keep coming up with love

i couldn't really get into that end of the year mood this year--could be of the lingering warmth of the weather, or the craziness of the scholarly work over the last month. it's been a bit hazy and all, but i woke up real peaceful and slightly rested today so i thought i'd give it a go.

last night a friend of mine said my desire of moving on with everything came from a stream of positivity. which in itself partly true, but i realized it had more to do with not planning ahead. me being a time-obsessive person dividing my hours and days according to tasks if i had to and all--i am the least furutre-driven person in the world. i tend to do things without considering the bad consequences. i told him "i don't want thinking about what's to come to limit how i behave--if bad things turn up then you deal with them afterwards"--so this is kinda pointless sitting here talking about an upcoming year for me.

so i'll skip all the gooey may you have a lovely year and whatnot. life doesn't move by days or years it moves by love--and i don't mean to say that in a cheesy way--i mean love at what you do at who you're with at what you believe in--which is rarely found--so don't mind the numbers on the calender flowing fast--they don't really mean that much. strive to make a life for yourself in beauty and inspiration and joyfullness. there's a glow to the people who do what they want to do with their lives--be one of those people. find things love them and love them blindly make them flow through your veins and lose yourself in them--feel that very string within your stomach tremble and waves within rise--i don't know--i see all these lovely people worried about a future--doing all these things that when they were kids they spoke of never doing--which you should pay attention to by the way--when you're a kid you're as free as a streetpainter you dream all you want--and they all lose focus of themselves--they don't think of finding something they love but rather something they're good at.

don't be one of those people. i beg you, do not be one of those people.

love art. love music. love creation. there is nothing like the sound of an instrument right in front of your eyes. or better yet--you already either love those things or you don't. if you do--then find as many as you can, consume them, burn them, swallow them. i don't know--just if your heart beats that way, then do not let it skip a beat. songs and words and poems and stories. do not waste them, do not hurry them into your life. take their time. think of them. cherish them.

do not yield to others. do not become a liar. do not assume you're loved--you are not as often loved as you think. be honest to yourself, don't expect affections of people you no longer have affections for. understand your desolation and cherish it. try not to hurt your parents for as much as you can. learn to love your roots, but grow tall towards the sky.

listen to good songs. they'll do things to you you've never dreamed of. hear good stories. you'll find yourself in each one.

don't laugh when someone speaks to you of love.

i don't know, there are things that pop into my head. truth is no two people are similar. consider this me talking to me. and before i take off--here's a lovely song. it's in fact a queen/bowie masterpiece but i though this cover was pretty decent. chaplin has a tone very similar to mercury's. but you definetly do miss the wonderful bowie in it. still, it's a beautiful song and very appropriate to the general theme of an upcoming year.



happy new year, everyone.

cheers.

ps: i just checked out the stat section of my blog and i saw overwievs by people in all these amazing countries like tunisia and luxemburg and russia and everywhere else. if you do see this, please do leave a comment.

carey

you say waiting on a bus stop for an hour and a half is a waste of time i say it's just enough time to brush off your entire beatles archive. the cold was unfortunate, though.

long long day tomorrow.

...

ah my dear ezra, you do me no good.

coloring

"Ideas are colored by what they are dipped in."

E.P

anyway you look at this

my obsessive dependency on music is troubling, i do have to say.

anywho--i do apologize that this is like the 789th keane video i put on here. but when a band/a man/a woman steals my heart through music i get obsessed with them, i listen to them day and night, i 'suck out all the marrow of life' and i truly fall in love. now that sounds funny, i know, but i do. and i love dearly all my lovers. and keane--i think this keane thing will last a little longer--so bear with me.

...

i don't get it--if you tell someone you're frightened, why do they assume you're lying?

so many sinking

there's a twitching pain down at my elbow. i've been carrying stuff and all, and lack of any free time, strutting down on the streets, i'm beat up physically and aching for some sleep.

probably cause i'm tired, i have this tendency right now to see things on the down side. but truth is it's been all right. last night was a bit of a hassle. but it gave me a few laughs, and more importantly a wise few minutes of conversation with a dear friend about a man's 'win set' and other stuff.

another old friend told me last night of other things that got me to think about confidence and real turthfullness. i made it a mission to ban myself from using the word 'honesty' in the upcoming days. i think the more you say it the less real it becomes.

i have a weary headache.

and a lot of weird thoughts about endings and misery and dylan.

just listten to this. it gives one peace.

high on the bell tower

i have to soon get up and get ready to go out this very greyish saturday night. truth is i would have prefered joyca and coffee but i think i can go through a few hours of good conversation. if it'll be good, that is. dynamics are getting all dizzy.

if nothing else, i'll see a few friendly faces. and that's all we should ask of people--just to be a friendly face. everything else gets tangled up in insincerity and human-ness.

through this beautiful scene

there is an old zeppelin masterpiece that speaks of the best thing being smiling to someone's who's blue--sad how easily inflicting anger becomes--or lack of anger, or anything else for that matter. all i hear (and witness) these days is tension tension and more tension. i'm not saying let's all go peace love and music--for contradictions and confrontations are poetic if honesty is involved--but no need to get boring now.

the other day i thought to myself how sad it must be that such little thoughts of indifference or hate can limit one's behaviour. i never let mine get trumped by it. i either went head down in flames or just offered that smile--because sometimes you don't have to be friends with people, you don't have to necessary like them or love them, but you can offer a smile. if not, that must be a sad word to live in.

overemphasizing never helps. look down upon your confusion your repulsion. truth is, very little that people care about what you think of them. live you affections in roars of oceans--the rest--speck of sand.

hopes and fears

the only way you get along with people is if you love the same. i don't mean the amounr or the method or the expression--i mean the way you love--the act in itself--if you wanna share anything valuable in this life with anyone, you should do the act of loving similarly.

sad when you notice that people you spent years with will never be people you'll spend years with because you don't love the same

but i'm actually relatively happy these days. besides life's real-life shitholes,emotionally i'm in a happy place. for the rest, i just ignore.

...

i don't know why i waste my time
getting hung up about the things you said
when i open my eyes it's a lovely day

and it's a lovely day

this sparked a story last night. i'm waiting for another to spark an ending.

...

i just got this link to this beautiful set of pictures that were taken in russia over a hundred years ago--there are many lovely ones--but this one i think truly captures the spirit of that dostoyevskian valya...

...

"Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. My childhood bends beside me. Too far for me to lay a hand there once or lightly. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark places of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned."

J.J.

but you haven't told me anything

now i've seen some great shows but i do have to say the last time i watched so many great performances in one single show was the 87 (i think) roxy show of guns'n roses.

love the lyrics to this one.

chimes of freedom

"forget your underwear we're free"

hang in there the last original spirit on earth.

if it eases you know

"O how unlike
To that first naked glory."

