for those who are so worried about the two percent of refugees of a ruined region coming to Europe; those who forgot 1943 when 12000 Greek refugees were accepted by not so rich Syria and more than 10,000 Polish refugees were welcomed in Iran. They could follow these questions to see that the most effective way to stop the refugee crisis would be to stop their governments from destroying these countries directly or indirectly.

Et feltstudie af Omid Shams (En digt)

oversat af Shekufe Tadayoni

Vi er voldsomme kvinder vi har sat os i vores bryster med forenede halse døve

med dirrende vorter med mere dirrende vorter. Vores farver er fulde af metroer og ranke cypresser

vores hemmeligheder er åbne åh du! Koranlæseren der flyder over af gitre og de tre bedestillinger efter tusind bedestillinger efter dig vores hemmeligheder blomstrer mellem dig kom igen herhen i hjørnet din plads er blandt knivene

Og vi er igen fulde af hashens nye eksplosioner vi fører hånden langs kanten henover slørede nyheder eksplosive nyheder

Du er udvandingens fuldblodige ære under din kjole er fabrikker, skorstene med sug, dine ønskers brændende lyst

Fugl Fønixens fjer flyder i vores fingre og med hvide læbestreger puster vi søsterligt på jorden

Hele vejen rundt om Baane

Flere kugler end en moders bønner

Hvor er du i nat igen er vi!

Vi er i gang med at lægge i midten

Vi giver lyd

Fulde af eksplosive lokker af hår og klar smerte

Flashen er Sahand Monshis fjerne flash

Lørdag kl mere otte om morgenen

og Kianis boghandel

i to minutter endnu

blomster fra blomsterne på byens plads

og alt imens du kommer hertil er vi hedninges vestlige bøn en sær svie!

to ringduer to ringduer som to og to og to hvis vipper er sorte to og to som på ingen måde er godt nok

eksplosive nyheder disse dage atter går en dag

overalt er der blod på ahorntræerne og de rænke cypresser og for enden af de syvende gader

vores rædbrækkede mellemøstlige rygge tre midnatslys            Rayban og kom igen

kom for disse dage er igen …

i guder!

og i guder guder jeg             er Omid Shams

jeg kender ikke andet end dette      at er klokken da ikke otte om morgenen og jeg

jeg af kugler jeg af om få minutter af en af vores tørre svælge kan du komme til dit dig af i de pragtfulde cypresserkan du komme til bøn under en fjerkrave af fest


jeg er Omid Shams

og to som slet ikke er nok ikke er Bob Dylan strømmer igennem alle vejnes intet og to faktisk er Amir Hamzes bydel en slags vending som i sig af en mægtig lilje og Ali Dardashti vil igen i nat og jeg jeg er Omid Shams og som en klump hash man lægger frem er jeg meget lidt jeg er lidt

lørdag klokken mere otte om morgenen og om få minutter      er jeg ikke en vending der kan undslippe kom!

Amir Hamzes plads er en slags gud  og din tunge er mellem dens ben den er meget høflig mellem og en kær og anstændig stund og er

vi er vi har sat os og du med en tshirt med Kate Millet på vi er vi sidder til du lader os gå ud og sprede viden:

I guder!
og i guder i guder! det var gået i stykker det var meget vi tog det op for at tage det med ind i vores bryster det var meget det spildte og hele tiden

og alt imens sælsæluj bå bå sælsæluj bånd og sæl sæl bå sæl og sæl og bå og sælsæluj

og mæjnot

og engang imellem kan de ske at Gadamer dør og Baba Chahhi stadig skriver artikler kom!

og jeg til dig du slet ikke, som henrettede vidundere med kugleregn!

