...

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.