John Milton - Paradise Lost

oh yes it has happened--after much dragging (school makes it harder to enjoy all these lovely things about life)--i am done with the very beautiful yet intense Paradise Lost. Which is kinda artful in itself--because i always get this bitter sweet feeling at the end of every book--after dragging it all around god's green earth--after ditching classses and smiling at the rain under busstops with my lovely companions its always sad to finally put them up on a bookshelf after taking one last peak at their worn out pages (and boy do i wear those pages out). even sadder is when i have to place them on a pile on unrelated mysteries in the library so that some guy can push it away on a cart and place it back from when i had first taken it out of

but this time it wasn't entirely devastating and heartbreaking--for i met up with another friend--whose weary, stone like face met me on a faded green irish morning by the stairs holding out a hand not encouragingly but more accepting saying if you must... and i ran down defying his perfectness and began trailing around him like a child let loose for a day trapped indoors--dedalus and i have found that we both have changed and now we both have stories to tell. i started to listen to his this morning and have i missed him--you have no idea.

besides that--upon discovering the settlement of an old attachment within--a goodbye long given without me noticing--i realized everything's doomed for death and destruction anyhow--but we should be gentle with people--and honest--for where honesty reigns unfairness rarely comes up and hearts remain intact (even when they are not so they still accept the truth and learn to move on)--anger and hatret is unnerving and such a shame--so i realized today that you should all put it out there to ensure a peaceful ending from the get go--for no matter how you love someone you will one day realize you are no longer that dependent you are no longer attached--and that will only be peaceful if you can actually understand that you have outgrown it and it has outgrown itself--and that requires honesty in itself anyhow

and that i figured out today having silently waited for the youthful blush to leave me face only to know that all has been done and settled. and i have outdone the feeling itself. it was a beautiful ending. a brave one. a friendly one. a gentle one only for i do not lie to people. only for i know myself. and myself knows within time only what within time you can know

so tomorrow comes and the sun shines and i wear out stephen with my childish manners and my incapacity to hold back my affections. and he so does to me with the poetic beauty that joyce had placed in him

vale!

born sneerer

i should study tomorrow morning but i have plans to meet up with an old friend--stephen dedalus, that is.

such a nice time

i have this gigantic amount of love within and it feels so good--after such a long time of misconceptions--that i can just let it fly free.

it's like waking up to a brand new day.

justice for julian.

"I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses..."

(A.G. -- Howl)

who was the one that robbed my time

oh dear--there is no spontaneity left in this world. you can not do anything by heart. you have to plan and program and slowly but surely it kills the spark. nobody arranged summer of love--where is the feeling driving all these causes and goals? there is none. there are men in suits counting up members and doing updates regularly on websites.

close the door lightly when you go

So last thursday I stumbled upon something rather lovely—after some much needed one on one with the girl with curls, some munching on sushi and shrimpy stuff—we wondered into that lovely store of books/magazines/dvds/music and every other crap you need (including a freakish notebook that cost about 30 bucks, which seriously made me doubt some people’s sanity). i fell in love instantly with the time cover of assange—my recent fascination and possibly the last remaining unique spirit and certainly the other exciting persona of my day and age—but soon I got sidetracked from my supposed future of politics to my actual love of life. there he was a 20 some year old dylan with “baby fat” and two piercing “robin’s eggs” staring right at me I pretended to be not willing to pay so much to read about a man whom I already know too well (hypothetically, at least) but my coolness lasted less than 5 seconds. grabbed that magazine like a mad person and paid within two seconds.

then we strolled down for some coffee with my lovely companion and spent some more time together. i soon parted for the bus stop. then swallowed down a few pages while waiting for the bus to take off—intentionally avoiding the dylan piece until my best of terms were prepared—coffee, that is, and good appropriate music. we stared at each other with the picture dylan all the way. he had a snarly yet affectionate attitude. do not ask me how that works—it just does.

not the magazine has this lovely addition—a mixed cd of some great late 50s and early 60s tunes—with the likes of Baez, Van Ronk, John Lee Hooker, Seeger and such—even a poem by ginsberg. dylan’s scene—it aims to recreate the hipster, folksy, inspirational era that shaped dylan in the early days. anywho so i did come home made the coffee and put it on and finally indulged myself in the dylan piece—written by notorious wilentz.

the article’s fun—not entirely groundbreaking, you know, after some time you just kinda guess everything that can be said about dylan being the awkward goofy newcomer blooming into first the poet prophet then the rock star phenomenon. it has a few good comments from izzy young-he writes about the famous folkcenter that he ran back then. he talks about the overexcited dylan and the van ronk godliness.

but the album—now that’s a gem. there is nothing more beautiful than sipping your coffee while joan baez sings heavenly by your side—or looking up instinctively when dave van ronk comes up and your excitement and love is just too obvious to hide that you end up smiling to yourself. or listening to the Clancy Brothers thinking about the sweet liam—and wrapping all that up with a 9 minute ginsberg rant. and there are a few unfamiliar beauties that i am now very happy to be acquainted with—one that i believe is too perfect to not be posted here—or familiar names under unfamiliar tunes—though i have heard and read and loved much about the legendary pete seeger i actually never had listened to we shall overcome.

anywho—it’s been all greenwich over here at my end of the corner for the last two days. even revisited my dylans only to find out how much i missed them—then my van ronk’s—and some others. i feel the dusty basement poetry readings and baskets being passed around while young crazy new fresh flows through the stage under different shapes—i got to think of the old titans of my heard—kerouac, ginsberg, cassady—the road, the vanity, the pathway, the angelness and the hellish crazy—then of the lovely dylan and making peace with his loveliness despite your and his resistance—and towards the newer influences—it’s been a lovely couple of days—

it’s way way past midnight. i should wrap this up. and this is perfect for wrapping ups:

http://www.divshare.com/download/13466720-896

ps: sadly, this is the only way i can put it up. i searched like a maniac ravaged through youtube and various sides but could not find anything else. please do go through the trouble--it will be worth it. such a lovely tune. let it in.

hang your head

i actually have so much to tell--with my dylan's scene cd on and my hot tea all steamin'--but some work first. then i'll have loads to talk about.

his back pages

i know, i know. it is long. but so... so, you know.

Advice For Geraldine On Her Miscellaneous Birthday
Poem by Bob Dylan

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Stay in line. stay in step. people
are afraid of someone who is not
in step with them. it makes them
look foolish t' themselves for
being in step. it might even
cross their minds that they themselves
are in the wrong step. do not run
nor cross the red line. if you go
too far out in any direction, they
will lose sight of you. they'll feel
threatened. thinking that they are
not a part of something that they
saw go past them, they'll feel
something's going on up there that
they don't know about. revenge
will set in. they will start thinking
of how t' get rid of you. act
mannerly towards them. if you don't,
they will take it personal. as you
come directly in contact face t' face
do not make it a secret of how
much you need them. if they sense
that you have no need for them,
the first thing they will do is
try t' make you need them. if
this doesn't work, they will tell
you of how much they don't need
you. if you do not show any sadness
at a remark such as this, they
will immediately tell other people
of how much they don't need you.
your name will begin t' come up
in circles where people gather
to tell about all the people they
don't need. you will begin t' get
famous this way. this, though, will
only get the people who you don't need
in the first place
all the more madder.
you will become
a whole topic of conversation.
needless t' say, these people
who don't need you will start
hating themselves for needing t' talk
about you. then you yourself will
start hating yourself for causing so
much hate. as you can see, it will
all end in one great gunburst.
never trust a cop in a raincoat.
when asked t' define yourself exactly,
say you are an exact mathematician.
do not say or do anything that
he who standing in front of you
watching cannot understand, he will
feel you know something he
doesn't. he will react with blinding
speed and write your name down.
talk on his terms. if his terms
are old-fashioned an' you've
passed that stage all the more easier
t' get back there. say what he
can understand clearly. say it simple
t' keep your tongue out of your
cheek. after he hears you, he can
label you good or bad. anyone will
do. t' some people, there is only
good an' bad. in any case, it will
make him feel somewhat important.
it is better t' stay away from
these people. be careful of
enthusiasm...it is all temporary
an' don't let it sway you. when asked
if you go t' church, always answer
yes, never look at your shoes. when
asked you you think of gene autrey
singing of hard rains gonna fall say
that nobody can sing it as good as
peter, paul and mary. at the mention
of the president's name, eat a pint of
yogurt an' go t' sleep early...when
asked if you're a communist, sing
america the beautiful in an
italian accent. beat up nearest
street cleaner. if by any
chance you're caught naked in a
parked car, quick turn the radio on
full blast an' pretend
that you're driving. never leave
the house without a jar of peanut
butter. do not wear
matched socks. when asked to do 100
pushups always smoke a pound
of deodorant beforehand.
when asked if you're a capitalist, rip
open your shirt, sing buddy can
you spare a dime with your
right foot forward an' proceed t'
chew up a dollar bill.
do not sign any dotted line. do not
fall in trap of criticizing people
who do nothing else but criticize.
do Not create anything. it will be
misinterpreted. it will not change.
it will follow you the
rest of your life. when asked what you
do for a living say you laugh for
a living. be suspicious of people
who say that if you are not nice
t' them, they will commit suicide.
when asked if you care about
the world's problems, look deeply
into the eyes of he that asks
you, he will not ask you again. when
asked if you've spent time in jail,
announce proudly that some of your
best friends've asked you that.
beware of bathroom walls that've not
been written on. when told t' look at
yourself...never look. when asked
t' give your real name...never give it.

