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.

...

"the play now begins.. it
is all in the past... i will not be
so insulting as to write it for you"

soon the desert will be gone

"In the short time i was there, it all came back to me, all the flimflam, the older order of things, but something else too--that my father was the best man in the world and probably worth a hundred of me, but he didn't understand me. The town he lived and the town I lived were not the same."*

B.D. (Chronicles Vol. I)

two things today--

1) an old man sat next to me on the bus in my practically 3 hour way back home, he had eyes so blue that it scared me. never once in my life seen eyes that blue.

2)another man talked to his son/daughter on the phone, saying "yavrum (which is somthing like "my little one") i'll be there in a minute", he was wearing a suit and possibly going to see his child perform or do something, the kindest man in the world, so shaved and cleaned and proper, so secretly proud, so heavy the ages on his shoulders only in a way that can be with fathers so I faced back the window and started to cry. cried silently for a few minutes only because fathers are sad and proud, and fathers are tragic--

had the weirdest dream today--spent the whole night in a Rolling Stones show. yummy yummy dream.

and bob week of course--



ps: if i had spent half the time i spend posting here on my studying, my finals wouldn't have sucked ass, i suppose. like last night, out of the blue, I stopped studying and began reading chronicles--and the best part that i read the parts that i had almost skipped the first time--cause i thought they were boring--and last night those were the only pages i ever wanted to read

* i do not mean to disrespect anyone's privacy i just thought that part was related to the post today--though i feel wrong already of having posted it

"tormentedly water boy"

"a song is anything that can walk by itself/i am called a songwriter. a poem is a naked person . . . some people say that i am a poet"

B.D. (Bringing It All Back Home-- liner notes)


ah i have so much to do--but it thought i'd get this ball rolling earlier--can't believe it's only a weekend away--but seriously i think i'm enjoying the waiting more than the idea of the actual show (not that it's not important) but me i'm the kinda person who enjoys being on the road simply for being on the road. destinations depress the hell out of me.




edit--about a hundred hours later

"tormentedly water boy"--Part 2

a story popped into my day the other day--the story of a story with another story added--i never had idols in my life no but i had people i loved genuinely and childishly because i had to love someone after all--so i came to include fake morals and ghost like poets--there ain't a single man in the whole wide world i'd like to wake up to as tomorrow morning--but they are tons of men and and women i'd like to hug and selflessly love for myself--say jimmy's plucking of daisies in heaven and his curls fall softly on his shoulders and the other day say some crazy teacher says how feminist we all are because we constantly only praise woman for their beauty even though when they're in fact riding bikes--and i look up lost and say "but wait a minute i do that to men all the time"--an acoustic guitar makes a man angelic--and a pen a god

i should write that story some time

softly pounding

"The picture you have in your mind of what you're about will come true."

(oh you already know who it is)

the end of the semester revealed itself today through shady pathways (finals and all can still alter the memories effectively). i took about an hour in the early morning by the banks, listening to music and staring at the ceiling of the world through layer of branches with those heart shaped leaves--oh even witnessed a crow taking a bath through the morning sprinklers--anyways, it was beautiful and quiet. then the day unrolled, and i got lost in the haze, but by the end of it it all turned out perfect--this was actually on my account the best semester i ever had in this school--the peace alone could have been enough, oh how sad i am that my world will be crowded again--the girl with the curls and my dear comrade are more than welcomed (in fact required insistently) to be back--but the rest--man all that confusion and needless drama again--oh well--

not to mention that i did truly fulfillat least parts of my craving through schoolwork, the best schedule turns out to be after all filled with classes of your like--not of your convenience--and the smart-sexy teacher who also have adorable curls declared today that he was to no longer teach regular courses, so i'm glad i reached there just in time.

anyways--so all's been well, and i am truly sorry to let this one pass, i am genuienly not this affectionate towards time spent, but this one was definetly well spent, and the people were right though not in a traditional way, and i was right, and world swirled around on its heels and chuckled.