og klokken otte om morgenen

og klokken otte om morgenen

og vi er i det og til en guitar som fra vores tørre svælge mere otte om morgenen og med en t-shirt med Kamim Kam på

og vi er både

Bob Dylan

og også

guder som må komme godt ud af det med en slags Ali i en eng af tyraner med hash og med mæjnot


efter dig må man altid en smøg efter dig sidde vågen og

ikke dø

… og ligesom månen som slet ikke er nok og endda federe og endda meget federe og både kan komme over sig selv i nat ligge det frem på bordet i nat og klokken otte om morgenen og både mæjnot kom!
Når man slet godt  kan når man kan når man forgude meget

og af en vending fuld at små stykker og sælsæluj

fuld af eller mindre

som sagde:  for enden af den syvende gade, kom!

når vi siger sådan mener vi:  Søde Negar hej! disse dage er den gavmilde jesus blevet tungere fra at fra bambussets dyb råbte du

i tusinde hænder hvorfor er i ikke inden for rækkevidde ?

Igen og igen kan man storme Karbalas ørken storme universitetet

disse dage disse dage kan man

kan man sætte sig til blods og få dig at se

som var du tiltroens eng som var du

et værelse fuld af legetøj

det siger vi og det mener vi at den gavmilde jesus

undslipper imellem mine fungre og rundt om og to vinder klager som en benzintank

blomster blomster fra blomsterne på byens plads

og igen kan man forstå et fortov

i den uudslettelige morgen

blomster fra blomsterne kom

rundt om disse dage har vi en bønhørt Alda’ve

vi lægger den i Oxonerne og Noronerne og Vigenerne og David Bowierne og Roger Waterserne og Allenderne og Pasolinierne og

Mehrnush Nikpasanderne og Sahand Monshierne og Mehran Ghafurianerne og Mehran Ghafurian er disse dage en bønhørt Alda’ve en dødens bløde kapsel kom!
Faktisk er disse to to Hejral Sud’er går sammen gennem junglerne og den tropiske hede sammen er de to blokke oste to jeger  jegere jeg

jeg er Omid Shams!

Place of Café


This is the first chapter of my coming book “Notes on Café” 

The maternal womb is indeed our first impression of a place: The very first dwelling; the fundamental form for reposing, resting, nourishing and surviving; the first “ ” for human’s being.

Once the baby is born, she loses her first “dwelling”. Becoming “restless”, she cries and gets another place: the mother’s arms. The mother’s embrace is a replicate of that fundamental receptacle: it holds, it cares, it protects and it nurtures the baby. In fact, right after being born, one keeps searching for that very first place. Being displaced from his fundamental safe haven, fearful and anxious human seeks to return. And since it is not possible, he looks for similar versions. The most primitive and natural versions of the maternal womb are the caves, the wombs of the nature, the first shelters for man.

Therefore, the maternal womb is the human’s fundamental idea for all the places that function as dwelling or residence. Therefore, the whole history of architecture indicates the various interpretations of the idea of womb. Some of these interpretations are too far from the original idea and some of them are so close. One of the closest receptacles to the maternal womb is a place to live but not to reside and it is a house but not a home. That place is café.

Of course, the appearance is not our criterion of resemblance or at least not the only criterion. As Gilles Deleuze explains:

“Resemblance must not be understood as an external correspondence. It precedes less from one thing to another than from a thing to an Idea, since it is the Idea that comprises the relations and proportions that constitute internal essence. Interior and spiritual, resemblance is the measure of a claim. A copy truly resembles something only to the extent that it resembles the Idea of the thing. The claimant only conforms to the object insofar as it is modeled (internally and spiritually) on the Idea.”

So, what is the idea of womb? What are the fundamental concepts that reveal the idea of the maternal womb? Those concepts, as mentioned before, are holding, caring, protecting and nourishing.

Café’ is a maternal place. It embraces you, nurtures you and lets you rest. It holds you as long as you need and then it lets you go. It prepares you to face with the outside. And the most important, it is always in the middle. It stays beyond metaphysics. Like “the receptacle of all generation” and the maternal womb it is neither in heaven nor in earth.

