It is not about

It is not about how you feel the loneliness,
It is about how loneliness can't even look at the mirror,
Each time you feel yourself all alone,
Taking a ship into the dark,
Sailing into the every time new waves,
Knowing the destiny awaits you at the same corner,
But it is not about the destiny awaiting you,
It is about what the destiny awaits from you,
Each time you feel yourself empty,
Taking a look into the dark,
Sailing to the thoughts of every time new hopes,
Knowing it will be different this time,
But it is not about this time being different,
It is about what you will do to make it different this time..

Piano

"Is it the time that flies by, or is it just the older getting stories of a old looking young heart?" asked the poet to the child looking with dark olive eyes as if the poet would be giving him the best toy with his next sentence. The sentence did not come, neither the toy..

"His fingers are touching the keys so softly, that the tone does not want to sound. It doesn't break my heart, it doesn't let a tear drop fall down. It is this distance between taking me away from what I am, making me someone I would want to be, someone I can't handle to be..". The silence was filling in the room with the pause of the dance of the fingers on the keys. "This is not my dance, it has never been.." A small bouquet of light fell in through the almost covered window. Slowly, softly sat down on top of his shoulder. "This is not my dance.."

"A spring waltz shall be our melody. The guests should feel as if they enter a fairy tale when they enter this room. They mustn't even blink for every moment being worth to see.." Her voice shattered in last words. Her voice disappeared into her watery eyes. "Every moment.." she said, "..every moment".. He was not listening any more. The words became meaningless already. The sound became too much to hear. He wanted to go away. He wanted to go. He wanted..

It is always the naughty child of the day to blame for the bad, ugly and sad. Not because everything and everyone is looking the same, not because every breath is colder and every word is heavier. When the shadows go to sleep, when the colors feel tired.. When the naughty child of the day comes out to play all by himself. It doesn't ask those everything and everyone to join him. He doesn't say a word.. Like a shy bird, suspiciously looking to food in the hand of a stranger.. Like a shy bird, doesn't want to fly..

"How many of yourselves will you talk to, to find yourself your self that you would like to stay alone with?". He made a face as if the question was too long to listen. "How many of yourselves will you want to experience before you get tired?". Like a small school child, he looked at his hands, his fingers. For a moment, he was about to find himself counting them. He didn't. "Do you realize that you are hurting yourself more than you are hurting your other selves?". He looked outside from the window. "What a crowded street!" he thought, "yet, there is no sound in the room except my own. The windows must be made from a good material.". He made a half turn to show his face towards where she was talking from. She was looking worried, but not scared, just worried. "When I saw her first, it was her eyes.." he remembered, "..it was still her eyes..". "This time, I talk to you, not to your other selves, just to you and you alone!". "So stubborn.." he thought. "Alone.. Interesting word..", he exhaled, longer than usual this time. "I need to speak silently, more silently, until I stop hearing myself. Maybe then, I can understand what I am talking about..", he exhaled again, shorter than usual this time..

"I want to dance on your lips with my lips. I want to write a poem with my fingers on your breasts. I want to sing a sonata with my breath on your thighs. Would you let me be your artist, my dear lady?". She smiled. Looking down with her eyes for a moment, then back towards his face. She wanted to find one small piece of dishonesty, a small glimpse of a lie.. There was none.. "Shall we dance?" She smiled.. "It is not my love, I am offering to you, my dear lady. I am offering you my passion, my obsession.." She looked at his inviting hand. "So many deep lines in his palms. So many old scars on his fingers.." she thought. "Today, I want to be all yours, my dear lady. You have to forgive my soul. He wants to fall in love with you first..". She smiled..

When you can't even cry for the harms people have done to you; and when your goodness started feeling like a stubborn goddess growing in yourself, which song will be rescuing you from your paralyzed existence? A step forward, a step back. Trying to unleash yourself from the bondage you left yourself in.. Is it even worth fighting? Is it even worth changing, when those around you are so far away from the changes you propose to them? What makes you believe that the goodness eventually will take over the change towards the good? The questions you don't know the answers from.. The like poems looking like never finishing, never going nowhere.. But they all do finish at some day. All poems will change some day.. And when the poet looks to the child, as if he would be waiting to take over his youth leaving him the old age, "Is it the time that flies by, or is it just the older getting stories of a old looking young heart?" he says.. She looks at the child with dark olive eyes as if the poet would be giving him the best toy with his next sentence. She smiles..

Lonely children

Children are born,
Lonely children of the earth,
Following a light full of pain..
Oh, how easy it would be,
To walk without going anywhere,...
Step away and rest a little..
Children become grown,
Up and down,
Up and down,
Fearing of the light in pain,
As strong as not to cry,
But no more, not any more..
In the witness of a sad song,
"People hearing without listening",
Children of yesterday,
Lonely children of the earth..

