Time After Time, Over Again

Here I am, sitting with a cup of tea and enjoying it. No, I am not laughing at it. I wish I could.

I got off from work around 3:45, yeah, I clocked out early once again because I was bored and the other two interns were gone too. I hopped on the bus and came to Sariyer, falling asleep on my way here. I was planning to go home straight away but the smell of the sea was too tempting to not take a walk. So, despite heavy laptop on my shoulder and bag on the other, I took a walk along the Black Sea end of Bosphorus. With All That Remains blasting from my ear pieces, I was happy. I even took a couple of pictures. I was happy until...

The world we live in is so unjust. I don't even know how I feel about that. I find it hilarious in a really fucking sick way, yet I also think it's very sad. See, I believe my problem is that I have too much empathy and I can not bear to see someone suffering. And I find it funny because I want to make myself believe that it's just a temporary situation. However, not so temporary in most cases. Today after I picked up last week's copy of Uykusuz, I saw this middle-aged man trying to explain what he wanted to a cashier: he was mute and I think he had some kind of autism. It was so devastating to see someone trying so hard to fight against the barriers he has whereas we, the dumbass teenagers, are wasting our lives complaining about stupid shit. Well, I’m done with my teen years but that’s not the point. I rushed out of the store. Had I stayed there a second longer, I would have cried. But I guess I was destined to cry. I saw this girl, 15 the most, picking up plastics from a garbage can and putting it in her backpack while telling her younger brother that they should get the highest price for the plastic stuff. I literally ran away from that place; I must have looked like an idiot, with all my fancy outfits and tears. I wanted to help them somehow but I can barely save my ass from being broke, how can I possibly help those people?

It fucking sickens me that the rich gets to play and have fun and these people only get struggle. And especially the way they treat beggars on the street. Yes, some of them do nasty shit like stabbing and pickpocketing but not because they want to. They just have to. I have always stood behing my convinction that humans are essentially selfish - that's what survival requires. But there's good in people. No one really wants to hurt another human. Some murderers get labeled insane, mad, out of their minds. But honestly, aren't we all? In my beloved(!) school, some people crash their cars and buy a new one the next day. Fucking ridiculous. They deserve a kick in the balls. Anyway back to empathy... I used to be worse; at some point, I couldn't stand watching anything that had the tiniest bit of a heart-wrenching story. I've learned how to control it now... at least now I know how to feel empathy for those who deserve it. I know I'm not a good person. I'm not a bad person either. I'm just a person. Just a girl who's trying to make it through life. But sometimes, I simply wish I could be ignorant to the pain and struggle. And Istanbul doesn't make it any easier because we have so much poverty along with the greedy fucking bastards here. Variety scares me sometimes. It scares me so much. And funny thing is, no one around me seems to care.

Feels like I have this kid in me trying to stay young and my obligations want me to grow up. Maybe I grew up earlier than I should have. What I mean by growing up is being aware of your obligations. I went to Canada on my own at the age of 14 - damn, it's been 6 years. And being in foreign land on your own is very scary even though you know the language too damn well. Foster families, yeah but they don't drop you off to your school everyday. They just give you food, a place to crash and some small-talk. That's it. I've talked to a lot homeless people there because they were the only ones who understood me. They were waiting to go home, like me, wherever home was. And I was the scared kid, waiting to go to her family, crying next to a complete stranger. I wasn't afraid of them. I was afraid of being completely alone and homeless, so to speak. And now, I'm living in my own apartment, alone on a Ramadan day when I should be with my family. Trying to take steps and grow up but the kid still longs for the comfort of home. Maybe that's why Garden State always makes me cry.

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.

Moving on. I know that wasn’t worth a dime, but it was worth a try.

It wasn't our time yet. The blue faded into a dark gray. Red circles crowding around the blue, he wasn't smiling. No longer. With a sigh, he asked me to leave. Leave quietly. And never come back again. I was content with his request. The only thing that tore my soul into two was the fact that it wasn't fair. To either of us. I held out my hand, maybe a last shake just for the sake of the memories we've had. His hand didn't move. I reached out, grabbed his hands and tried to rip them apart. They wouldn't move. Almost as if they were glued together. To the left, to the right, slow motions of his head, the bones grinding against each other and the joints cracking open and closing. "No", he said, "it isn't meant to be." My throat hurt. I wanted to scream at him. Where was my voice again? Gone. Non-existent. Buried in the depths of my reluctancy. He said it was a game of fate. I wouldn't call it fate per se; rather... a series of event which are very fortunate yet ironically unfortunate in some aspects. Silence. Silent screams for a few minutes. The symphony composed by the hurt, the burning tears and the emptiness. I watched his brows pinch into a frown and more bones and joints, he left. For all the seasons, for all the wrong reasons, we were done.