my back pages

"Dilara, you must become a writer. I'm just so impressed with how good you are at writing dialogue and being creative."

i spent almost 2 hours looking for a worn out piece of paper--my crusade back then--a short story assignment about a guy and ants--a 7th grade moment--and the first time i thought this is it. this will be my life. and the first time i was actually encouraged for it--by those few words in the beginning written on little purple pieces of paper by my then mentor and english teacher--two little pieces of paper that made me cry my heart out tonight. i don't know why. they just did.

justice for julian.

Arthur Dexter Bradley said, “I’m really not sure”
Cops said, “A poor boy like you could use a break
We got you for the motel job and we’re talkin’ to your friend Bello
Now you don’t wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow
You’ll be doin’ society a favor
That sonofabitch is brave and gettin’ braver
We want to put his ass in stir
We want to pin this triple murder on him
He ain’t no Gentleman Jim”

(Hurricane-Bob Dylan,Desire)

more on 8th of December

today is a mysterious one--half life, half death. i celebrate the life and shall deny the death. you too, john--in my mind, and in my heart.

8th of December

happy birthday, my angel.

no way out

i sincerely wanted to find a live performance for this but failed! still, i could not have let it go unnoticed (not that jack white ever could)

...

i'm tellin you man, this whole town is f****d up.

...

i just read that somebody described tom chaplin as an "overgrown cherub". the greatest description ever.

...

i just read that somebody described tom chapling as an "overgrown cherub". the greatest description ever.

monday morning

oh my, these wikileaks documents are quite poetic in nature, I must say. Some lovely uses of words turn up once in a while. Quite impressive.

i promise to go under it

ah my loving and patient zimmerman, who would have calmed me down if it wasn't for you.

little words are heavy

ah and it finally happened. all that crash and crash and crash finally sparked the flame to burn.

my downward spiral began giving unpleasant fruits of which i never though was possible--so much for believing in my invincibility--and tonight i faced the cold hard fact of failure. a grave that you dig yourself--there is a beautiful saying in turkish that comes down to "you don't cry if you fall on your own" and that i knew today storming from a classroom worrying about where i was bleeding and more importantly why i was bleeding and i saw then--end of the tunnel--it all goes helldown from here and it makes you smile to think so--for you don't believe that evil and misgiving and bad consequences are ever true you always think you'll dodge the bullet when push comes to shove--so actually taking a hit on the side makes you feel as if you exist on some unreal russian novel full of fire and flames

the odd thing comes a second after. you think you're flashing red you think your arms are swinging all over the place you think you're literally burning up and the people around you don't even notice. you think you're going down so fast that it is impossible to not see 'here i am' you say 'look i'm drowning' but it's amazing how little can be noticed and even littler believed in. not that others are evil or ignoring it's just we happen to see ourselves in such large shapes and stories where the truth is that we're all bleak spots of pain spattered all over the place

so what do you do? you seek comfort in the places you're least likely to get it. i think it's just a way of making everything worse just to be denied you ask just so that another scratch and another one it's such a cliche to say it but you do feel alive. for when good is gained you fear of losing it you fear of being mistaken you fear of being lied to but bad bad just comes down and strikes fast and you can not doubt it and more importantly deep down you don't really believe it. it all feels like a massive play. like a game. scorn and frown and drown.

you kinda wish it all gets worse. i don't know why. you do. it's insane and immature and childish but once you lose your balance you just wanna plunge down head over no hesitation.

doesn't mean you're unafraid. sad part is i have in time i guess i made people believe there was something insincere about me. for if you have to try to make someone believe you're frigthtened there is no real friendship no real love there. it's like we all try to prove someone else's troubles wrong. whethere it is because we believe ours are greater or because ours are worth crap--i do not know. and i got back home today to this sweet loving hole in the world that will swallow me down sooner or later--but all seemed insignificant. then had a long chat with my bestie.

then watched beautiful keane performances. now i finally figured out what it was about that specific band that just hooked me on so passionetely and it's the honesty in chaplin's voice then just grabs you. it's beautiful--not extraordinary but extraordinarily beautiful--but more importantly it's the most honest thing i've heard in my life. you can't argue against it. it just says what it should and you know that's how it is. it pulls out all these misconceptions and mistakes and tells you about them. it won't throw'em at you but it tells you simply and straightforward and one by one. slowly. realistically. not to mention that there are some great lyrics in between the lines. the lovers are losing is one of the best things i've heard in a while.

anywho plans for tomorrow--sleep, for starters. wikileaks should be a part of it--darn midterm. have to go buy boots (speaking of-a friend of mine upon seeing me today declared "sobered up yet?"). then who knows--who knows anything--

i have this image in my head all the time--this image of diving into the water. a bath tub a pool a lake a friggin ocean. doesn't matter. i just see myself floating with the water cool and easy and everything further down the line.

enjoy--



i know i've put this song before. it's an amazing song anyhow but this performance is so poetic that i had to put it up.



this one i put 1)that lead is adorable 2)the lyrics are worthy of mentioning

enough rambling already--oh there is nothing like the midnight to unravel my tongue

easy lies

"Only the mask!
The mask of worn scarlet,
there is only the mask!"

F.G.L.

is it only me or am i the only one willing to accept?

clinging to the wreckage...

