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Sima B. Moussavian Biography

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“The world had changed its attire last spring and what it was wearing now was a perfect fit to what it was deep inside: a controlling old slag who didn't care about anyone’s wishes and ignored everyone who won't live by her rules. Tom was finished with that cunt: the world behind the fogged up windows. He used to live in one of his own: a dirty, but well-protected world that no one had ever entered and everyone who even tried was to get shot before they made it over the threshold. ~ As the moon began to rust”

“Fate isn't good with people and the other way around, it is the same. For us, it is expressing itself in a misleading way, speaking in a different language. From its point of view, however, what we would call a stroke of fate is not really that, but might just as well be a preparation for a gift it plans to hand to us, at some point in the future.”

“The world had changed its attire in spring and what it was wearing now was a perfect fit to what it was deep inside: a controlling old slag who didn't care about anyone’s wishes and would ignore everyone who wouldn't live by her rules. Tom was finished with that cunt: the world behind the fogged up windows. He used to live in one of his own: a dirty but well-protected one that nobody had ever entered, since everyone who even tried was to be shot before they could make it over the threshold.”

“Real answers are rare. The search for them is as tiring as for gemstones on a river's gravel bed. From the surface, you might think you can see them: that you can assess their location, but the water, as clear as it might be, distorts your perception. As purposefully as you might dive down for them, you won't find them, either way, where you first assumed they’d be. Are they ever worth it? Real answers worth the risk to drown? Or would you be better off living with what you can see from the surface: your distorted perception of their actual shape?”

“Deceit is a hill, the snowy surface of which you keep on soaking in cold water, so it will freeze over, and as you focus solely on doing it, you fail to notice how slippery it gets until you end up sliding down yourself.”

“Sometimes you forget the truth like a language that you haven't spoken in for years. When trying it again in a quiet hour, you'd only stutter and falter. You'd make a fool of yourself and promise that you'll never try again. But over one too many drinks you'd be trying, anyway, which would be when fluently you’d speak languages you wouldn’t even know when sober. The truth that sober Tom had unlearned was turning him into an alcoholic. Constantly it kept coaxing him to drink, because he couldn't get it out any other way. ~ As the moon began to rust”

“Sometimes you'd just forget the truth like a language you haven't spoken in for years: when you would try again in a quiet hour, you'd only stutter and falter. You would make a fool of yourself and promise you wouldn't ever try again. But over one too many drinks you would be trying, anyway, which would be when fluently you’d speak languages you wouldn’t even know when sober. The truth that sober Tom had unlearned was turning him into an alcoholic. Constantly it kept coaxing him to drink, because he couldn't get it out any other way .”

“How do survivors feel? Relieved and grateful, perhaps. As excited about their saved life as if it were a gift that the rustling fingers feverishly unwrap from its packaging on Christmas morning and whatever is underneath: you are happy. This is how it should be when you have survived the worst. Far from the crippling horror we were feeling.”

“The wrong things draw you in like the Sunday sun the eyes. You would stare straight at it and wonder if there is something somewhere out there, other than depressing sunny days and lonely Sundays: something more and when you would take your eyes out of the sun again, you'd only see red spots as if the light forgot them on your retina and then you would stand around and ponder why your eyes would always wander towards the it, although you don't want them to and actually know that it does harm.”

“When it starts out, life is an equation that almost solely consists of the unknown. Of unlimited options and infinite promise That's why at first it feels interesting, the unknown and the unforeseen make it exciting. All the first times and the new discoveries, the adventures and the surprising element that is immanent in the unfamiliar.”

“His days were light beer: lacking potency and barely intoxicating. Hardly worth investing in and perhaps that was why he barely ever spent anything on them. He was a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea. Something useless and long forgotten about, only to treasure hunters still of worth. Maybe that was what Helen was: a treasure hunter and therefore convinced that she had use for him. ~ As the moon began to rust”

“It's always the same with relationships: as if they were a fancy sheepskin jacket, you would get yourself some in order to stay warm on cold winter nights and show them off a bit. At first, they would fit perfectly until they would suddenly become too loose, too tight, too long, too short and from then on you wouldn't look after them any more. You would stop taking care of them, throw up all over them on the next binge and when you'd wake up in the morning, the whole house would stink like wet sheep and stomach acid. Sooner rather than later, they would end up in the old clothes container and although you'd promise yourself that next time you'd buy the expensive care product that the saleswoman with the fake smile tried to sell you last time, you'd still not do it, because it sounds effort and who would put any into something which they would end up losing, anyway? ~ As the moon began to rust”

“It's always the same with relationships: like a fancy sheepskin jacket you would get yourself some to stay warm on cold winter nights and show them off a bit. At first, they would fit you perfectly until they would suddenly become too loose, too tight, too long, too short and from then on you would just not look after them any more. You would stop taking care of them, throw up all over them on the next binge and when you would wake up in the morning, the whole house would smell like wet sheep and stomach acid. Sooner rather than later, they would end up in the old clothes container and although you would promise yourself that next time you'd buy the expensive care product that the saleswoman with the fake smile has tried to sell you, you still won't do it, as it sounds like a lot effort and who would put any into something they end up losing, anyway?”

“A normal human life consists of 500 million breaths for three billion heartbeats. That sounds a lot, but it’s not enough. You are searching: for a moment that feels better than the last. For a spark that lights a fire in your heart. For things that make you want to keep breathing: those your heart will want to keep beating for. For as long as you are living you are looking for them. Constantly and continuously, regardless of what you find. And here there’s us who we have become eternal. We will have to keep searching for the unbearable rest of eternity: aim- und pointlessly, since everything there is to find is, at some stage, found. You get tired. So tired of searching, so tired of life. There is nothing in the world that a heart wants to keep beating for forever: no single spark that can outlast eternity and no moment that can feel good enough to make up for the countless ones which will forever be in front of us.”

“The wrong things draw you in like the Sunday-sun the eyes. You would stare straight into it and wonder if there is something somewhere out there, other than depressing sunny days and lonely Sundays: something more. When you would take your eyes out of the sun again, you would only see red spots as if the light had forgotten them on your retina and then you would stand around and ponder why your eyes would always wander towards the sun, although you don't want them to and actually know that it does harm. ~ As the moon began to rust”

“It's always the same with relationships: As if they were a fancy sheepskin jacket, you get yourself one to stay warm on cold winter nights and show it off a bit. At first, it fits you perfectly until suddenly it becomes too loose, too tight, too long, too wide and from then on you don't look after it anymore. You stop taking care of it, throw up all over it on the next binge, and when you wake up in the morning the whole house smells of wet sheep and stomach acid. That's how, sooner rather than later, it ends up in the old clothes container and even though you promise yourself that next time you'll buy the expensive care product that the saleswoman with the fake smile has tried to sell you, you still won't do it, because it sounds like effort and who would put any into something they'll end up losing anyway?”