That is a place
where the wind cannot reach, where hopes and dreams
are all locked in a cage.
I was trapped at the crossroads,
a tired tourist,
in the center of the crossroads leading to four dead ends.
who am I? A homeless man
is full of unsolvable questions.
Hundreds of roads, hundreds of walls.
In my dreams, I describe them. "
#影# "No One Knows About Persian Cats" "No One Knows About Persian Cats" 9/10
Iran is a mysterious country. Although it is isolated by the "world" and imprisoned by "religion", it has also acquired a unique culture. The soil provides a steady stream of vitality for the wild grasses and wildflowers that are struggling to sprout in the crevices of
the rocks . Underground music is originally the magma surging underground in the mainstream culture. No matter how powerful the containment, you can't kill your youth and dreams. Fanaticism. A group of young Iranians tried their best to buy passports and visas to go abroad to participate in music festivals and hope to breathe free air. During the band formation process, they brought out various underground bands in Tehran, and sent the world's most heartbreaking powerlessness. Scream: Hearing Persian heavy metals in the outskirts of the cowshed, but was admitted to the hospital for pneumonia due to health problems with livestock; Picking up gypsum bricks on the roof to build his own practice room, but because a child was bored at home alone, he kept calling the police and the practice could not continue; On the third floor of the basement, I used an egg box to build a muffler shed, tearing the last pair of guttural sounds in the dull air! The director used a relaxed and funny tone and pictures to tell a group of dreams that were stepped in the mud...
In different music, Tehran All living beings appeared in the mirror image of the broken glass, with insensitive faces, sloppy and tattered clothes, and tired and sluggish figures. Even if the sunrise and sunset were magnificent and beautiful, blinded eyes could not see it!
The director took us on the streets of Tehran, through all kinds of streets, and into the muddled alleys. At the end of the day, we could only stand in the center of the crossroads, with nowhere to go, because we tried. All directions, southeast, northwest, dead ends! Dead end! It's a dead end!
In this place where the wind cannot reach, hopes and dreams are all locked in cages. We can only stand at the center of the crossroads leading to the four dead ends, howling with the last dignity of life, and shouting with the last blood temperature of dreams!
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