Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts

Timeline & Cowardliness

Four years ago I would have been singing "My Bold Curiosity", instead, now I'm singing "Your Comfort Zone".

My present is less about me. It's against me.

My english is more accented, there's more t's and less d's. Endings are clear. Although more experienced still naive, my weak conversation attempts... Like a tragedy when spelling the wrong notes. At least I know when to speak less. Does it make me a good listener or an intelligent speaker? Or does it not make me a plain girl right about to let go and cry?

Everybody is full of themselves. Me, me, me, me, me, me, me... When these 'selfishness's cross at some point, they start getting along. Else, they don't even hear each other. "Listen to me!", "Where are you? We need to talk", "Call me", "Are you even online?"... People are in love with the effect of their narcissism on somebody else. They like taking their own photos, frame it and hang it on their walls; jerk off to it, love it, stare at it. When they're bored they'll put their mirror image instead; and jerk off with their opposite hands. But human beings can't live alone. They need being in a group. They need to be separated in genders. They need to love to feel they exist. They need to make children to leave something of their own to this world after they die. Reverse it, undo it, don't do it. One shouldn't live according to norms, traditions, sanctions. Whatever I feel like, I can act accordingly, in harmony. I don't have to change anything in me. I don't have to alter what I want, to fit this world/other people's thoughts. I want to be me, and not be afraid of being me. I want to be not afraid of losing what I want. 欲しいもの得るから。It's because of the same reason I respect myself. People should learn when to camouflage and where to expose themselves.

Two opposite things are not supposed to exist together. Yet they do in my world. And that's why I'm not a plain girl.


PS to myself: Stop editing a hundred times what you just wrote!!


TUESDAY, 30 JUNE 2009

A Poem about Love

Oh new moon, where are you?
It's very dark and you are hard to find.
Lit all my candles when there was light.
I'm without a guide in this moment, 
                                                  tonight
The dexterous demons could steal my soul.
Can't tell apart the ground and the sky.
Help me my love.
Move the sun,
Move the moon,
Move the stars
So I can see
                    my path,
                      my destiny,
                                   you.

"Histerik Bemol"

Uykumun sekizinci saati civarlarindayken yagmurun sesi pervanemin sesini bastiriyordu. Uyuyamiyordum. Gunlerdir hem de. Ickiden, tenden, nezarette tutulmaktan, soguktan, isiktan, darliktan, sesten, kayiptan, yokluktan, bolluktan, doluluktan… Ama daha cok ickidendi. Icimdeki boslugun biraktigi yanki duvarlarimdan sekip disima akiyordu, ama cok sikimde degildi o an. Her seyin bir kurtulusu, kefareti, telafisi vardir. Bunu her zaman ayni olcude bir mukafat takip etmiyor olsa da.


Ruyamda para ustumu yanlis para birimi uzerinden veriyorlardi. Dogru verip yanlis almakla alakali degil mi birazcik maneviyat. Kurlar bir turlu uyusmuyor.


Shakespeare is heaven,
Dante is hell.

Metaforlar, benzetmeler, kinayelerle bir yaziya baslamak ne kadar kolay.

Kafatasimdan gozlerime sicrayan bir eko gibi bu depresyon.


Thinking of death, I can never get myself to believe there's an afterlife of any sort.



I learnt a thing or two
From bitches like you.




Bir dönemdi geçti.

Çok eskiden değil gibi geliyor. Üzerimde eskimiş bir mavi eşofman altı, yüz bin kere giyip yıkattırmadığım en sevdiğim t-shirt'üm, yatakta oturuyorum ve Kuran'ı ispanyolca okuyorum. İlkokul arkadaşımın hediyesi, sağlam ciltli matematik defterime yıllar sonra aklımın hayalimin almayacağı ve anlam veremeyeceğim kadar beat generation karalamalar yazıyorum. En kısası yedi satır, olmadık rüyaları anlatır. Şiirler yazıyorum ama hiçbir yerlerinde kafiye yok. Kediler yerine köpekleri sevdiğim zamanlar. Bunalıyorum yine ama saçım renksiz bunalıyorum. Her şey yine bulanık ama gözlerimin daha iyi gördüğü zamanlar.

Writing an article about Tokyo for a Turkish fashion magazine made me realize, having turned back to my hometown after four years of Tokyo dose, I'm still dealing with reverse culture shock.