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.

samson and delilah

home sweet loving rainy unique home.

got back late last night--had a bday dinner for mom, then watched the killer serbia vs turkey game. i wish i could describe the whole deal and all but man was that a sick game in itself, i cried about 20 minutes after the victory came. not to name names here, but serbia ain't a team notorious for their fair playing games (no i'm not a racist whatever nationalist, i'm just saying what i've seen, and have i seen serbia matches)

now there's a certain appeal in the winning side, i'll admit. people who had absolutely no interest in the hoop and the ball a couple of years ago while me and the fam were cheering at the stadium now are all moved and excited. it's amazing to see a country just rise and fall with the acts of a few pairs of hands. i think there's a taste beyong nationality to it--i personally am not capable of loving anything a step less than crazy anyhow--but what i really love in the game is the boys--their sweat, their work, their breaths--all the things that make the game human--you come to love and cherish them to a point that you do not want to see them get hurt--hence my crying 20 minutes after the game

anywho i have come to the conclusion that i am not a sane person neither in my affections, nor in my hate. but that' all right. i don't really mind it a whole lot.

i've been sleeping all day and have that restless feeling of having to go back to the real world. i really don't want to see the faces of certain people, almost blindly hating them for split seconds then finding out i have no emotions for them whatsoever, then realizing i have no emotions for anyone or anything whatsoever--and thinking it may be better tomorrow when i catch up with a few friends and all, i turn up my ronk, make my coffee, and thank istanbul for welcoming me with the rain--which itself gives me a reason to live.

so i may not be on my best of moods, but i'll bounce back. i always do. i just have to adjust.

and i did miss you all. some more than the others, some recklessly not at all. but sometimes you need to spend time eith people in order to miss them.

be well.

"The other was that vague and quite russian feeling of comtempt for everything conventional, artificial and human- for everything the majority of men regard as the greatest good in the world. Pierre had first experienced this strange and fascinating feeling at the Sloboda Palace, when he had suddenly felt that wealth, power, and life- all that men so painstakingly acquire and guard--if it has any worth has so only by reason of the joy with which it can all be renounced.

It was the feeling that induces a volunteer-recurit to spend his last penny on drink, and a drunken man to smash mirrors and glasses for no apparent reason and knowing that it will cost him all the money he possesses; the feeling which causes a man to perform actions which from an ordinary point of view are insane, to test, as it weere, his personal power and strength, affirming the existence of a higher, non-human, criterion of life."

War and Peace-- L.T.



ps: if we get the trophy tonight, i am so getting wasted tomorrow.

tangled up in

you know what beauty is? it's a feeling.
i've seen in it songs
i've seen it in the ripping tune of the harmonica and
i've seen it in the rustling of the leaves as the after rain weather settles in
i've seen it in words
and in the blueness of one's eyes (which also is itself a feeling)
i've seen it in the open hands of a poet
taking a deep breat to express the exact desire
and dropping his hands desperately at his sides

"it is beautiful!"

i've crossed that river

so temporary settlement, lovers.

i got back late last night and did not have the chance to post. i'm leaving again possibly tomorrow morning, but i'm gonna try to pour my heart out here first. i have to start getting ready in a minute too.

so crazy stuff have happened. turns out my coughing and heaviness wasn't a simple cold or anything. as the doctor puts it--my right lung is filled up to its neck. i have a nasty infection that caused a starting phase of pnemonia to take hold. i was given injections twice a day for a week, and heavy medication. i got my last injection this morning (my ass hurts--i'm not kidding, i know, personal and all but when did i never know what to say at the right time at the right amount?) and in truth i am banned from even getting out of my bed. but my dearest colleagues are leaving at the end of this week and this is my only chance to see them off. so as i see it, friendship trumps pain.

i have been under blankets for about a week now, not doing anything but reading and hanging out with my big brother, which had been suprisingly wonderful. that restlessness that i used to feel back here disappeared. i don't know how, but being spoiled and taken care of, and being forced to do nothing but lie down has been quite refreshening. last few days i have been devouring some eliot, whom i always sorta wasted on my glorious path of pound, and that has been good to my soul.

i felt as safe as kerouac did with his own mother in his faithful lowell. i felt cleansed and rested. my coughings are terrible, and i still can't walk up the stairs without almost fainting at the top. i have butt load of pills to take. but i just cranked up my bob and realized how much i had missed the man--i sang outloud (interrupted by fits of coughing but oh well) and prepared my last minute arrangements.

like i said, i'll be gone till the end of the week. if you wanna find me i'll be on the couch with a cup of ıhlamur in one end and eliot on the other.

i don't know what it is, but life seems much more insignificant when you're sick.

unlike me, you be good lovers. take care. i'll see you and this city of mine when i get back.