...till i got the message.

north country

it's officially december now. 2010 is about to bite the dust.

depressing yet wonderful in a way. when you imagine all the things that may change or and then deadly when you think of all the things that may never change.

just because i said it doesn't mean i meant it

finally i feel like a person again.

after spending about 6 hours on my feet today. i nearly collapsed when i got home had a quick dinner and did something that i don't do that often--i took a nap to get back on my feet. took a shower and had a moment to breath. i did so much over the weekend that i feel exhausted already. i have no clue how i'll be passing this week but oh well. lousy time-managing for 3 days really gives you no time to study at all.

i just put my white stripes on getting my teenage mood on these days. first keane now these beautiful songs--i do have to say they're far more beautiful than i remember--they're leveling out my brain as we speak.

first off--about the few remarks that i promised to state about the raving night out. i think it's established by now that i shouldn't be allowed to drink until i grow a personality. i don't remember much of the worst minute--just a lot of tears and paranoia--and sadly, my supposedly super cool mature poet spirit turned out to be scared little girl. it was obvious that i was beat up and pushed around and cornered by fears and miseries. i did have my reasons, i just didn't needed others to know. i used to be a fun person though.

anywho skipping all that---i went to that gigantic art fair today. though it cost me many uncomfotable hours on a hell bus and even more walking by foot--still it was a blast. first off, some kids are gonna grow up to me weird people. there were people who had their 8 year olds wondering through the booths. now i have nothing against encouraging a kid to know and like art, but have a heart. second, everything was a little too sterile, a little too business-like. a little 'mainstream' i suppose. it was crazy crowded too--lotsa strange lovely people.

best thing about that photo on top--first we saw these beautiful pieces by a group of asian artists who were hanging out by the paintings. i told my friend how yoko-john magic had happened for the first time in an art gallery possible like this one. then only a few minutes later we came by that photo--two seconds of silence passed and i blurted "is that john lennon?" and my friend heartedly approved. but there was nothing in the title or anywhere else (it was actually titled untitled) that indicated that it was john. my friend remarked that "just because he has the hair and glasses..." surely it didn't mean it had to be john, i ended for her. but we decided as we walked away that it was john for us. and i actually had my picture taken with me that looked like a god-john had erupted from the skies to talk to me. it was just wonderful.

and sure i could have asked him a few questions but we had to keep going. i've seen lotsa beautiful colors and patters pieces of mind and heart spread all around. then i've seen conformity of a few elements and the fancy banker types that cruelly reminded me that money flowed around these corridors as much as art did. and i guess you can't fight that. dylan made millions outta records, still does. doesn't mean to music is any less impressive.

i was hazy on my way back. i tried to figure out what was so great about this chaplin guy's voice. i mean the band make good music, no offense, it's just that he adds this spice to it that makes it different.

anywho until i do that you go enjoy the john-god. or god-john. sounds funny even to say it.

perfect symmetry

my back's practically broken.

lemme get back on my foot. i'll tell you all about every lovely thing i saw.

a girl

"Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world."

E.P.

well hello dear old friend--yes, i have come back.

edit about 10 minutes later:

"I know my circle and know very well
How many faces I'd have out of mind"

...

whaddayasay. i remember jack white being the cool alternative creepy hot emo prototype of my youthful days. i came by an interview the other day and he seemed super easy going mature grown up man. he's all adult and calm now. still charming though.

and maybe you'll find that life is unkind

my head's not exactly straight yet--i have full hours missing in the memory of last night. once the drunken paranoia and moodiness slipped away it actually turned out to be a fun night. made some smart points of importance: 1)it was a part of evolution that man made straps on dresses. use them. 2)don't drink when you hadn't had a proper dinner, or when you're moody, or when you're firghtened, or when you feel unsafe. 3)stop once you get hazy.

i do wanna talk about a few things regarding last night but my stomach's still alittle tingly. i woke up this morning with the need to listen to perfect symmetry --especially that little part in the middle that talks about the end of the night--and a few other moments that could have fit keane perfectly--anywho, i was supposed to study tonight but i think i'm just gonna have supper (very british that is) then coffee. more keane. i have to get back on my feet for tomorrow so i can go ahead and see that contemporary art thing downtown. then i have to study.

shithead stomach needs to get better.

i was walking up the stairs of the subway, tired, beat up, sweating the vodka, with my heart missing beats--and i got this feeling of returning home urgently. when you reveal faces of you that you know people would not like you understand the actual beauty of having a family. you feel like you can fall layers and layers and your mother would still be just as loving. i just came home practically dying of fear of ever losing that.

my mother she made tea and delicious boreks and i just dozed off to sleep.

bend and break

well if i try a bit harder i may actually fit this world to be own bidding. i actually did have a few things to talk about but i have that oblivion that you have following the revealing of what you thought was so dear.

i ached for a simple kind of beauty today. like that of chaplin's tone.

...

shit. i just had that moment where i saw something on the paper stopped and realized that despite my hours of studying i have no effin clue about it. then i realized i have no effin clue on anything on the subject.

so best not pretend

long long day.

it's raining though, so that's pretty sweet. raging storm, too. got caught on my way back--then it went away (back now, with lightnings and all)--just left the wind and the falling leaves. and music in my ears. i do know how to live on my own, for sure.

everyone seems to be on a struggle. million little words each with its own set of worries. i do feel seperate though--don't know if it's arrogance or just misery--it feels like everyone's striving to be comfortable--i'm fighting to survive. all these thoughts and pains that i hold dear wear me out. my heart is like--you know how your headphones get screwed over but not entirely broken and you know that very suddenly you may unsettle the sound--yeah, that's how it is. certain moments both ears go blazing, then suddenly, dead silence. i was walking down to the school today perfectly fine. then thoughts began coming over. songs suddenly got sad.

there's a bench that i may have mentioned earlier--we call it the 'lovers bank' cause it always has creeping couples getting all romantic after dark and all--and it's never unoccupied. i walked down and i looked at it--funny story--all the leaves of the tree that had been keeping it undercover and out of sight has fallen--now it's just out there so barren and obvious that it has no relation left to lovers whatsoever. then i sat down a little--listening to the best song i've heard in a while--and a few drops of tears fell. just like that. at moments of silence like that you realize the darkness within. and it frightens me these days. it won't make me sad, no, it just scares me. we do get damaged, after all. all these bruises and burns do leave a mark. you don't notice that.


this song--love is the end--i can't move past it. turns out it was exactly what i've been wanting to say all along. it's simplicity and beauty and sunset and goodbye spirit aside--it is true--love really is the end--nothing gets better after that. you should cherish everysecond in which you're learning to love/like/care for someone because once you do, well, it goes downhill from then on. there are no more steps to take. once you care, you just simply not care--very soon. it looses its charm. it looses its magic. the pathway up is beautiful--like the first ture laughter you share, or the first time you say the same thing at the same second, or the first time you share a song, or read a book together, or when that person--friend/foe/lover--makes you smile on a day you thought noone could--those are the beautiful things. after that--best not pretend cause love is the end.

night breaks blue. beautiful.

what was i talking about? right, emotions. like today with an old friend. i felt where affection once stood justified or mistaken now rang empty. even distasteful. not that it mattered--but the feeling itself--to see that turn into that bleak even bored attitude--i felt as if i let slip something valuable. i feel that a lot these days--with friends who now seem very estranged to me. today was unbearable. i keep saying it's not lack of love. but it is the lack of something.

funnily, that song is the most peaceful thing i've heard in ages. it soothes me down. it reminds me of a tale i've always wanted to tell.

legs of stone

i'm thinking this life-questioning state of being is just basic laziness. or else i have no clue why it comes up every time i have to study. though i do have to say--i listened to my white, and am watching an old superman movie--priceless stuff. got some keane performances on youtube, ate the most beautiful dessert. not having any expectations from life turns out to be the way to actually do some fun crap.

tomorrow. far away. for now.

...