anywho, we have full moon tonight, all is poetic in a sense, 4 days or so for the night of the muse--oh i almost forgot--you'll never know where you'll find pearls of all sorts--i was reading this piece on conservatism--i mean dead on cosnervatism--and the guy randomly began talking about friendship, and how it had to be cosnervative in the sense that it can not be changing constantly, you can't go through every butcher until you find the right meat for you, it's about the realtion itself and not its rewards--so i though to myself there lies you problem, a problem i do not know whether i can fix, but there should be some flaw in the progress of my emotions--them starting from genuine affection to concentrated obsession to anger to repulsion--and by repulsion i mean repulsion--and the other day another one of my conquests for the first time did to me what i've been doing to him for a year and a half now--stood a few steps back while i was speaking to a friend, as you do to a stranger--and it was odd, ufnamiliar, and sad--and the way the human transforms his/her rituals according to needs and changed--it's sad--obedience to all else, makes you wish you can change things, or wish to change them--but you can't--i can't either

it's all in the family--where you see love for the first time--where you are taught to love--and the way we love is the only way we are after all

i don't really know what else to say--half these things i never even thought i'd say tonight anyways--funny how thought chases thought

don't you dare assume i forgot about bob week--'course i haven't--but stupid sony's been ruining my rituals but who cares--celebration is in the air--with or without videos--

and about the quote--well--i'll take you up on that one, bob. we'll see. oh there's so much to see in the gentle brain of the youth convinced of untimely deaths!

Desolation Row

They’re selling postcards of the hanging
They’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
“It takes one to know one,” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning
“You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend
You better leave”
And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortune-telling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing
He’s getting ready for the show
He’s going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she’s ’neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession’s her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah’s great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
“Have Mercy on His Soul”
They all play on pennywhistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains
They’re getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They’re spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls
“Get Outa Here If You Don’t Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row”

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero’s Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody’s shouting
“Which Side Are You On?”
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the doorknob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Desolation Row (Highway 61 Revisited)

"judas!"

"this land is your land & this land is my land--sure--but the world is run by those that never listen to music anyway--"

B.D.


i am miserably tired, but that does not mean i'll be slacking off on bob week. it's already half way through, and i'm at the top of my game. i do have shit load of stuff to do, but i always have shit load of stuff to do, so i don't care much.

i wanted to post here the infamous "judas" incident, but stupid stupid sony blocked all the precious dylan videos on youtube, and i spent quite some time trying to dig it up elsewhere, but no luck--it's gone. so instead, i thought i may talk about something else, but i didn't really wanna do that either. so i decided to do both--talk and not talk about it.

any dylan fan (or anyone remotely interested in the man) knows what the controversy is about. right as dylan and the band are going through instruments and such on the stage, some heated fan breaks his chains and cries (very passionately too) "Judas!" in a moment of rage. The whole crowd goes bananas, and they begin cheering and screaming. Dylan, who is practically an expert at ignoring unsatisfied fans, even screwing around with them ("It's a folk song") startles. He takes a few second, and strolls towards the mic. "I don't believe you," he snarls, "you're a liar."

now when you tell the story it doesn't sound all that impressive, but when you actually see the moment, it kinda gives you the chill. for a couple of reasons--first and foremost being the fact that it pushed dylan to respond. now people have been doing all kinda crazy things to get the attention of that man, he is usually pretty good at acting as if they don't exist (naturally, in his way of thinking, i honestly think he exists compeletely alone). especially at the height of his game, at the height of his tongue more like it--when he goes slashing and burning through poor the times reporters, you can see it hits a nerve. he pauses for a full second there.

second it's creepy--the way the crazy fella finds that very second of absolute silence to spit out his word--the way dylan just stands there, almost stranded, under attack. it makes one feel weird.

third it's a powerful way of putting it. everyone's been bitching about dylan till then but no one had put it down that poetically. "Judas" summarizes all those resentments towards him in a flashy kind of way.

why i'm talking about this--well, that's my final argument for the importance of the moment. it was my first official introduction to the man. me and my friend had watched todd haynes' i'm not there , and she--after declaring to me that "that actually happened" began digging up through dvds and finally found the one she was looking for. it was well into the night, and we both sat by the tv, in her living room, close to the screen and she found the right scene. then in the darness of the night i watched the man-kid turn around, and the first spoken words i herad from his mouth that weren't a song were those he spoke as a reponse to that fiery cry of "Judas!" I knew then something was up with him. I still do.

well hence the start of our one sided fellowship--and i thought what better occasion than bob-week to talk about it--it being both personal and historical (it is one of the greatest shows in history, do check it out, bob fan or not, it is a 1966 show called (falsely) Royal Albert Hall Concert)--but since i can't find the damn video i'll post you another precious dylan performance--this being much earlier than judas! and much more innocent and sweet--

enjoy!

ps: something just went wrong. i will be posting the vid later. love ya.

