summer days summer nights

all right--never done this before (posting at length at work) but here it goes. some of the few remarks over the past few days.

first and foremost--last night. i got to see a good friend of mine that i hadn't been able to see in a while--a friend of mine with whom i have struck a pleasent chord--we seem to be able to coexist on a very ironic sincere fun basis and he's one of those people whose goodness of the heart i am certain of. moreover we got to discuss stuff (as people do when that bitter taste of alcohol swirls down their throats) about why people think of things and won't tell or what or how you could be "soul-less" and how and why should affections be shown--whether or not there are dangerous phone numbers that always comes up when you're drunk or how drunk is ok drunk and all that. ah and we talked about conflicting acts and emotions. i said what i've always believed in--that one should either "be as you seem or seem as you are" (a lovely turkish phrase that once finally in my life popped into my head instead of some eliot opening or pound snippet)and any other way is just trouble. if you do something then make damn sure you want to do it, or that you feel like doing it--crying afterwards doesn't count. it makes one think that either at the time of the act one wasn't sincere or at the time after it. my dear friend with a good heart and a solid future, facing my rock hard hatret of "phony" people-- i hope understood my point--"I'm working on that."

and there are the other beautifult things that lurk on a night like that one--the tram that has the live band hooked behind it--the single most greatest thing ever happened in this city, the dusty yellow butterflies that have invaded everywhere, the heat that flows through your tongue right after the wind does, the wine itself, obviously; trying to order to some random fella having a smoke by the stairs thinking he was the waitress because a minute before i had announced "man they're all tattood all the way to their wrists"; trying to find those little machines (hıbıd as i decided to call them) to take a stupid lousy picture on the streets we walked about 7 million times all our lives --and the pleasure one takes from that, taking pictures and moving and getting to places and then getting to newer places, and that friend of mine with the good heart and the solid future saying "why don't you ever let anyone be quiet"

considering that i spent my last 2 weeks practically on the streets-i'm left now with no money and no energy but lovely memories and good stories of summer days and summer nights--

went home last night to grandma's place who wasn't there, so watched some tv and locked the door myself and all the great things that you do when you're alone, put the trash out, woke up on my own, got breakfast from a bakery. then there i walk on the streets of my life--that little town which is ironically called if you translate it properly "the green village"that town that town like no other will be where i will one day leave my childhood behind

anywho there i walk and blasts in like a rolling stone and we walked with bob slowly down the empty streets lost in a conversation entirely of our own

so now it's a new day. i'm planning take the rest of the week off to get my sleeping back in order and to spend some time on my own. you know me i like having my good time but lord knows i need my rest

so so long for now. hope i'll be able post again soon.

all the truth in the world adds up to one big lie

if it was up to me there'd be someone waiting at the gates of heaven (may there be one) and look into whomever's eyes and say "there you've been honest go ahead" or "no you've been lying get out now"--not that anybody cares about that old tsar honesty anymore but me--i suppose--you should either lie at every word you say or tell the truth--see you lie for one and one reason only i have never lied to anyone but when i'm scared--so you either wanna avoid someone else or yourself or some sorta flee of some sort--i say all liars are cowards and all cowards are liars--and i'd die before i admit i let someone scare me that much--as the wise man once said "who are you that i should have to lie"--sometimes man sometimes i feel like i'm the only one who gets at the meaning of these songs

...

"kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help."

An Almost Made Up Poem -- Charles Bukowkski

soft bastard

just like
that poet once said
just because i love latin
doesn't mean latin must love me back

or

something like that

angels beating their wings in time

"In a class [in 1966], while waitig for the last few students to take their seats, i casually asked, "Do you recognize the name Jim Morrison?" My students were shocked by my ignorance. "Don't you know the Doors? He's the lead singer." My stock dropped low that morning in my classroom. I had lost favor. To recuperate and the steady my nerves, I held up the letter and said: "Give me a chance! Let me read this letter to you."

Dear Wallace Fowlie,
Just wanted to say thanks for doing the Rimbaud translation. I needed it because I don't read French that easily... I am a rock singer and your book travels around with me.

