the 747s still fly over the city at night
the neighbor's parrot mimics the call to prayer. i wish it would learn the national anthem
the azari bakery in gisha has closed again. i stood there last week with a field recorder, recording the dough mixer for a track that will never be released because it sounds like every other track i've made.
the old man in the park fed the pigeons at 6:15 every day until covid. i watched him from my balcony and now he is gone
the neighbor's kid asked if i could hear his voice on the recording. yes, i told him, but only because your mother was yelling at you
i spent two hours today trying to make a font work in photoshop cc 2015 that i bought from my cousin's brother-in-law who said he would send me the full version for free because he felt bad about the price.
the azadi tower lights flicker in the rain. they are trying to say something
moths in the kitchen light. i need to buy a new bulb
a taza door handle. cold as a lie
the pigeon's nest in my courtyard has moved to the air conditioner vent. i hope they don't come back
the archive has a photograph of my mother at fourteen. she does not look like me but i am sure we have the same hands
the woman on the bus has been watching me knit all day. i wish she would ask. i will tell her about the yarn and not mention the baby
the power went out in gisha again. i recorded the neighbors yelling about the generator
the new microwave works
the 1970s apartment building across from mine has been demolished. the concrete slabs sit on the ground like a puzzle waiting for someone to put them back together
the gallery director asked me to make a poster for their "women in art" show. i said no because the curator is a man and i am not interested in his interpretation of women's work
client wants me to make the logo bigger because he can't read it at 70. i made him wear his glasses
the neighbors' satellite dish is pointed at the wrong star. i can hear it whirring in place every night. i wonder if they even notice
the neighbor's cat has been shitting in my stairwell again. i am going to get a litter box and put it on their doorstep
i have been listening to a field recording of a storm on an uninhabited island in the caspian sea for three days straight.
sold another copy to my aunt. she really likes the title
the old man in the park with the metal detector found a button. i bought it from him for five thousand tomans
the new album is out. i've been working on it for three years and it's twenty minutes long. i think about the people who will listen to it while they're doing dishes or walking to work.
the man at the copyshop says my prints are too dark again. i tell him to turn down his lights
the coffee shop on valiasr has closed. i will miss their chai and the old man with the newspaper
i found a box of negatives in the market. 130 frames of someone else's wedding. i am printing them all
the man on the corner has a new amplifier
the neighbor's dog howls at 4 am. i have recorded it every night this week
the guy at the record store told me i should stop buying 45s because they are going to disappear. i bought five more on the way home
the neighbor's rooster crows at four. i am considering an egg timer
i have been listening to a recording of a bird i made in 2017 and i cannot remember where i was when i recorded it.
someone on karimkhan zand is playing a santoor into the street. i am walking to the corner with headphones and a recording of the same song
a man at the traffic light asked me if i was arab. i said no and he said "but you look like it." i said yes
the studio cat just hissed at the microphone
the 28th of esfand was warmer than the 1st of farvardin
a man on azadi was selling watermelon by weight at 10 pm. i bought a kilo and ate half of it walking home
the archive guy at milad tower asked if i wanted to buy a 1975 issue of zamineh with an intact spine for eight thousand tomans. i bought it and then realized i have no idea what zamineh is
280 steps from gisha metro to the studio
a crow just landed on my balcony rail
at midnight, the azan echoing down valiasr was layered perfectly over the traffic. i made a loop of it and now i can't sleep
friday night. traffic on azadi. no one speaks
i found a dead bird in the stairwell. someone had wrapped it in a plastic bag and left it by my door. i made a recording of it crinkling when i picked it up
the client sent me a photo of his wife's eyes magnified 800% on instagram. he says he wants the cover to look like that. i am going to charge him for every minute of this
a man on a motorbike just stole my laundry bag
the neighbor's cat has been howling in the stairwell since dawn. i have named him "sorry."
a woman in chador carrying a pink laptop bag
the neighbours are playing mahjong again. i wish they would learn to be quiet losers
a single hairpin on the bus floor. i hate mondays
a new studio opened in vanak. they are playing the same music as the one that closed last year
i found my father's old cassette recorder in the attic
two years since i last played outside. there are no children on the street anymore
the neighbour's kid started a band last week. i can hear every chord change through the wall
8:30 am. azadi tower has no shadow today
a chai glass with lipstick
a dust devil in gisha and i am out of cigarettes
1986 volkswagen in front of me. fuchsia with a spoiler
a car alarm has been going off since midnight. i have a folder full of sounds that are not this
a new typography client wants me to make their logo look like a "tehran sunset." i told them to google "smog"
the VPN says i am in germany now
the neighbor's rooster started at 4:32 again. i recorded it from the window with the new mic. i am going to call this one "sorry not sorry"
the old man at the record shop on valiasr sold me a cassette of shahram shabpareh's first album for 10,000 tomans. i offered him 5,000 but he wouldn't take it. "it's worth more than that," he said.
the VPN in front of me just went down for five minutes. i lost my place in a book about the qajar era and now i cannot find it again. i hope it was something interesting
the neighbor's rooster has learned to crow on command. i hate him more than his owner
the old man across the street walks his dog at 5:30 every morning. i have been recording their route for a month. today he stopped and said "salam" in the direction of my window.