"permission to land tom"

"Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet."

B.D.

Weirdest thing happens--i warn you, it truly is weird--i heard this angry ruffle type of noise so i opened up the window and leaned my head out, then i saw these two collared doves (apperantly that's what they're called in english--these prettiest birds kinda brownish in color with the most innocent, gullible looks on their pretty little faces)--anyways so this one i'm assuming to be the man of the crowd had his fetahers all fluffed and all, obviously wooing the lady, and a second later the lady sorta strolls next to him and he tries to settle himself on her, but stumbles and falls. Just when i was about to run back inside, he started to run like crazy, away from her, and she began chasing him all around the roof. he genuinely seemed hurt, it was so sweet, he sorta tried to escape, but she kept poking his head with her beak. anyways after some healing by the motherly woman of the sorowful man they manage to work out their differences when she gently lowered herself down and down, her little belly against the roof, to not let any inconveniences happen this time. before he made a move, i ran back it, and shut the window.

i don't get my freaks of watching birds reproduce or anything, but i thought it was hilarious. and sweet, in a way. in turkish they frequently use the simile of "like collared doves" for lovers (which i assure you sounds better in turkish) today i kinda knew why.

i've been having the freakiest day as it, went all the way to mecidiyeköy today, which is where i get of to take another bus to go to school, but instead i just hopped on the same bus and went back home. that precious hour that i spent on the road, listening to dylan--could have been the best hour of my week, or my month even. there's something soothing about being on the road--being somewhere that is not a destination of some sort, as if time gets put on hold until you reach a spot and flow back into life.

anyways, that, and the doves, i really don't know what that makes up to--possibly just a smile.

i am so passionately hating sony right now it's not even funny. butchered loads of videos online, now i can't find a damn thing i'm looking for.

anyways--i actually had different plans but while we're talking about random things--this would be the king of random--single most amazing moment in history of mankind-huh! screw the french revolution--i'd say this is the real deal--in honor of the bob week festivities:










"But I never throw up, man, i never throw up."

last thoughts on the 24th of may

so, long day.

not exactly the day i planned, but still, a long one.

more on the emotional side i think, i have this feeling of stretching out the days--you know how you have tons of stuff to do but the time is uber short, but that short time feels like centuries because you're not doing what you're supposed to do?

did a few things i've been meaning to--downloaded exile on main st in its entirety, managed to study a little. listened to a few dylan albums from track one to the last on my way to school, tried to do the same on the way home but dosed off since my body was badly lacking sleep.

there's really not much to say, honestly, been somewhat of a wasted day, i suppose. though a wise man once said "time's not wasted, if you enjoy wasting it" or something similar to that (that very same wise man was staring at me through my tv screen the other day as the corporate giants butchered his liver and as he so sweetly stated, "how's that rock'n roll?" making me think about my own sense of rock'n roll)--anyways that's not really related to the point that i'm making, which i'm not really making any, i suppose, this whole summer deal is suffocating me and my search for something itchier has begun but i feel tired even for that--

been doing some planning and all to not waste the entire week, i'm practically shutting myself to the exterior world to get at least a bit of studying in before the finals rage full force--and i roll over and die.

before i wrap this up--in no way an ending to this very notorious week but--this day is about to let me pass, so i thought i'd put in a few words before i'm done with the subject--the thing is--i don't really have anything to say. the first time i ever realized how great his words was through the song below, it wasn't the first dylan song i listened to, it surely wasn't the last, but it was the one i took notice of his words for the first time. i realized i've been falling into a half a century old trap of trying to explain the guy, but i can't, and i won't, but as i said before, he calms my nerves, and , i thought of it the other day, i listen to him everytime i need a break, everytime i need silence, i listen to him everytime my heart swallows in my chest--it's a fellowship of some sort i suppose--he tames my worries--he as in what i perceive him to me--for he is in fact some little old guy sipping his tea possibly unsatisfied with the way his life turned out to be--everyone is unsatisfied, everyone will be at the end--

happy birthday old fella. take care. be fine. live long to be with your kids and grandkids, and all the precious things life has to offer.

more on 24th of may

edit. 15:48

"Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”
God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”
God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”
Well Abe says, “Where do you want this killin’ done?”
God says, “Out on Highway 61”"

B.D.--Highway 61 Revisited (Highway 61 Revisited)

may your song always be sung

“He would always say what do you think [of a lyric]. I wouldn’t understand the thing at all, but I loved it so I tried to figure it out. I gave him my interpretation of what I thought it was about. He said, “Oh, that’s pretty f---ing good. Twenty years from now all these assholes are going to be writing about the s--- I wrote. I don’t know where the f--- it comes from and what the f--- it’s about.’”

