Friday, October 18, 2002 The Persian Post reflects multi-lingual/ media expressions on culture (arts, literature, technology, and politics). It covers past, present, and future of the subjects in/ about the Iranian Plateau. The culture is composed of the penda'r, gofta'r, kerda'r of the nationalities in the Plateau (language, behaviour, religion, food, dress, rugs, architecture, arts, literature, technology, and politics). The language includes dialects, comparison, dictionaries, linguistics, grammar. and changes. The arts are music, painting, fashion, drama, films, tapes, cd, Web sites, photos, and tv programs. The technology is narrowed down to those empowering the youth in their entrpreneurial, creative, and dissimantion skills. The precursor of democracy and civil society is employment/ economics. The Plateau has a long history and was a component in the Craddle of Civilization. At present, it has natural resouces; in the future, it poises a large segment of world educated population. The Latin transliteration of Iranian terms are with the 28 consonents/ vowels (a, b, p, t, s, j, c, h, x, d, z, r, z, z~, s, s~, s, z, t, z, ', q, f, q, k, g, l, m, n, v, h, y/ a~, e, o, i, u). The Armenian, Ashurian, Hebrew, Turkic, Kurdic, Arabic, and other alphabets have their Latin equivalents. FERMI AGE THEORY When we are born, we know not where, or when we will die. How we wander around, while we are slowing down In a finite medium! Our scattering seems isotopic; and our average lethargy, independent of energy. Valid is the Diffusion Theory. In every collision, we gain exactly an average lethargy. As we grow older, we have traveled more - the slowing down is zero at a void; and, continuous at an interface. THE SUBTRACTED STRANGER In the webbed city, under buildings and bridges, he who used to look at the faraway sky, pulled out his crushed body form beams and bricks, outstretched his hands to the sheathed sun. Highways end at the sea. In the city's salty air, when, in his iron cage, he was passing by these majestic green piles... and leaves because of rain, loose their beings. and rocks do not absorb sad rain. and rain washes away lines of memory. LYRIC 4 I am thinking of that girl whose eyes had the depth of the evening; her hair was the black waves of night in the earthen green clouds; her voice mixing life with art and giving it inflection; her look beneath everything seeking a relation. * I am thinking of that woman whose body was moon-lit flesh; and her breasts, two ambitious primitives; and her thighs were night-moist valleys where dawn's dews were upon - in those moments - the perfect union in warmth, life, passion, ebullition and wilderness and the short nap of the gay moment. * I am thinking of that white haired old woman who said, "There is no substitute for experience." * A poet is one who thinks of the past.. posted by Sam at 12:01 PM