Yeah. I can't write shit.

That cup of tea is cold now. I'll get another cup.

Date: August 26th.
Time: I don't even know, fuck that shit.
Songs listened to: It Dwells In Me, The Prosecution, Sometimes I Just Go For It, The Exit, Crow King, Hack

Heleloyloy

Fuck this. I have no talent.

Mallık

Fazla lafı dolandırmadan konuya gireyim. Daha önce de ülkemizin bazı bölgelerinde tekel bayilerinin, barların olduğu sokaklara cami tıkayıp –evet, tıkayıp- sonra gerizekalı bölge halkının da yardımıyla oraların birer birer kapatıldığını duyuyordum. Ama inanmak istemiyordum. İstemeden inanmama rağmen –e ülkenin durumu bok- herhangi bir yayın organında görmediğim için –yayınlandıysa ve benimle paylaşırsanız bu tür şeyleri sevinirim- bir şey de diyemiyordum. Ama bugün okuduğum bir haber akıllara durgunluk verecek derecede KORKUNÇ.

Olay şu: Antalya’da 40 yıldır hizmet veren bir genel ev varmış. Ve sivri zekalı bir insan gitmiş yanına cami dikmiş. Şimdi camiyi yaptıranlar, alakalı bazı kişiler ve bölge halkının bir kısmı mızmızlanmaya başlamış bile. E yavrum, oraya camiyi sen koydun! Birisi çıkmış “günah” diyor. Birisi çıkmış “tam da kıbleye yapmışlar, namaz kılarken oraya dönmek zorunda kalıyoruz, bu büyük bir ayıp” diyor. Son olarak gelinen nokta: insanlar genelevin şehir dışına taşınmasını istiyor. Kimse kusura bakmasın, beni burada arkadaşlarım, akrabalarım, sevdiğim ve saygı duyduğum büyüklerim de okuyor ama demek zorundayım: YOK EBESİNİN …I! Yeter lan! Genelevin yanına cami kuruyosun, sonra neymiş “günah”. Eğer haberde bir hata yoksa, böyle şeyler yapan, söyleyen, düşünen insanların kendi boklarında boğulmalarını diliyorum.

Evladım! İki taraftan bakınca da saçma olay! Eğer günahsa sana günah! ÇÜNKÜ SEN KOYDUN O CAMİYİ ORAYA LAN! Diğer taraftan bakınca en azından günah falan diye insanların inançlarından faydalanan bir şey çıkmıyor ortaya, tamamen somut: DAĞDAN GELDİN BAĞDAKİNİ KOVUYORSUN lan! Cami yaptırma ve destekleme derneğinin başkanı olan kişi, Hasan Hüseyin Tanrıöver, diyor ki: “Bazı insanlar şimdiden geneleve taş atmaya vs. başladı. Şimdilik kontrolden çıkmış bir durum yok ama ileride çeşitli provokasyonlar olursa çok daha büyük olaylar olur.” Ben de bu adama diyorum ki: provokasyon sensin amca! Gidip camiyi oraya koymuşsun, zaten neredeyse ülkede adam başına iki cami düşecek kadar cami var. Başka yer mi yok? Sonra uyarı adı altında tehdit savuruyorsun. Yıkarız orayı başlarına diyorsun. Haydi demiyorum de!

Sıs!

When it comes to cheer, motherfucker is a Grinch.

Do I even have anything to say? No. Not really. It's just that sometimes I get these urges to create something: I can't draw, and I can't play an instrument either. So I think: "Well, there's only writing left." I am not sure if I can do that properly but who writes properly anyway? And more importantly, who the fuck cares about being proper? I like chaos.

It feels like something is trying to claw its way outta my lower abdomen right now. If you, my lovely reader, are a female, you'll understand. As for the males, I don't know fellas, go get a sex change or something. Or if they invent one of those virtual reality machines one day, try being a lady mmmkay?

There was this dude I knew two years ago. He was cute, funny, adorable, sexy whatever the fuck. We started to talk and it was all going well until the moment where rumor began and we fell apart. I don't understand why it mattered so much to people whether we were dating or not. I wouldn't call our thing a relationship but it wasn't friendship either. Now, on a boring and painful day like this, I'm once again lurking around on Facebook. I saw he got this new girlfriend and a new job. Good for that fella, he was a nice one.