The class was quietly attentive by this time, and I said to them, "There's one more sentence, a post-scriptum at the bottom of the page:"

That Picasso drawing of Rimbaud on the cover is great."

Wallace Fowlie

an almost made up post

oh dear, it's 9 o'clock or something, the city is at some sort of a "cold grey dawn" and i don't really know whose late nights friends leave whom where but i do know that i have a long day ahead--possible over 14 hours i 'll be answering phones sending invitations talking to cosul generals drinking tea and the afternoon coffe i make for myself black and warm cause i'm a grown up now and then strolling around the streets in taksim with one of the friendly faces i'm hoping to see tonigh--time never stops or breathes and i'm tired and running on a few hours of sleep and here i am sitting on my desk with my phones and my computers just like everyone else--but my tolstoy spread out over, my thoughts wondering whether or not prince andrew is half as mighty as mitya, and my bukowski smoking a cheap cigarette on my blue screen--i listened to shine a light on my way here for the 89th time in two days

...

"At times all I would need is a single word, a simple little word of no importance, to be great, to speak in the voice of the prophets: a word of witness, a precise word, a subtle word, a word well steeped in my marrow, gone out of me, which would stand at the outer limit of my being,

and which, for everyone else, would be nothing.

I am the witness, I am the only witness of myself. This crust of words, these imperceptible whispered transformations of my thought, of that small part of my thought which I claim has already been formulated, and which miscarries,

I am the only person who can measure its extent."

A.A.

make every song...

but it ends at the shore

i know i know--couldn't post the other day

but god knows haven't had a minute to breathe

this life
moves on
with the speed and
determinance
of an unappreciated lover.

.....

ah children.

i've been away, but not for much longer will i remain quiet. if things work out the way i plan i'll be posting tonight

till then

the never meter

what happens is i came to work and had a few spare minutes so looked up this french fella (they truly are everywhere as a french friend of mine had said earlier) and i read a few pages and it gets my mind all tingly--so i do my job and pass on the word. you should never stop looking, i suppose--

"An actor is seen as if through crystals.
Inspiration in stages.
One musn’t let in too much literature."

Antonin Artaud

more to come...

edit: man, i'm lovin' this guy:

"It is not opium which makes me work but its absence, and in order for me to feel its absence it must from time to time be present."

A.A.

working class hero is something to be

anywho i'm tired as hell--in no shape to post here anything good--but i do have tons to talk about--let's hope i'll be in better shape tomorrow

love ya

...

Portrait d'une Femme

Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you—lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind—with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion:
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale or two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is you.

one of these days ezra, one of these days. you'll be the death of me.

...

look at clapton's hands. look at how smooth they are.

marvelous.

she put down in writing what was in her mind

lovely sunday afternoon with changes afoot--rediscovering an already discovered dylan song makes you wonder how many times you should hear certain words to understand their meanings or how little that has anything to do with their beauty--this song i've been listening to nonstop for 2 days now--very grown up very mature very wise not asking for anything only in a way an aged spirit can--translated some latin spreading myself all over the wooden tiles wearing little clothes make one feel much safer-much more free--natural--a glass of icy water a good song and a moment in which you realize you've done many things that you've always wanted to do

i guess summer ain't so bad after all

Not Dark Yet @ Yahoo! Video

ode to j.m.

ah my old friend
my pale old friend
for what reason have you crept out of your grave tonight
what point are you making
you've made me feel unsafe

that's not like you at all

why are you being unjust
frightening
a ghost
tonight of all nights

my old friend my sunflower
my eyes, restless.
wondering whether the blueness of the window
will show faces unexpected
my friend do not resent me
i apologize

for making you the sole object of my poems

this is not a poem. its a letter. its a plea.
spare me for the night
and i shall never seek you again

in darker places.

in the clearing

hiya lovers.

so have my coffee all made, my rock&roll station turned on (yes i still do like radio), am all well fed and rested.

