(no subject)

[ink_splotch]

"Whose dream was this story?" he asks. I have no answer, looking at myself and the remaining characters - we have all been trapped among the pages of a book we never wanted to be a part of. Whose dream are we? Do we belong to that dream? Are we possessed by it? Or is there a dreaming belonging to each and every one of us?

I have a vision. It looks like a flickering light. It looks like the vanishing dew you can never touch, no matter how close you get. And I would like to finish my story with an untold number of shapes I can see in this little drop of dew I found once upon a time.

The next chapter of my story will be a fairy tale.

From Misreading Kundera in Tehran, by Naghmeh Zarbafian.

Comments

[lattara.livejournal.com]

This sounds like a really good book.

[vampirespider.livejournal.com]

It's from this wonderful essay collection I picked up, because Azar Narfisi was featured in it, called My Sister, Guard Your Veil; My Brother Guard Your Eyes. It features voices of different Iranian artists, philosphers and essayists, and is really, really interesting and overwhelmingly well written. That particular essay is written by one of Azar Narfisi's former students.

[lattara.livejournal.com]

Must. Buy. Now.

[vampirespider.livejournal.com]

It's brilliant, particularly Death of a Mannequin. Very much worth the cost.