(Continuation of “On Writing”) The callus had formed a long time ago having never had the opportunity to heal. The pressure of every pen and pencil. The physical presence of every written assignment embedded into a small hard mound on my middle finger. In Iran, my teacher believed that the best way to learn aContinue reading ““On Writing in Iran””
March towards the fiery light March towards the book burnings March towards the green pastures of the world March towards the end of the sands March towards the freedom of this land March towards March to wards March toward March to war March towards me Come and find me And I will march with you.
(All photos are original works unless stated otherwise)