4 years in and i guess it's safe to say now that i've made a mistake. i should have been somwhere else. not that i suck here, it's just that somewhere else i could have been much happier.

feet on the dashboard

overall a tasteless night.

but this. this. it's worth a lifetime.

you fall on me for anything you like

oh who cares about having 3 midterms in 2 days. oh who cares about anyofthatcrap when that lead just puts his hand of his heart when he says 'i don't mind'

if i could be young again

oh that little leprechaun cracks me up like no other. funny dude.

not that i have any emotional attachment towards the french, but i sure do feel sad that the land which once gave birth to rimbaud is now squirming under a tiny little hate man.

oh dear europe. how old and out of fashion you are.

naked person

a good voice is like a poem
or more like a poet. but good is in fact not good good is imperfect and magical and otherwordly like poets. never seen a perfect poet in my life. and voices are like that and they have breaks and whimpers and sighs instead of rhymes and metaphors or unicorns dressed as words. you can tell a lot by the voice. sometimes you don't even have to say the right words. the voice trembles. the voice shakes. the voice roars. you can fake words but sometimes you can't fake voice.

so this keane lead for example. or the followill. their voices are poets. seperate of their persons.

like fingertips. i hereby announce voices to be the next most personal things.

and i don't feel the same

i forgot what a great song this was. just came across a documentary about the band--thought you'd have a better day too just by acknowledging that

a bigger bang

oh how sweet. i miss zimmerman these days. joni and the followill's been keeping me kinda busy. next week will be hell but afterwards i think meesa needs some alone time with the man.

don't question why she needs to be so free

conversations are funny things.

so i finally watched shine a light--and it was lovely. richards has a 21 year old stuck in his body. jagger is a true frontman--you can not look away when he begins to rock his hips (hips are redefined, by the way. what i loved the most about the whole deal was how they kept asking every one of them if they would keep doing what they're doing--about a billion times--so you could be fuckin rolling stones and people still would question what will come out of you. i guess it's the only way of perceiving what you really are to them--it's like--a teacher of mine had once told me that people can only imagine what they already know (like thinking of uber galaxies under regime of republics and empires because they know nothing else) so because they kept being only one thing and not the other they assume everyone has to be just like that--you have to be a musician to make music a poet to say beautiful words a painter if you put the brush to the canvas--

so if you are doing this now you must surely know what you'll do next!

i don't know i thought it was funny. to have a similar response of bitterness with jagger sounds funny when you think about it but still. i have a lousy back pain and i was supposed to study tonight but that went to hell, i suppose. anywho. lovely song. see you aroun.

my old man

ah the beautiful russianness in that picture.

they took all the trees...

put'em in a tree museum.

...

nothing seems to be more vital than the happiness of a child.

life, unfortunately, is very real.

i can not shake the thought. i can not. it severes one's every train of thought. it fills you with immense love--as well as immense worry.

say it with love

sooo the end of an era has started. as funny as it sounds i did feel a little nostalgic today at the movie theater talking about the times that i saw the very first harry potter movie--and about the times that i used to complain at the age of 16 that i won't be `20 and still coming to harry potter movies now' (well 20 seemed very adult and mature back then) and when the movie began with that notorious little melody and the familiar sights and sounds i thought to myself 'well somethings do define generations'. it may not be a groundbreaking extreme lifechanging set of events but still there is practically no one of my age out there who hasn't been somehow touched by the story--and mind me when i tell you: it is a good story.

and it even gets better when you watch it with your best pal. hanging out later on with some joint followill appreciation and fast food muching. cinnamon sweet hot beverage after dark. talk about high school memories and drunken nights of harassing volleyball players practically twice the age we were. i guess that's what happens when you start getting old--you start talking about all these memories of has beens.

and let's face it that redhead is cute. he truly is a story of blooming flowers. turned out to be such a cool charismatic dude that noone saw that coming. not that he was hideous or anything, he was just kinda goofy when he was a kid. now he has this unique attractive air to him.

anywho enough gossip--i bought myself scorsese's shine a light so i'm thinking after reading a couple of pages on the arab-israeli issue i'll do a midnight screening of that. my coffee's made and i'm ready to roll.

love you all. do go and see the harry potter movie. say farewell to your childhood.

take care

Передвижных

midnight mingling with repin over lennon's jealous guy

i tell you this and i tell you now art does not start in one spot and ends at the other it's all a big blob of energy and all kinds are the same kind

pyro

oh dear. how great is this song.

portrait of a lady

finally a lady that could literally trump all them men out there. oh joni--you came in such a good time, or else i was beginning to feel quite isolated in my cause.

'said a week maybe two

november's been making me miserable.

what's up with all the sunshine and may weather? who knows. i feel like popping my tom waits up rather than my bluesy rainy dylans. even my zeppelin's been getting rusty. all this damn heat and i feel like seasons aren't rolling and i feel stagnant and stiff.

but besides that, things have been ok. sure there are a few ups and downs, but they are always around, and you can't avoid those. but i've been trying to put things back together by absolutely ignoring lovely questions about future and life and money and all. you call me coward (which i possibly am to some point) i call myself curious. i tend to believe that i could be a street artist in new york just as i could be a UN representative. so who knows. god--look at me--after all the complaining about how everyone asks me the same question, here i am, my only conversation being that very subject. talk about irony.

i went to see this beautiful exhibition the other--of paintings that belonged to the tsarist russia. it was beautiful--there was this one portrait of Tolstoy which struck me dead the minute i locked my eyes on it--this mean looking old men with green eyes popping out of his skull--like seeing an old friend--i took a few steps backward and looked harder--and found myself thinking 'that looks exactly like tolstoy!' as if i was the one who knew what tolstoy really looked like. the whole building was filled with beautiful works of art--one floor belonged to a hungraian painter who used these bright lively colors which was the exact opposite with the spirit of the russian ones--and one belonged to a set of orientalist paintings from mostly french painters that came and saw istanbul at its ottoman days. all this fixation on the harem and the fugires of women drinking and messing around--makes you wanna laugh at realizing that it all comes down to sex after all--every little piece of art just comes down to that very subject and it amuses you to know the greatest of the greatest was just as sex-driven as the hobo out on the streets

putting all that aside. what i want to talk about right now isn't easy for me. i do not mean to exploit, i do not mean to sound a battle charge. i received a piece of news the other day from one of those people who live over the ocean that i love dearly--and quite frankly, i don't know how to deal with it. i cried, at first, a lot too. then i just didn't know what to do. when facing true pain, one is forced to grow up. you suddenly realize that any misery that makes you feel miserable in a showing way is not true sadness. if you can put on a preferable song or write a few lines--means the sadness you suffer is either at your own hand, or at hands that you chose to suffer by. when you face an actually misgiving--a true sadness--you grow quiet. you move on with your life, you keep it from other, once or twice in the day (though lot more often in the last few days) it passes through your mind and you stop and you float not knowing what to do or what to say and you feel like you're not entitled to anything--and this grown up maturity fall over your shoulders and you begin seeing the world differently. i don't know. it doesn't make you wanna kill yourself--worse--it makes you find a way to move on with your life.

so i've been praying everynight for the last couple of days. first time in years. they've asked me to do so and i will. though god may not help me for i no longer believe in him, but who knows, maybe he'll help someone who does.