I've been talking to people about things, you know, things in general and I've realized something. These people I talk to are so afraid of being alone. Like last night, me and a friend were talking about this documentary: "Metal A Headbangers Journey." Throughout the documentary, there's a lady who keeps suggesting that metal gives fans a place to belong, it gives them a sense of belonging. Now question to be raised here is... Do we actually need a place to belong? Do we, really? My friend said we belong to the place where no one belongs. No, I shall agree to disagree. We do NOT need to belong anywhere, any movement or any fanbase. If you're listening to the music and enjoying it, then that's enough. That's all you fucking need to go on. I mean, a lot of metalheads are just blind fucking idiots who think metal is all about being a cult and they think they are so cool by just having long hair and wearing black shirts... Oh my fucking god, how fucking painfully boring is that? What matters there is the music and the feeling and the rage you manage to let out. that's all that fucking matters. So it's alright if you wear a most pop outfit to a metal show. It's alright as long as you are not bullshitting anyone and actually enjoying the creation.

For me, metal is a tiny voice in form of riffs, beats and roars and it keeps telling me to hang in there and fight. Also this tiny yet big voice provides the inspiration I need to create as well. Okay, I don't create anything worth reading but hell, it's my own way of therapy. But that doesn't mean it's only metal! How could I possibly explain this... hmm, imagine a room filled with a lot of people, all of them have distinct personalities and they are all talking to me: metal, rock, pop, jazz, blues, classical, many other genres. Yeah, that's how music is for me. A group of tiny little voices. But somehow, just because I listen to death metal, I end up getting labeled as a "hardcore metalhead" No, I am not and will never be a fucking hardcore metalhead. Those guys are simply idiotic cumdrinkers with no self confidence. They have long hair because every other metal musician does, they wear black and lots of chains and stuff because it's how a metalhead should dress. Get the fuck out, honestly, you guys are fucking ballsucking posers, and also you're all worse than Hannah Montana. Yes, I indeed wear band shirts which happen to be black somehow but I don't wear them because it's the thing to do. I wear them because those shirts are more comfortable than fancy fancy shirts and dresses. Plus, I believe if I wear them and if somehow I can get the attention of others, then it means I'm supporting one of my favorite bands. I'm supporting them by possibly recruiting a fan. I have slightly long hair, is it because I'm so metal? No. Actually, I'm the most "un-metal" gal you'll ever meet. I have my hair long because I like it that way. That's all there is to it.

Yet, still people insist listening to metal requires some kind of brotherhood. Fuck your pretentious brotherhood to your beloved hell. I don't need to belong to your stupid group. I will not conform to your biased point of view.

G'day to y'all mates, I'm out. Time for some coffee.

Kontiseptik

Deneme, 1, 2,... Çok da güzel olurdu aslında, değil mi sevgili okur? Bak, yazının ortasından başlayınca bir şey anlamıyorsun. Aslında çok gariptir bu konuya Avrupadaki insanların bakışı. Tamam tamam, fazla üstüne gelmeyeceğim. Ama sen de olsan o pozisyonda kaleye vururdun bence.

Saat 6'da uyandım bugün. Yani aslında saat 9'da uyanmış oluyorum zihinsel olarak. Ama yine içimde bir şeyler uyuyordur, belki uyumuyordur, bilemem. Bildiğim tek bir şey var, o da Adil Korkmaz'ın suçlu olduğu. Adil Korkmaz kim dersen, biraz önce uydurdum. Herhangi bir isim benzerliği konusunda kıvırma hakkımı saklı tutarım, kilitler ve anahtarını yutarım. Satsan beni, ne kadar tutarım sevgili okur? Ama beni satma, çok kişi tarafından satıldım şimdiye kadar. Hatta geçen gün senin bana dediğin şeyi de yaptım. Ama cevap vermedi Jale. O değil de, sen bana neden hiç e-mail atmıyorsun? Ben e-mail almayı çok severim. Yollamayı pek sevmem ama yine de yollarım. Onun dışında zaman zaman mail kontrol ederken uyumayı severim.

Fermuarın açık kalmış. Bence sen de barmenlerle kavga çıkarmalısın. Ama önce kırmızı bülbülü bulman lazım. Bülbülden güle geçiş yaparak bayatlatayım mı ortalığı? Neyse, ben kaçayım. Sana bol dumanlı hava sahaları diliyorum, ve bol eğimli kıta sahanlıkları!