i do have a few issues to discuss. not of greatest importance but you know, it's summer and all, nothing is all that important (the heat kills the grandness of any and all)--but here we go

first and foremost--i just got a job. creepily confusing is this new state of being, being paid and all ("tradin' your hours for a handful of dimes")--it makes you feel of use and in charge but at the same time you have committed the first crime of all time--for no poet draws out drafts for invitations for congress members' whatever and whomever--as you have finally put down all your eccentricities aside and and been tamed!--that's the word for it--tame tamed being tamed

still it's set for only a month so i'm still gonna have time to relax and get all bluesy and inspired and frustrated and all. funny thing happens today (don't ask me why i never know why i think of any of these things) anywho i realize all the decisions i've been dreading to make--i have been seeing them as limitations and deprivations instead of them being what they truly are-- options--- chances roads diverging in the woods maybe taking one does not mean not taking the other or maybe not taking them both could perfectly work out but so would be picking out both--who knows--

so i'm much more mellower now. was at a fashion show last night--makes you realize a kindred spirit is a kindred spirit after all could be a pen or a guitar or a pair of scissors but creativity is one admirable outlet of emotions

watched that movie about edie sedgwick last night--then a beatles documentary which was adorable. i'll probably talk about them in the upcoming days but for now--i'm gonna split.

love you all

to my comrade in name (and in heart)

ah that fake glow of belonging--a 20 year old wannabe stomping her feet at the gates of heaven demanding to be let in--all them poets vaguely peek at her, but none really stirs a muscle--some places you just have to earn your way in

"go away now go away" finally one cries out "live a little then come back"

"oh but living is simple and perfectly ordinary i have long ceased to be impressed by living"

"we know we know but go back nonetheless"

"oh but you don't understand--i was lost and trying to decide what to do with my life and then i heard from a comrade about a story i have written and it all shifts back into focus"

"we do understand we do understand but we plea you go home"

"i shall not i will stay here and wait to get in or die trying"

then and there

i tell you there is one purpose in life
we all strive towards that one patch of holy land
of which i can not tell you. as one man once said privacy is
something you can seel
but you can never buy the damn thing back
this song. though. i like this song
i like songs that tell a good story

heading for another joint

alrighty, i'm home.

needing sleep like hell. so coffee, a few hours of nap, maybe a movie or something in between. will keep you posted (as if you care--oh the bloated ego of the poet-ish)

this time i'm not gonna tell you why that is

i'm off for the weekend, hopefully will be back tomorrow night. i do have tons to talk about so wait for it.

love ya

may 31st (301)

ah the sweet taste of pacelessness of the world.

the last week was one long day. it felt like i never sat down to gather my head for even a split second, i ran and i ran on half-dead batteries and scattered thoughts, hence the catastrophe of the finals. but none of that matters a whole lot, all those little bits and pieces of things that won't add up to anything on your death bed, you'll never think of them once in your life, not once you'll say to yourself "how less happier i should have been and study and strive for preset goals of boredom!"

i waited to post on here for a few resons--first off, i didn't really have anytime to do so, i didn't even have time to breathe let alone speak. second it was kinda poetic with the 301st post to overlap with me talking about a certain night, so i didn't wanna blow that either. this is the first morning in which i brewed myself a beautiful, golden cup of coffee; put on a good record and actually had a moment to think.

first thing to say about the night of the muse--my lovely circle of friends. they each sorta genuinely worried about my obsession, but never the less went along with it, each understood the importance of the moment, and contributed to my joy in their own way (my fave being one of them joking about my intentions to woo bob after seeing me in a long dress). so thanks, fellas and ladies, for sticking it out with me--asking me afterwards how it was and all. and my childhood friend whom i have managed to bond in an entirely new way through bob and that's saying a lot in a geez-9 years?--of friendship. we were both 12 years old again in some odd way. we giggled, commented, joked about bob and his doings on our way up to the square, we talked about words and songs, about loves lost and highschool crushes and all.