...

things happen in the world that make you wish life would freeze. you hear of news that breaks you into a million tears frightened you repeat it to yourself a few times a day just so you can deprive yourself of a weary smile--all the world then feels like relying on the back of one little beautiful child

...

huh. just read a story of mine that was half decent. i bought a red pen the other day so i can edit stuff i write. makes me feel all professional and future-oriented.

a case of you

"Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid"

blue.

joni takes me tonight to a little apartment in ny overlooking perhaps washington square filled with angelic people with acoustic guitars and lovers unexplained. tea tastes good and i can only pray i get through this year to not waste the previous 3 but joni and i we both know my wings began itching on my back and soon i gotta fly away

jump in the waters when they're raging

Long time, no see lovers.

i’m aware that it took me a little too long to get my ass outta whining and come down here to say a few words—but all’s been thought over (and then some) and here i am.

strange things have been happening lately-school, for starters. my beloved castle of 'multitudes' have fallen. it all seems to be such a drag these days to even just get down there. it seems outdated and pointless and absolutely unnecessary. and you know what happens when i lose faith in something--it just goes downhill crazily--so i'm thinking low grades and a few disasterous choices lie ahead as the spring approaches. not much i can do at this point to change that. i mean there is but i won't do so. i can't do so. if my heart ain't in it than i can't force myself to lose hours on causes i no longer believe in. path of academia at this point in my life no longer excites me--i surely have a lot to learn but i need to do so through life-not through a bunch of people with too many to count sticks up their asses

moving on. i had two lovely nights in a row over the past two days--and though i'm a little tired and time seems to be running this weekend i surely am happy. both were two absolutely opposite ends of the spectrum--one being too turkish and the other being absolutely non-turkish. fasil as we call it--a dinner made up of friends music and my land's most pleasant beauty raki--it was a blast on thursday night when i had a chance to hang out with some of my favorite people. though strings were stretched as far as they could--some on the break of breaking of--and certain uncertain issues lingered on--all through it was a lovely night with highlights such as doorstep assumptions on what makes or should make you happy and let it be ringing softly in the back (which is most unusual in a fasil) and later on drunken moments of beauty such as talking about broken friendships walking up to the square or freaking out in my drunken state of mind over a nightmare i had a few days ago in which one of my best friends lately learnt something about me that i know he would sooner or later--truth is at this point it would be cruel to not let him in the picture since my insignificant secret lingered around for one too many minutes around his circle--anywho it's different when you're drunk--evertything is simpler and most logical--yet you feel something strained beneath your dragon skin--i have noticed on my way back through the fog smudged night that i as i tried figure out who i was and what i wanted or tried not to want anything that i thought i can not have have managed to successefully killed a deeper silent part of me--all that struggle to be quieter and lonelier and bleak--i thought i bounced back all right--truth is i haven't--a part of it still veils me and chains me down and i went home last night noticing that i no longer was capable of being that happy--the way that i used to be upon returning from drunken voyages made with friends (bobby says -- you can always come back but you can't come back all the way)

last night was entirely different. i had too lesser known still loved friends with me and we went to see the blues festival downtown--which was a things of beauty in itself. note to thyself--never go to a blues show without a lover. i have decided after last night that blues was the most sexual genre out there. it takes you up to this level of energy and passion and leaves you off there--it doesn't explode you like rock'n roll or leave you grounded like folk music--god freaking knows it is just insanely sex-friendly. i don't know how clear this sounds but you had to be there to know what i mean--especially near the end when kenny neal was doing this mean heavy i can't quit you babe type of blues song it just makes you lose it. besides that the whole thing was amazing--it was probably the first show i ever been to without having a clue about the participants--but from now on samuel james is surely under my spidey senses--dude looked more like jay z then muddy waters but still man did he know how to play that guitar. it was a whole army of musicians molded into one human being.

two kinds of people should be banned from attending shows like this one-- 1) wannabe high school kids (i know i know i sound like a bitch for saying that but man they are annoying) 2)creepy snake dancing guys that keep yelling and pointing at the sax player just desperately dying to let them know how much they totally love them--would have loved to have bobby there--that would have been a blast

lets see what else? caleb followill is killing me these days--as they often do--the songs began growing on me--and that voice--man--that voice that scratching tearing roaring growling beauty--it's unhealthy, to be exact. that's how amazing it is. pony up is getting to a frequently played on my ipod. SPEAKING OF- my stupid headphones broke. hence i was miserably all through the bus rides. but i am so getting a new one tomorrow so hopefully by monday morning, i'll be a happier person.

oh and another strange event. this lovely friend of mine that i've just met upon hearing from me (being possibly one of very few) that i wanted to write in the future revealed that he also had an idea for a book--but he would probably get down to that later on in life since it was 'too hard' to do so for now. but he also made me smile afterwards declaring that i made him 'think about what he was going to do--again!' so i guess kindred spirits are not always as far away as we think they are--or maybe they'r even further down--who knows

so as you see not much changes. i do feel slightly changed. i do feel slightly lonelier. slightly more confused. yet slightly clearer.

highly estranged. wounded but up on my two feet. putting friends secrest and families in my rear window. at least trying to--as that lead followill boy often lets me know (or at least i assume he does--boy has a way of singing the words that lets you hear them as what you wish them to be and not what they really are--in the strangest parts of town at the strangest hours too)

and all this pissin' around
cut loose of this fuckin' town
i ain't comin back
i got my ticket on to the next one

ah november. take off your shirt already and show me your raindrops.

quit your low down ways

i am gonna get around to things soon--till then don't assume i've given up hope on this place--it's just been a couple of funny weeks and we'll have a chat as soon as i get my on my two feet

...

i am not ok.

rank strangers to me

indian summer's long past at this point i assume. the sky turned greyish and i see the branches revolting against the roots. so i'm thinking autumn's living out its last few days of decent weather and soon it'll be rolling thunders and snowy rains.

with two weeks of school behind there're some fishy things going on. i didn't leave the house today, yet, which felt good. i had a big breakfast with my brother mama and cousin and did some latin work. tried to indulge myself in chapters of middle east but failed. did squeeze in a few pages of milton though.

the rumour's out that i seem a little down this year. tense and unhappy, "angry" a friend described "quiet" another one pointed out (to which i responded "maybe i matured out" and he didn't seem to think that was necessary anyhow). i honestly do not know where the notion comes from but i'm thinking hearing the same line from a few different heads eliminates perception. i feel perfectly fine (not worse than usual, at least). detachment may be my recent air of being, but reproach and misery i'm thinking, aren't exactly what i have. i guess my recent revalations and peace treaties with hopes/plans/nightmares of the future and my final decision about taking of afterwards have kept me aloof--seeing i share nothing in similar with noone i know (them worrying about very important things such as career and alternative routes of making money [i hope my comrade won't take that personally or as an insult, i do joke around often on the subject through her lovely struggles which i know for certain will result in the best of ways] ) and me being in a state of existence far stays out and about of all those worrying about how i shall be free and where i shall go and to what shall i turn my back to (family and such strong devotion hamper one's wings with velvety ropes) so it all seems vain and meaningless to me and to what i desire they have no contribution whatsoever. that being said i guess little room is left for any common ground and any plesant outlet of affections--which i personally find it hard to dig out as days pass and even littler sharings are left.

a few things happened of joy though. without exposing to much i heard of a lovely news of a lovely friend who days before had me smile upon claiming "he should get me outta his life" since i kept going up against the walls he would like built against foreign intrusion. and something even greater came out of all that and my faith in the outer declarations of truth even got stronger, and i felt like one of the few persons who when giving an advice trusted upon her own beliefs and feelings--of which she herself acted upon way way before--a way of your actions holding up to your words--and it felt good know you do really do as you preach

second thing of joy--the new followill album is out. pyro already is a gem, and pickup truck is no less magnificent. though i wish they kept the instrumentation simpler in the back, considering that that voice of the singing one is worthy of gods--literally--very milton, to be honest all that fallen yet graceful form kinda deal--and the rest of the soudns seem to muffle him out a bit, in my opinion that is. and it's a bit more of the same--considering the drastic changes that happened in between the other albums--but it's still a beauty. i missed my bus the other and had to wait for 30 minutes exact for the next one--there in drizzling rain and the first round of listen i gave to come around sundown which made me praise my luck rather than curse it for missing out the bus.

the whitmark demos are obviously out. i'll probably get my hands on them soon enough and boy it's gonna felt awkward to listen to those--seems some of them will be written by zimmerman when he was around my age. makes one start comparing even though mountains and mountains lay between.

i do really wanna talk about joyce a little but this post is getting outta hand. so i'll take my leave for now. enjoy the weather.