In her mother’s body, the baby has a median being: She is neither in heaven nor in earth. She is an unborn child. She still lives inside another human that does not even distinguish her from a parasite that lives in “another’ organism. The idea of a baby is to be born. However, we cannot say that an unborn child does not live. In fact, the place that holds the baby creates such a unique situation; simply because the maternal womb, just like the receptacle of universe, stands in the middle of air and earth and rejects any categorization:

“We may liken the receiving (containing) principle to a mother, the source or spring to a father, the intermediate nature to a child…Wherefore, the mother and receptacle of all created and visible and in any way sensible thing, is not to be termed earth, or air, or fire, or water, or any of their compounds or any of the elements from which these are derived.” (Timaeus)

Therefore, the maternal womb as the fundamental form of containing and receiving stays beyond the platonic dualism and its system of cognition. As the womb is somewhere outside the heaven and earth, café stands outside the real and unreal. It does not belong to the real life, or better say the actual life, and yet it is not unreal. What kind of reality a café rejects or resists against? The reality defined and ruled by time. If café does not belong to the real life, then what kind of life is going on in a café? I might answer: the aesthetic life.

At the beginning, the human life was a set of instinctive, emotional and experimental actions to be taken instantly on the basis of desire or need. As humans settled down and the first civilizations appeared, the concept of work as a temporal, purposeful and profitable activity was established. Work and time, are the basic principles of the real life. Therefore, the real or actual life appears as profitable activity that follows the rules of time: time to cultivate, time to harvest, time to supply etc.

As the work and time expand their influence over the human’s life – through the skills such as scheduling the life, supplying, planning, programming- humans leave the aesthetic life behind which is based on mystery, wonder, accident, experiment, instant reaction, improvisation, discovery and danger. By accepting the time as an absolute law, the real life defines the life as a predetermined production plan. Therefore, the life is the purposeful activity within a particular time interval, which is originally the definition of work.  Any action in the real life has to be recognized in its relations with work as the basis of life: in this sense, recreation is nothing but an after work resting and a refection to get back to work.

In a world with such an understanding of reality and life, café is a place between reality and unreality. In fact, café challenges all of these concepts and their definitions. When you go to a café, you are leaving your actual life. You are leaving a life in which you have a job to do, duties to attend, things to buy, goals to reach, and you have friends and family to be responsible for. All of these make the “reality” of your life. You also do not make any profit out of the time you spend in a café. You actually pay for your time in a café; simply because the price you are paying is obviously not for what you might eat or drink there. You go to café for the pleasure of “killing the time”. Being in café reminds us of kind of laziness and leisure and indolence, the concepts used by the real life as tools to scorn, warn and punish its rebellious workers. It might seem that these concepts have been always the negative characteristics. However, in early human communities they were rather positive or at least neutral concepts; especially in religious narratives of human’s life in heaven, which can represent the pre-civilized era, these concepts are essential in characterization of human life.



In fact, Café represents a place where you abolish all the fundamental rules of real life (such as profitability and purposefulness). However, café is still part of reality, yet it protects us from the seriousness of “outside”. Café reduces the impact of reality by mixing it with imagination and symbolism. What you do in a café (listening, talking, drinking, eating, and watching) is what you do in your life all the time. Yet, something is different when you do it in a café. There is something more. You are not simply satisfying your needs. You are also satisfying your desires. You are pleasing, cherishing and appreciating your body and your mind. You are treating your body and your mind as a dear guest. You are offering them something more than just food or drink. You are offering them the pleasure of eating, drinking and being in a joyful environment where they can ask for what they desire rather than what they just need. You transcend the acts of eating and drinking to a ceremony of jollity, bringing your mind and body to the center of your attention. You let them to be welcomed, embraced and nourished by the motherly affection of café. You bring your body back to the safest and most comfortable place: the mother’s embrace. Look at the form of sitting in café. Look at a person at the small table on a corner of a café, drinking his coffee or wine. The legs are close to belly and knees are bent backwards; hands are close to the mouth and head is down toward the chest.  See the resemblance between his form of sitting and the form of an unborn child in the womb.

The mother of café protects us from the imagination-less seriousness of “outside”. She holds us for a while and prepares us to go back to the reality of outside. She let us experience an aesthetic and poetic life free from the sovereignty of time and profitability, just like a child or a primitive human.