Joan Baez


it's 9.26 on this bright, breezy may morning.

i have the longest day ahead, but that's all right, there's always something to celebrate.

like a birthday of a long standing muse.

it's probably not about staying forever young or anything, but it's such a catchy phrase you know. not to mention that's likely it's a cheap blow--saying happy birthday through a song of his--but still, if anyone had done anything better, i wouldn't have used this one over and over again.




edit: 12.17-- let's turn this into an all day festivity what do you say? as of this very second i just realized that there's something super dumbish about carrying a backpack on your pack. (i know--random--but what is dylan if not random?)

vandals took the handles

"Yes, life woulda been
a mistake without music"

J.K.

"A great work of art is like a dream, for all its apparent obviousness it does not explain itself and is never unequivocal."--C.Jung

that very final week have arrived children, and me being the most sentimentally ritualistic person in the whole wide world--i could not have let it pass without making a huge fuss about it all--starting tomorrow with a celebration of his birthday, all through this week until that lovely day of summer, this blog will have stuff about that pal of mine Zimmerman,as it usually always does, but this time, just a tiny bit more.

so hallelujah, i hereby announce the launch of bob-week. enjoy.

against the wind

i am the textbook definition of a mood swing.

i was quite restless and beat up this morning, but now i'm the exact opposite.

quite a few things have been happening that i sadly didn't get a chance to talk about on here--starting with a wonderful night of wine and music and dancing ("cigarettes and songs" as one charming followill would say)--i heard about some of my drunken revelations ("you don't tell me anything" or "you put a wall between people and yourself" and such)--and then we had a charming morning (running through the morning jam of the city, being late, being angry, then laughing uncontrollably, then sipping tea, then making your way through streets as innocent as they get--horses chasing around ghosts through summer heat and my tough old country women shoo-ing them as one does to a cat, being ignored as you struggle to order coffee, being in between a dog fight, or a song game, or something else compeletely out of the box)--so that was all great.

then the day before we were enjoying a few cigarettes by this wonderful spot that i had never been before--"somewhere ages and ages hence"--and i looked at the way the school looked from afar--and it was beautiful--poetic--the whole robert frost thing to its core--makes you understand why perception is the only tool through which we see the world--and then something even greater happened, this friend of a friend who was sitting by me staring at this beautiful view took out his ipod and started randomly to listen to music. i knew what music meant, i knew what listening to music meant, it was the most honest and straightforward thing anyone had done to me. i even told him that, though he was slightly embarrassed, i hope he knew what i meant.

we got to talking about the world and all, and i realized there was this Dylan-like vagueness over my ideas, this "screw the world, screw the revolution" attitude--this lack of faith in everyone who thinks as if they don't think enough, or live by what they think enough or something but i said there and i'll say it again it all comes down to your own individual conscience--there is no greater scheme there is no greater movement--the core of it is just me and its just you--all we have to do is to follow ourselves completely and i swear it'll all be better--it's not the society we fight against everyday it's ourselves--it's me--

(a wonderful zepp song just came up on the radio)

then there was today. this secretary general of UN fella--cutest thing ever--came by for a chat. active politics sickens me. the sexiest teacher ever once told us that politics was amoral. it's not amoral--no i don't think so--though morality itself is shady enough but still even morality beats politics--politics is the world in which everyone is immoral and nobody cares

midst of it all a friend of mine who i thought didn't know me that well struck me today by saying "you seem down today" which i responded by a bitter smile--it's good to be cared for, but scary to know that your guards are not that strong and you may be more transparent than you think -- then another friend told me not to be honest-- to which i couldn not really relate at all--it all comes to your personal revolution i suppose i like being at peace at night--and me myself i ain't no easy one to tackle

so as you see--it's been good days--a few minor restlessness concerning the future and all but oh well

be well. be true.

Visions of Johanna from ramonramon on Vimeo.

ps: as of this weekend i'll be launching the bob-week.