October 21, 1969

We die the same
unconcern we live

J.K.




in between my pettiness and my frustrated riots i forgot about something that occurred to me long before--on the first or second day of october i think--when the weather was just turning sour and the days were getting shorter--i looked down the bus window and thought to myself: "Jack died on the 21st, didn't he?"

but today not even once i thought of it. not until i came home and turned on the computer and was forcefully remimnded. my insides turned. my blood froze. what little voluntary connection i've been letting myself have with the outer world seemed useless and vain. my hand over my mouth i felt something grab hold of my heart--as if jack had died not a lifetime before i was born but today--this very tasteless day in which even the heat seemed fake or unnecessary

but before all that--as i was walking home today thinking to myself of all the ties that i would severe once i hit the road to do my own thing--effortlessly all my dreams trailed down jack's spirit--through back woods and motels and alleyways--and i can not seem to imagine a future which i haven't based on his grace and beauty in some way or the other--him and many more obviously but him possibly the most--and now my fingers feel stiff and my heart feels heavy and tears roll down silently as they do after a lost love and a truly gone friendship--my tea slightly bitter and my music turned low--


live on, my dear soul. be at peace. oh how i miss you jack, today and tonight of all, oh how i miss you when i feel so alone and aimless and misguided and misused oh how i miss you when i can not tell noone what is it in the pit of my stomach oh how i miss you jack

how i miss you
and how i shall miss you forever more
until we meet at some other place where souls refusing to die end up staying till eternity runs out
reciting poetry and thinking about god and life and the void

jack. ah jack.

if i do become myself one day, it will be all because of you.

400.

400.

400 rays of sunlight.

ask me what is shall be in the future and i respond: free.

when i'm gone-- remember me in the whistling tune of the wind unsettling your hair and in those first drops of autumn rain.

but the riverboat captain he knows my fate

children.

yes i am back. yes i couldn't keep my word. yes i crawled back with my tail in between my legs. but things have changed. words have changed and what they mean to me have changed.

getting that outta my chest i wanna move on to some of the crazy things that happened today. me and the girls and my lovely foreign friend went over to see this fortune teller. i don't know what it is about those places but ive always liked them--and though more that not you get nothing but made up bullshit (i doubt any other way is possible) i still like them. they give you a feeling of optimism that you can't resist really and it's not like you loose a teeth by trying to believe. so it works out fine.

huh this is weird. i guess i got rusty over time. i seem to skip like stones. anywho moving on--

it was fun as it always is. we were all girls and crazy things have come up. but the answers that you come up with one way or another only remind you the actual answers you would like. overall i decided that i liked those places because truth or not they offer you stories--they make you hear different versions of lives that you could or would lead--so it's not entirely a waste of time--you just have to sit back and relax and have fun with it

it took me a while to get back home. i was kinda in a state of confusion kinda dozed off didn't even notice the change of lights while i was waiting to cross the street. i should get some studying done this weekend but who knows by the way i'm feeling i doubt it's gonna happen

i feel weird doing this now that i haven't done it in a while

be well. i'll put you outta your misery now and stop writing.

a portrait of the artist as a young man

"You're a born sneerer, Stevie."

J.Joyce

...

praised be the fluctuations of the heart.

i'm not sleepy

there's something incredibly untamed about touching someone. and at the end of the day i realized there are people who can end the world with a smile. not to mention that the smile belongs to possibly the most interesting person i've met in a long while. no evil intentions, there are some people that make you happy by entering your lives. reserved and unfamiliar. rosebuds and butterflies and tingling in the stomach. that familiar feeling of attaching one's dailyness to a foreign face--ah the best days before things start to blow over--those great days in which you only discover stories--and boy have i been craving for a man with a story and we don't have a lotta people with stories around

there mr tambourine man. there. i'll follow you. in hasty steps and unconfirmed thoughts--yet i'll still follow you.


edit-- praised be that feeling that you barely restrain at the bus stop that makes you wanna dance like a madman to got to get you into my life praised be strangers who give you that feeling praised be foreign smiles praised be languages and praised be blue eyes

the answer my friend

all in good time. but till then--there a dylan barely a year or two older than i am--if at all

you may say that i'm a dreamer

i read a piece a few days past about an imaginary interview conducted with an imaginary john lennon at the age of 70--alive and well. it was one of the most enjoyable things i've read about men his kind. it portrayed a 70 year old, skinny, balder, wittier lennon living out in his farmland cracking jokes about the million more releases and never-before-releases and bootlegs and outtakes and etc that labels microwave and put in front of us day after day

the weird pleasant thing about the piece was that it had an oddly realistic feeling to it. john very well could have been alive. he resounds different than the others--from titans like elvis to angels like jim who with their beuty and fire never really fit into our daily world-- he feels real and possible and honest

so i pick up the pen again today only to celebrate his birthday in earnest affection--a little fact that i stumbled upon earlier today.

we have a saying in turkish about the fox returning to the fur shop no matter what. i feel them wings tickle my shoulders.

i'll probably stroll back in sooner or later.





'cause of men like john.

gentle into that good night

as you may have noticed i'm keeping my quiet these days. not that i do not wish to write, because i wish to not be able to write. very interesting spot in a lifetime. have learnt after a very long winding road that in this life the best thing to do is to stop being extraordinary. there are billions of wonderful ordinary lives out there. i'm trying to be one of them. stripping down from all needless desires such as loyalty life and peace. instead learning to settle. thinking of things that you know you can not explain to the people. moving by. who knows when i'll be back. if i'll be back, that is.

nothing was delivered

i can't seem to put words down these days. not the way i hope to at least. i realized that i can't and won't ever truly learn latin. it seems to be not in my bones to do so. i am too slow and too dumb for its taste. i also realized that i don't really care how this blog looks but i just wanted it to look since i no longer put stuff on it that knocks me off my feet(except for the post about my dad maybe). in additin i realized school's about to start and i still don't feel like it sould i am not well rested or bored yet. then i realized maybe i had to scratch all that excessive attempts and get back to my basics-- so i put on freewheelin' and though it turns my frown upside down it still won't solve anything.

change of weather they say affects you that way but i doubt it. seeing the cloudy greys in the morning makes me happy like a child.

i tried to think of a story last night about finding god at the end of science and all but i fell asleep halfway. i used to stay up all night to write things. i can't even plan them now without losing my heartbeat.

i just wanna lock the doors tight shut and pour some tea into a cup and apologize to joyce for not making it past page 2 in 2 days. then maybe he'd pat me on the back as i complain to him about how expensive rooms are in chelsea hotel if you're on your own and as i complain i would realize that eveything's expensive when you're on your own

then maybe joyce would smile at my childishness and ask what that song was in the back? and i'd say, "dylan probably"