oh even to think about it gets me all worked up again. the night was possibly the hottest one of all month--i'm not kidding--the sickening humidity that makes you all moist and warm, the sweat that never leaves your body and all. the dark heat type of weather. the kind that would set the stage to a murder. anyhow, the stage was all right, this ancient theater type place, ooutdoorsy and all. we first had dinner with a third friend (who in all his confusedly magnificent state of intellectuality still has one of the most genuinely simple hearts in the world) then we all walked down to the place, with hundreds of people waiting outside--many foreign people too--and the blackmarket ticket people and random people just begging for a ticket and all--all the great things that make a show a crazy show

then we all took our seats and the muse came up to the stage--did not say a word--but blasted into Rainy Day Women and my facial muscles lost their abilities and the widest stupidest smile just spread all over my face--i swear never felt anything like this---this feeling of happiness that has nothing to do with the real world hence had no danger whatsoever of ever falling apart--it was so childish so innocent and so joyful--almost like the times before the damn apple supposedly destroyed us all

then came lay lady lay and bob walked up to the center. i wasn't really into the songs yet i was a little too lost in the excitement of things, but i remember thinking to myself "damn that song has effin good lyrics". then came i'll be your baby tonight and stuck inside a mobile with the memphis blues again and right then something heavenly happened and bob pulled out the harmonica--oh man you should have had my heart then to undestand the feelings of that little crappy instrument can cause in a human being--could be to this day the greatest thing i heard beside my family's voices--he did a few solos with it and it just elevated the entire night.

just when i was thinking how adorable he was now that he was old and all, and how simple all these was, in a good way, maybe even thinking of saying goodbye to my obsession over these songs, then out of nowhere he starts singing just like a woman-- the GREATEST version i ever heard in my life to the greatest words i ever knew-- the whole things shifted, along with it so did my universe, the magical harmoica rang through the heat again and good old bob stoof by the mic opening his arms to the audience so they would sing along--amazing what a little man can do to hundreds of people--and his cuteness was too much for me to handle, his awkwardness, his way of confusion and expecting--anyways when that song ended i swear everything had changed.

honest with me was next, it's a hell of a tune--very strong and hard and uprising in a way-- then to everyone's amazement came a hard rain--the whole crowd went bananas on that one--and a few more songs came and pass--and then he played the masters of war which just fueled anyone with the events that had happened earlier that way--then more songs and the curtains fell

people of course were insistent, so bobby came out again. did his usual encore with like a rolling stone and a killer--and by that i mean killer--version of all along the watchtower then people kept clapping and he and his team walked up to the stage and he did this things with his hands--strethcing them out to the crowd and then patting his chest as if to accept gratititude--he did it a bunch of times and all i wanted to just ran down the steps and give the man a hug--

"he did get emotional didn't he?" my beloved friend said afterwards "i'd like to think he was--with all that (she repeated his move with the hands)"

"i guess so" i said, not sure, still smiling

so the morals of this story. i had one of the best nights of my life. why i can't really tell. i talked to another bob fan last morning who was dissapointed that bobby won't talk (he did say thank you at the end that and his introduction of the rest of the band members were the only words he said) and the way he switches the song "just when everyone sang along to just like a woman it just changed the air" she said.

i can see her point

but god who cares. this fake sense of familiarity about the man beats all that--i knew he won't say much--i doubt he ever says much--but man the way he walks as if his feet never touches to ground--the way he bends his knees when he's overwhelmed with the tune of his harmonica--the way he dances with one leg a little spread apart--the way he stretches out his free hand when he's playing the org to make a point--the way he quickly slips in between all other members--and the way he manages to somehow keep his air of loneliness even on the stage thus preserving the reality of things--you don't expect things from him--he is just one little fella that won't sing or cater to your amusemet--but the feelings you have for him should do that for you--

next morning i walked on the empty streets and smiled to myself--i had now started some new form of things--i knew what i was meant to be and that i was meant to be xactly that--all the self doubt and confusion had dissapeared--to see that people fall through the cracks only in which they can fit gives one hope and courage--god knows bob can't be anyone but bob and i sure as hell can't be anyone but what i'm meant to be

man this is one long post. if you did manage to read to its entirety, well, congrats-

oh and before i wrap up, he was taller than i expected.

ah that sound of the harmonica. what one would give for that feeling.

ps: this is way too long for me to check for typos and all. just ignore them.