Fuck you

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and you; fuck you, too. Fuck you million times. And you, you, you. Yep, fuck you very much. Again fuck you. And You. You. And you, too.

Müzik

Dinlediğim müzik beni astral yolculuklara çıkarır gibi. Dinlediğim müzik yüzünden saçma mesajlar gönderdiğim oldu mesela. Veya olmadık yerlere gidip olmadık şeyler yaptığım.

Olasılık

Aynı anda beş kişiye yazsam, hem de aynı şeyi yazsam, alacağım cevap farklı olur mu? Mesela “uyumaya çalıştım ama olmadı, ben de müzik dinlemeye karar verdim ve bu parça çıktı playlistimde, sen de dinle istedim" desem karşıdan gelecek bir sonraki cümle ne olur? Hepsinin aynı şeyi söyleme olasılığı nedir?

Cümlelerin kor ateşli

Cümleleri kor ateşli insanlar tanıyorum. Konuştuklarında içini acıtıyorlar, dünyan yıkılıyor ve yeniden kurman gerekiyor.

Re-living

This is not a poem....

Pain on my chest
I'm living and re-living and re-living (three dots for a pause)
In the same order (...)
Feeling suffocated (pause)
I know what will come next (pause)

I'm on a bus going to a small gloomy town in the north (pause)
People are smelly and the bus is stuffy (pause)
It's raining again
Everything is dark once again (stop and breathe here for a sec or two)
Listening to The Life Aquatic by Moon Boots - wishing I could be under water in blue (pause)

I'm trying to break my pattern
(No dots or pause written here so don't pause)
Say something.

Prerequisite

I know that being in a state of anger or discontent is a prerequisite for writing. I simply can not write when I'm happy.

And also, I have no idea why I started to write in English.

Selflessly

This is the beauty of it. I don't write for anyone, I only write to myself. I see it as I am taking notes, creating monologues and dialogues with my alter egos. If I know you're reading it, I would not be able to write selflessly, freely.

If I can name one

"Do I mean anything to anyone? Would anyone care if I just, right now, disappear? If I can name one person, only one name, then I won't kill myself" she said....

Destroy-ance

"You can not fall in love unless you are willing to destroy yourself and this is exactly why I don't and won't fall in love", he said.

Subject or object?

At exactly what stage does the subject of a story becomes the object of it? We think we are the subject of our stories but we might just be the instruments in others'. In that case, what is the purpose of our existence? To teach, guide, help and support others? And what do we get out of this? Do we learn anything at all?

A few days later:
There was this bee on the bus looking very hurt. This women sitting next to me got uncomfortable - because there was a bee on the bus!  She wanted to whack it, but I stopped her. "Give me a piece of paper" I said, she obeyed. I got the bee on the paper gently. This moment the whole bus was watching us. I took the paper, and the bee on it, outside and put the bee on a safe and dry place. I got back on the bus. People were still watching me. The woman sitting next to me said "you're very kind and gentle. I'm Hindu and believe in recarnation". At this stage I was thinking "you must thank me then I have just saved your grandma", but I didn't say a word. Then she said "some people kill them because they might sting". I said "they wouldn't if you don't hassle them or do anything they might think their life is in danger". Everyone was listening to us.

The rest is not important - at least for me. But I'm thinking now again: who is the subject and who is the object in this story ? And what does my and the bee's existence mean in this context? For the woman (and the whole bus), am I the tool here reminding what life means even the small creatures'? For the bee, am I the goddess deciding one's, the bee's in this context, destiny. For me, what am I? What is the moral of the story, what did I get out of this?

The woman is looking at me right now when I am writing these lines, like I am a guardian angel or a goddess who has appeared to her for a reason. 

Parallel worlds

I wonder what you're doing at the moment. No, we haven't met; no, I don't know you. But I'm thinking of you and what you might possibly be doing right now? I'm listening to a beautiful song feeling the blues under the rain - it never stops raining here in this island. Perhaps you are by the beach under the sun and you have sunshine all year around. What are you doing right now when this song is playing on our playlists in different lands when I'm under the rain thinking of you? Do you think we are ever gonna meet? Perhaps I'll play it one day and you'll say you listened to it by the beach (not mentioning you were gazing at beautiful bums) and I'll say then I heard it for the first time when I was out of the gym and it was raining and I was thinking deeply (not mentioning I was thinking of you).

The song is Hunger of the Pine by Alt-J

I'm not that woman

How come the images of me you see and the posts of me you read create a character of me? It's all in your head (you know that, don't you?) and you see what you wanna see. You think I'm sexy; you think I'm femme fatale; you think I'm lesbian; you think I'm easy; you think I am a man-hater; you think I'm free; you think I'm available; you think I'm mistress; you think I'm little; your think I'm depressed. I'm not that woman.

Your perception of me

Isn't that quite interesting that you change your perception of me based on the information I leak gradually (if I want to, if I care enough)? You have this picture of me in your head and then you find out a bit more about me and the picture changes.

I watch

I know more than what you think I know but I simply don't show. I have changed a lot. I play the quiet waiting game, which I used to hate in the past, but now I enjoy it. I watch you silently, from my corner, and just because I don't utter a word you think I don't know. You're so wrong. You see I'm more clever than you think. I watch your faults, weaknesses, flaws, defects, imperfections, stains, taints, feebleness, rawness, desires and temptations. Not because I would use this information about you for my sake, but just because I love witnessing people's incompleteness, especially when they are trying so hard to be so correct, so right, so perfect.

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel like I have to go through rather difficult times just to understand other people. Sometimes I feel like I get involved with people so I can help them somehow. Sometimes I feel like people come into my life to teach me a good lesson. But again, is there a reason for everything? Do things happen for a reason? Perhaps everything is just a big accident.