...

so just as i got myself ready mentally to get up and make myself a steaming cup of lovejuice that is coffee before diving into my newly bought ovid's love poems --i find this putting a bitter weary smile on my face

teddy

My dear father comes in at the end of this bluesy day weary and tired as daddys usually are--but bright with that shining light that comes to his face when he finds out something brand new about life death and universe--and tells me that somewhere in this crazy universe a bunch of crazy scientists have figured out that it was naturally possible for the seas to be split open--moses style. app. you need either a tsunami or a great storm--but it is not impossible.

i laughed and told him it was all made up anyways so what was the point of spending billions on research, and he--always knowing twice more than anyone i've ever met-- of course made sense out of it by a line of very scientific historic sociological arguments in favor of looking into these things, then almost as a poet, he lifts a hand and says

"I believe science will keep advancing until we're gonna come to that spot where you open up--and there sits god"

and he smiles magically and leaves my room
leaving me thinking that was one of the best things i heard in a while

...

so turns out i can not get russian even though i want it. too many conflicts. needless to say i am hating life at the moment. i guess my nobility in dreaming don't go hand in hand with the real world.

leave me be tonight.

she's a hypnotist collector you are a antique

"Ideas are soaring in the air; there is something penetrating in an idea."

F.M.D

so finally got my head clear enough to post. i had my 5 cups of tea and just plugged in my bringing it all back home with all its charming artsy 60s underground genious loveliness. anyhow, here goes what's left of last night.

first off--we went to see this art residency place down in karakoy--a very ancient crazy part of town that i'm pretty sure i haven't been to in years--we first had dinner in another lovely restaurant somewhere down at the holy land taksim in which i had the most entertaining conversation with a waiter about the brocolis i chose not to eat. but we came to a conclusion that healthy living doesn't always end up with the best of results, so my brocolis were not that big of a deal.

then we walked down these streets with all the lovely sights that come out after dark (including a bunch of uncanny gentlemen) and met up with my good friend (the one with the good heart and the solid future, that is) and kept walking down this huge street called the bankers street--with all this high ceiling type of old buildings with gigantic windows--so very otherwordly if i may say. upon finding the opening party that we were looking for i was mesmerized- a bunch of casually spirited people were crouching on what seemed to be a deserted street in the pitch blackness of the night smoking their cigarettes and drinking their beers--all sorts of people from all around the world--and that lovely air of creativity and a passion for the arts in all of them

it was one of the greatest things i've done in a while--first because it was different and i have been craving different--second because it was beautiful--this endless stairs that lead from one floor to the other may it be from a photo exhibit to an artist's bedroom from a kitchen to a random room with nothing but a tv standing in the middle of it--then to this beautiful rooftop which overlooks the rooftop of the old ragged building acrosss and people just hanging out on their own--people different than all the people that we usually end up hanging out with

so it was a lovely hour or so that we spent up there--there came this moment that my friends made it in and i was left out because i was smoking--i just leaned against the doorway and inhaled that cigarette like it was made in heaven--again thinking about where i was to go or what i was to do and thinking of ginsberg upon watching a very animated performance of an actress thinking to myself that hearing howl mustta been something like this--because they both comes from the heart both from people who believe in their hearts and who live for their hearts--and i smiled.

then there was a walk back to another joint to meet with other friends--through which we had discussed naked people in san fransisco and homeless man growling by the sidewalk--and people dancing and singing in the middle of the street--about rainbow makers and gay bars and cop cars and all

i met some of my girlfriends whom all i had missed--but one in general that we had worked out fine 'on some frequency' as i described sipping my drink--then the bartender and the manager who was named the same as me--and the waiters and random people that i had a chance to talk too--and it was one of those nights that whomever you ran into was full of life and excitement and everyone smiled and everyone was a flashing tone of pink that made you feel like you have broken time to exist on some other universe just for a night--

that all obviously could have been the entire pack of cigs that i devoured on my own and the drinks that the bartender generously kept spicing up for me--but still, i actually had a pretty good night. i made it home a little lightheaded to say the least and stumbled upon a wonderful stones documentary--then i went through all these crazy ideas in my head and cried a few tears looking at old pictures of my grandpa--and his russian-turkish dictionary that i happened to stumble upon--then i tried to get to sleep but failed had a snack around 3 30 and laid in my bed listening to arizona thinking what a fuckin good song that was--than i must have dozed off only to wake up again before sunrise--walking around the house a bit on my own and trying to not resemble any sound to the sound of someone screwing around with the key--and then went back to bed.

i woke up after noon when the phone rang.changed and was heading out to the bus when she belongs to me came up and i knew right away that was the best song to ever talk about last night--

then came home and right before i walked in the door i thought of the hooker i had mentioned to my friend late last night--this blonde woman who always stays in the same little hole at the side of the street going down to the bridge--i never walk down that street i always pass in a bus--so i don't know what she looks like or who she is--but i smiled late last night saying to my friend "yeah i have a hooker friend in this city"--only because i had noticed her and wished for her not to be completely unhappy and that, my lovely friends, is far more than what we often do for the people we see a million times a day--

de daumier-smith's blue period

"The worst that being an artist could do to you would be that it would make you slightly unhappy constantly."

J.D. Salinger

..

man... something's off balance. something's off tracks.

as awkward

so just when i was perishing on those wicked lands of muselessness boy have the rain started--strolled down my kol archive last night and ended up writing a few satisfying pages. then i rediscovered this song and thought i should post here:

come around sundown

whoa. new single from the followill boys. yummy.

flowin more freely

so all it takes to tingle your insides is a cup of that strong senseful turkish coffee and some good music. huh.





THE BEATLES - I ME MINE - STUDIO
Yükleyen THE-GRAND-WAZOO. - Öne çıkan müzik videolarını izleyin.

one, two, three

salinger puts my mind to work not on what he writes about but how he writes about it. a day or two ago my dear comrade introduces me to her lovely family as "a writer". now i spend hours trying to understand how you make stories.

this was something i must have written absentmindedly, on the 20th of may 2009 (computer claims well into the afternoon). i found it ravaging through my old victories. it isn't too bad. but it isn't too good. i'm gonna put it up there hoping someone would finish it for me.

i am so tired of having to figure out how stories end.

http://www.divshare.com/download/12571927-b6b

...

sleeping daytime wasting hours nighttime. i'm all.. weird, i suppose.

time after time

it's sad, really. all this conventional contemporary spirits who refuse to see the blood and sand and pain underneath it all. who live in states of delusion and emptiness of righteousness. who believe in theories that don't believe in humanity. this world. it can not be changed. those who have the hearts don't have the guns. those who have the guns don't have the hearts.

that way of thinking--that gets to me. i can not relate to it. i can not understand. i am not some book-driven, politically correct, impersonal being. i try not to be.

i've paid my dues

now two losses tonight. one makes you wipe a tear away and give an imaginary hug to those overgrown men--them in their beauty and in their childish loveliness--them in their sorrow and in their silence--them in their unity--them in you possession of them as becoming the 'ersan' 'kerem' 'omer' of your living room forgetting all about personal boundaries and age differences--them i embraced with a god given motherhood that comes with being a woman despite age and wisdom--





the other loss? i don't know. it's lonesome. it reminds you of a man with blue eyes looking into the distance losing a war he himself had fought by himself.