Café is a sweet and pleasant pause in the middle of fast and violent rhythm of modern life; a memorial for the poetry of a life free from time, a fantasy life as charming, imaginary and real as a doll party. The one takes shelter at the café and hides from the omnipotent eye of the real world. He introspects and dives into the dark ocean of his own psychological universe. There is no thinking anymore; there is only daydreaming and fantasizing. He does not see anymore; he just observes.


En sang for fraværet af Payman

En digt af Omid Shams

oversat af Shekufe Tadayoni


Hvor er den seng som kan lægge den syge der er fed og deprimeret af dine uafbrudte kys på sine knæ, hvor er den

den seng som kan adskille træet fra det sete, diamanten fra evigheden, kongevejen fra ærgrelsen dig fra vanvidet

hvor er den seng som har nosser nok til at holde dig fast som kan forvandle dine tynde arme til alle

så meget til alle at jeg kan sige vinden er bange for alle

stjernen glider fra alle

grinet gnider sig med fra og med op ad alle

hvor er den seng som en siddende gud med gedebukkeskæg med en undertrøje af havene med hånden til tindingen sådan her

med døden med russisk salat med Winston og den sære parfume af de gryende morgeners synder

med farlige springvand af øjenvipper og aske

med en stjerne der er flov over to forheksede balder vendt mod en formfuldendt solnedgang

hvor er den seng som jeg kan kramme i stedet for dig

du som har tilpasset den hellige butik til en blå luders smag i samfundets baglomme

du som har skubbet den religiøse revolutionsdigter Ghazvehs[1] digtes bløde røv

mod samfundets stive pik

du som   ___ tiden i stedet for de brilleglas du aldrig fik            den plisserede satinnederdel du aldrig fik

i stedet for det hjem du aldrig fik

den kvinde du aldrig fik

det barn du aldrig fik


På toppen af mytologiens kødfulde sol spiser du latterens rabarber

fædrenes små tynde sprækker river du af

og smider væk

så at du er et væsel af mavesårenes og migrænernes enge

så at elfenben og våben ler i dine øjnes lyn

så at du roligt og respektfuldt kysser folkets kyske blod

døden er dit skaberværk

hånden er dit skaberværk

det femte nummer på alle Klaus Schulzes[2] plader er dit skaberværk

de smukke veje, de hellige køer, sommerfuglene, ørnene, hundene, kragerne og aberne, blomsterne, lysene, sanserne, tårerne , alle er de din evindelige hostes søde frugter

et sår drypper bagfra undertrykkelsens underkop og rædslen kigger på dig og griner – slå den

Med hånden hver og en af os med Mandys hånd som på dagen for den gryende morgen tager hen til alle bekymringernes krøllede og visnede kæmper frem til middag og ryger smøger i smug med Rezas hånd som er i militæret med de snavsede gryders håndtag med dine brødres og søstres hånd med den hånd som kærtegner de fødder og de bløde brystkasser som du husker i mørket – slå den

Med hver og en af trefjerdel-gudernes pikke grinende eller grædende eller på eftertænksom vis inde i den blå ramme som du ikke er i nu.

Med en ting på størrelse med disse virkelige               jeg ved snart ikke

jeg ved slet ikke


Jeg snakker bare i et væk så du ikke falder så du ikke falder som om man kan skrive som om man kan sige som om man kan tage som om man kan holde fast som om man kan skide som om man kan spilde som om man kan spytte som om man kan kramme en seng det er omsonst aldeles fuldkommen endegyldigt omsonst det er elendigt og latterligt når du er derinde

du er derinde din                 forbandede           nar

hvad skal jeg sige?