Take all your knowledge and stick it up your arse. Fucking know-it-alls.

Mind Gone Wrong

I really didn't want to ruin the beatiful post count "69" but what the heck.

I don't even know what I'm going to say. There's something inside I have to let out and the best place is here.

Facebook keeps pressuring into learning which Englih word I am, but I really don't want to know. So back the fuck off, Facebook, leave me alone.

Whatever, folks, problem solved.

I feel invisible.

I don't give a fucking crap if you think I'm filling this place with useless shit.

Good night.

Nails On The Wall, Neil On My Mind

The house belonged to my grandparents. It was to be demolished soon with those big balls; they wouldn't need any TNT because the house was made of wood: the perfect oak. The most perfect you could find that area at least. When you're a kid, you don't really pay attention to those kinda things. Only when you grow up, you notice the astounding the history that lies in between those layers of wood.

It was a nice summer day; you know, flowers and all that jazz. It was going to be the last time I saw the house before they built a new, brick-n-mortar one. Ironically, it was the first time I dared to take a peak inside. There was a man in the house, no one I knew but somehow he looked familiar. I walked up the stairs with creaks and squeaks accompanying me and walked into a room with an old bed and a closet. The man was sitting on the bed; he patted the spot next to him: "Come, sit, my child." As freaked out as I was, I decided to obey. He grabbed my face gently and told me to look in his eyes.

The rest is too blurry to tell: Doors opening to new worlds, strangers in the middle of the night, gas station stories, shadows and little strange girls...

Yes, I am an asshole.

Yes, I've lured you in and I'm leaving you right here, in the middle of my story, with yourself.

Honestly, folks, I can not tell this story. I do not possess enough power to do so. I am not that good.

However, I won't be cruel and tell you what to do next. You're going to do exactly what I say: You're going to go to the nearest bookstore, wander through the fiction section and come across a name that you'll somehow recall but won't be sure. You'll pick one of the books of this author, buy it, go home and read it. I can bet you all I have right now -which, ironically, is just 10 bucks- that you will love the book. Then you're going to sleep. And perhaps dream of a beautiful land with lots of different people in it. But there's going to be one guy who shall repeatedly appear in your dreams. Not necessarily as himself, but with his words and imagination.

Neil Gaiman.

To Chuck Or Not To Chuck

One thing Palahniuk taught me: Never trust your guts. And never go Pearl Diving.

Funny thing is, I guess the latter only applies to males. Oh well, if any of you creepy, chronic pleasure-maniacs are reading this: Don't go Pearl Diving.

It is scary. It is dangerous. And not to mention, creepy as fuck.

If you can't stop yourself from using your hand every-so-often, put on a pair of stockings and apply mascara and lipstick. Hit the town. Thin fellas will be mistaken for girls and large fellas will immediately be labeled as "drag queens" but the idea here is to step out of the boundaries of your usual routine and have a little fun with flamboyance. At the very least, it's safer than Pearl Diving, I believe.

Ladies. Don't let your men go down on you. Their mouths and tongues are their most dangerous weapons. They could actually kill you with just a tiny breath. Scary, isn't it? Stay away from extravaganzas. The normal deal should be enough, right? Right.

Or if you prefer to take an easier route... do not EVER read Palahniuk. Once you've begun, there's no going back. He'll always leave you for wanting to read more. It will be just one book at first and before you know it, you'll have read all his books.

It's best to stay untainted.

YOK

Üzerimde bir kaşıntı

Sanki beynim kaşınıyor

A- bir mutluluk var üzerimde

Sanki var, sanki yok

Bir yerdeyim,

Neredeyim haberim yok

Kaybolmuşum

Bulabilene aşk olsun

...

Kendimi sorsam kendime,

Kendim yerinde yok.

Yüzüme yapışan maskeleri çıkartmaya,

Gücüm de yok,

Cesaretim de yok.

Sen yoksan,

Ben yokum.

Kimseyi görmez gözlerim.

Kimse yok.

E and P

Hücrelerim zıplıyor.

Nötronlarım kaçıp gidince,

Elektronlarım ve de Protonlarım,

Sapmışlar yörüngeden.

Elektronlarım ve protonlarım,

Ayrı yerlerde, yapışmış birbirlerine.

Bir Elektron, bir Proton.

Bir Proton, bir Elektron.