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

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