hmmmm hmmmm hmmmm hmmmmm























hi ha



hi ha



hi ha



hi ha



hi ha



hi ha



hi ha


hmmmmmm hmm                             hi ha


hmmmmmm hmm                             hi ha


hmmmmmm hmm                             hi ha


hmmmmmm hmm                             hi ha


hmmmmmm hmm                             hi ha


hmmmm hmm     rejs dig kammerat rejs dig     hi ha hmmmm hmm    hahaha kom kom denne her vej  hi ha

hi hi hmmmm hmm hi ha hmmmm hmm    hi ha husker du? husker du? hmmmm hmm     hi ha ku du tænke dig at jeg dansede? dansede dansede dansede?   hi ha hmmmm hmm

hmmmm hmm   hi ha   hmmmm hmm   hi ha hmmmm hmm      hi ha

hmmmm hmm    hi ha  kom nu og dans kom og dans    hi ha   hmmm hmm   hi ha kom og dans   hmmmm hmm  hi ha  hmmmm hmm  hi ha  hmmm hmm   hi ha  hmmm hmm   hi ha hmmmm hmm hi ha mig og dig mig og dig med Allan hi ha hmmmm hmm


hi ha hmmmm hmm    mig og dig mig og dig med Johnny hi ha hmmmm hmm  hi ha hmmmm hmm mig og dig mig og dig med Jacky hi ha hmmmm hmm hi ha hmmm hmm mig og dig mig og dig med Ali hi ha hmmmm hmm hi ha hmmm hmm mig og dig mig og dig med Pouya hi ha hmmm hmm hi ha hmmm hmm mig og dig mig og dig med Gill  mig og dig med hmmmm hmm Tony mig og dig med Mandy mig og dig med  Hossein mig og dig  med Hassam mig og dig med Georgio Sinajæk mig og dig med Nehal mig og dig med Bahar mig og dig med Taher mig og dig med Mario Vargas Llosa hmmm hmm hi ha  hmmm hmm hi ha hmmm mig og dig mig og dig med alle de kære med alle men det her

er alt sammen omsonst



(stilhed, rytme stopper, vrede)

det er omsonst af skrive på papiret

det er omsonst at smelte englen

det er omsonst fra

det er omsonst med

de er omsonste den rige bydel Alahiehs bakker

det er omsonst at slette alting absolut alting

det er omsonst åh I gladiatorer fra Vei Parken

det er omsonst at i helvede der blæser vinden og skyen sner og du er der ikke

det er omsonst at dele med offentligheden eller ikke

det er omsonst med Mandy ved siden af andre Mandyer og at ryste foran det berygtede Evin fængsel

det er omsonst at stoppe en hullet sok med morgendagens håb

det er omsonst med bitter kaffe og Al Jazeera, hash og at knalde stående i  gaden Charkhab

det er også omsonst at efterabe Ginsberg når du frygter at nogen konstant skal knalde dig i røven eller at nogen er i gang med at knalde dig i røven og du ikke har opdaget det eller at vente på at der sidder en plads til din røv og alles røve en plads i mørket

det er omsonst

det er omsonst at hvile lilletåen på sin fod og bemærke at du ikke har nogen negl på din lilletå og til hvor meget du skriger indtil du heller ikke har nogen negl på din storetå jeg skider på alle der siger at det her er prosa


det her er omsonst

for det er omsonst at skrive et digt til magtens mægtige røv

det er omsonst at bruge afmagtens farvevifte på velgørende arbejde

men du er også omsonst

du er dig rædslens røv

som uventede ulykker

som shia-imamen Abbas Ibn Ali[3] der banker én i ryggen

er du også omsonst og nu

hvor er den seng som kan lægge dig lægge dig lægge dig kammerat, ven, drikkebroder som gedegriner sammen med mig af magtens slappe patter