the neighbor's satellite dish keeps turning towards me. i am not that interesting
the man in the corner shop has been giving me wrong change for years i think on purpose. today he gave me too much.
the man at the copy store said my pdf was too colorful. i made it grayscale
the air conditioner makes the window rattle like a snare drum
the cat purrs like a lawnmower. i am not moving my feet
the cat threw up on my desk at 3am. i named the piece "reza's midnight snack"
the neighbors are watching turkish dizi again. i can hear the theme music through three walls
the VPN into the VPN is still buffering
the woman on the bus has been staring at my cover design since karimkhan. she has no idea what she is looking at and i love her for it
the man selling roses at valiasr station has no legs. i give him a thousand tomans and he says "khoda khodam."
a forgotten alley cat. i named him "three days ago."
the neighbor's kid throws a rock at my window every afternoon around three. i have started recording it. the sound of the impact is exactly like a snare drum
the VPNs are down again. i have been here before
the guy at the corner store asked me if i'm leaving yet again. i said yes but only for a week. he looked sad. i felt like an asshole
17:30. still haven't started the cover for "the night of the fifth moon."
two hours in traffic to see an exhibition of iranians who moved to berlin in the 80s. they brought their carpets and hung them on walls
the bakery on valiasr has no more walnut cookies. i have been eating them every morning for eleven years
the print shop on enghelab has been closed for a week with no explanation. i hope they are alright but also i need those business cards printed.
a traffic cop with a megaphone. he says "stop" in english
the apartment's walls are too thin. i can hear them whispering in the next building over, like a radio static through the closed window. i recorded their voices last night.
the 4th floor neighbor plays qawwali at full volume every friday night. i have started recording the tabla over my own headphones. 312 files now.
a thousand steps to avoid checking that folder
the internet here costs more than milk
the neighbors are arguing again through their open window. i wish they would use the stairs more often so i could record them
a thousand mosquitos in my bedroom tonight
a cat with no tail limps past my window. i have lived here five years and never seen it before
the street cats have figured out how to use the automatic cat feeder i put in my doorway. they are smarter than me
the print shop owner near enghelab told me my kerning was "emotional." i fixed it and the cover is worse
the azadi tower is not tall enough
the neighbor's rooster crowed at 4:23 am again. i have started to like him
the park near shahid behesti has no trees left. i sat on a bench anyway
the street cats have learned to use the crosswalk
the neighbor plays googoosh at 5 am. i recorded her through a closed window in 2017
the woman in the elevator just told me i have nice hair. she said it twice because i didn't respond the first time. i don't know how to take a compliment in farsi
the air is full of pollen. i am wearing black so i look like a murder
the neighbor's kid drew a dick on my window again. i wish i had a camera that could record sound
the air conditioner in the studio has died again. i am going to record the city at midnight and make it listenable
the pigeons on the satellite dishes are all wearing tiny vests
1235 hours. the azadi tower is quiet
i keep thinking about the way the sound changes when it hits the metal sheeting and then the concrete below, how that difference is a kind of proof that things have changed even though they feel exactly the same. i am trying to remember if i ever felt like this before, this sense of time stretching out behind me and ahead of me, endless and unknowable. i think i did once but i cannot remember when or why.
tried to record the rain today but it was too loud. i will try again tomorrow at dawn
tehran bus station. 150 rials.
a red tazhik tea glass. eleven am
18:30, dizi over, dinner untouched.
120 minutes of azari cars on karim khan
a peach pit on the windowsill
the taza room has been painted. i have not been there in 153 days
the flight to istanbul leaves at 7:30 tomorrow morning from imam khomeini. i have packed my bags twice already, once with clothes and once without. this time i am taking more but i still do not know what will fit in my carry-on or if they will let me bring my microphone.
10:45 pm. azarakhsh tree outside my window, rustling in the rain. i have never heard it do this before
2:17 am. traffic lights flickering at vanak square
a room full of women in chadors. i counted fifty-three
sangar square at night. 1482 taxis. none with passengers
a new dizi starts tonight. i have made tea
a lizard on my window, 10 am
a cracked window. thirteen cats enter
a cracked tile in the courtyard
the cat has moved into my studio
17 hours to edit. 8 minutes of tape.
76th time watching 'the magnolia road'
4:51 am. the city's asleep and i'm awake with a scanner
a stray cat sleeps in my studio window
a room full of men in white, smoking and playing backgammon on their phones. i have been here eleven minutes and nobody has spoken to me
a crow eating a sunflower seed on my balcony
a rusty key. nineteen years in a drawer
gisha window fan rattles like a maraca
8:47 am. the traffic light at jomhuri has been broken since tuesday
934 megabytes of kanoon films downloaded last night
63 degrees in the shade. i am sitting outside because the air conditioner broke
a dusty ampex reel in my hands
87 steps from my door to the metro. i count them every time
24 hours since the last power cut. i have run out of candles
1987 lada still runs in the rain
a man selling pistachios from a wheelbarrow
7:30 am. coffee with cardamom from the machine that never needs descaling
1980s cassette labels, scanned at night. 32 so far.
a pigeon flew into my open window