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.
No comments:
Post a Comment