(tempo stiger)

hvor er den seng som vi kan hoppe op og ned i for dig

hvor er den seng der ikke ryster af skræk over vores sygdom

hvor er den seng som ikke skider af skræk over vores eksistens

hvor er den seng der bebos af de gamle forkølelsers herre

herren over indtørrede spagettier

herren over mølædte undertrøjer

herren over verdens filosoffers navne

herren over krøllede horders hår

herren herren herren over bløde og fortrolige røve

herren over fællesgåture

herren over tændstikker og papkasser og skraldespande

herren over at tømme og at fylde på ny

herren over at spise

herren over at klæde sig på

herren over at gøre

herren over at skide

herren over ikke at leve livet i allersidste øjeblik

herren over at grine grine grine indtil øjeblikket efter døden

herren over at danse nøgen sådan her










(oplæses i stød)









jeg                                                           vind

jeg                                                           skygge

jeg                                           stråler af lys

blade og blomster af bronze                             grædende og grinende

skælvende og spottende


jeg hånd i måne hånd i brønd

jeg er hoved bånd lyk ke lig hah

jeg hah

krop hah

skove      hah baglokaler    hah svaner hah    hagl hah hjorte hah

jeg er et øje hah jeg er en smuk kvinde hah jeg er forstanden jeg er nøgen hah jeg er blind hah

imorgener hah hjerter hah bikuber hah          ved min hånd dan dan dan                  dan dan



jeg vind




blå fugl





(synges forsigtigt)

hver en af livets liljer         hah ha

hver en epileptisk hårtot   hah ha

hver en mørk dugdråbe på en mørk kind af et mørkt blik i et mørkt hus med en mørk sambo

hver en af mørkets dugdråber på mørkets kind af mørkets blik i mørkets hus med mørket som sambo

som en musling under ingen omstændigheder som græsset sågar

som et spøgelse hah ha

lugten af en tale hah ha

hah ha

hah ha

hah ha



sim sim salabim f f frygt

sim sim salabim b b bæven

sim sim salabim s s snak

sim sim salabim o o onani

sim sim salabim p p pot

sim sim salabim k k krig

sim sim salabim b b blod

sim sim salabim l l liv

sim sim salabim a a a

sim sim salabim za za za

sim sim salabim hah hah hah

sim sim salabim hije hije hi

sim sim salabim f f fæng

sim sim salabim sim sim salabim se se sel

sim sim salabim sil sel sel

sim sim salabim fængsel fængsel

sim sim salabim fængsel fængsel

sim sim salabim fængsel fængsel


(tempo stiger)

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel …

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel …

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel …

fængsel fængsel fængsel fængsel …

sim sim salabim                 sim salabim

fængse fænse fængse fængseeh

fængse sefængse sefængse sefængseeh

sim sim salabim fængsel fængsel

sim sim salabim fængsel fængsel

sim sim salabim f f flyv









ving        erne        erne


jeg vind

åbne                                                       jeg fløjte

ving        erne        erne        jeg kys

åbne                                                       jeg fårekylling

vinger                                                    jeg vej

åbne                                                       jeg nattehat




(slutningen fader ud)

[1] Ali Reza Ghazvieh, iransk digter, kendt for sine religiøse revolutionsdigte

[2] Klaus Schulze, tysk komponist (f. 1947), elektronisk og eksperimenterende musiker

[3] Abu Al Fazl, Søn af den fjerde sunni kalif og den første shia imam

Dastoor Magazine was indeed one of the leading literary magazines during the dark years of 2009-2010. Unfortunately, after four issues the magazine and the official website was shut down and the online versions were then unavailable. I know it was quite risky for my colleagues in Iran to upload the magazine somewhere else. So as a member of editorial board who lives abroad, I thought I should do something about it. Here are the full text of all four issues of Dastoor. Just click on the links below.

مجله دستور که با همکاری بهترین های ادبیات امروز ایران در فاصله سالهای تاریک 88 و 89 منتشر می شد، عمر کوتاهی داشت و صد افسوس. بعد از چهار شماره مجله و وبسایت هر دو تعطیل شد. می دانم که در شرایط فعلی ایران برای رفقا و همکاران دیگر این مجله چندان امن نیست که آن را دوباره در جایی بارگزاری کنند. برای همین به عنوان یکی اعضای تحریریه این اجازه را به خودم دادم هر چهار شماره ی دستور را اینجا برای خواننده ی مشتاق بگذارم. کافی است که روی لینک ها کلیک کنید.


Dastoor – 1
Dastoor – 2
Dastoor – 3