Mr. Frodo Baggins

"Life" is an interesting stage, Mr. Frodo Baggins:

When the actions, that people call magic, become a part of the daily routine; and when the stands, that looks like incredible, become a usual of "here and now", it leaves a small space for excitement that is in fact so big, that nothing and no one seem to be able to fill it in..

And then, yet again, the "play" surprises you with the next act, when the curtain opens slowly: An elegant flow with the light as bright as the sunshine starts to roll. Even when the eyes get used to the bright shine, the act on the stage remains excitingly beautiful..

"Life" is an interesting stage, Mr. Frodo Baggins:

The next act is about to begin. Please don't forget to turn off your mobiles. Because it will be one of a kind of a play..

Everyday of life

It is like the everyday of life,
Every single walk to be taken,
The eye opening curiosity,
The ticklish feeling of willingness,
The anxiety of the next step,...
The warm excitement of the unknown,
Along the chilly fear of the "what if"..
As simple and small
As the baby cat on the water lily pad,
As big as the world around;
It is like the every day of life,
Every single walk to be taken..

Far away

Uzaklarda gözlerin,

Ama o bildiğin uzaklardan değil,

Alıp da başını bir trenin vagonuna atlayıp,

Hani pervasızca herşeyi bir kenara bırakıp,

Öylece gidebileceğin..

Uzaklarda ellerin,

Ama o bildiğin uzaklardan değil,

Özledikçe hıçkıra hıçkıra ağlaya,

Ağlaya gözlerini şişireceğin,

Ve sonunda yine de gülümseyip,

Hani ukalaca “o da öyle bir zamandı,

Öylece geldi geçti” diyebileceğin..

Uzaklarımdasın sen benim,

Ama o bildiğin uzaklardan değil,

İçine düştükçe kavuşmak arzusu,

Yollara vurup adımlarını,

Hani hiç yaşanmamışcasına dönebileceğin;

Gözlerin kadar yakın olsa da gözlerim..

--

Far away are your eyes,

But not the far away that you know,

Where you could just jump to a train wagon from,

Leaving everything aside carelessly,

Just to go like that..

Far away are your hands,

But not the far away you know,

Where you would cry missing,

Would cry out your eyes,

And at the end still would smile,

Would arrogantly say "it was just a time like that,

Just came and gone"..

Far away are you from me,

But not the far away that you know,

Whenever the desire of return falls in,

Where you could put down your steps,

To return as if hasn't ever happened;

Even if your eyes would be as close as to mine..

Time

..

And the time comes when you drive yourself away from everything and everyone along the friendship of your dashboard lights.. Norah Jones tries to convince you with her soft voice touching your ears intimately..

You don't give up driving away; yet, it is not the only thing you don't give up on; everything and everyone that you carry within your thoughts too; within you, intimately..

..

Coupling

Coupling - Season 1 Episode 4 - Inferno:


"I like naked women! I'm a bloke! I'm supposed to like them; we're born like that! We like naked women as soon as we're pulled out of one! Halfway down the birth canal we're already enjoying the view! Look, it is the four pillars of the male heterosexual psyche. We like naked women, stockings, lesbians, and Sean Connery best as James Bond. Because that is what being a boy is, and if you don't like it, darling, join a film collective. Look, I want to spend the rest of my life with the woman at the end of that table there, but that does not stop me from wanting to see several thousand more naked bottoms before I die, because that's what being a bloke is! When man invented fire, he didn't say, "Hey, let's cook!" He said, "Great! Now we can see naked bottoms in the dark!" As soon as Caxton invented the printing press, we were using it to make pictures of - hey! - naked bottoms! We've turned the internet into an enormous international database of... naked bottoms! So, you see, the story of male achievement through the ages, feeble though it may have been, has been the story of our struggle to get a better look at your bottoms."

Seyirci II

"After your afternoon love makings, if there is not even one lighthouse in your with care created gardens to spot a light to the storms breaking in yourself, then the time passing by will ruin you even if you comfort your life with fake smiles.. The life that you would like to keep away from your known memories eats your minutes like a time worm. What is left over to you on the witnessing of the happenings is actually yourself, who you want to stage on behalf of your doings far away from your fights. Your optimistic minutes that you wasted with the passion to “selfishness" and you.. The truths that you always stayed away knowing that you couldn't stand the shock, if you would admit it to yourself.. Your hopes that will not leave you to your loneliness even if you want, your chaos, your complexity; your being used to loyalties full of love and you.. The way you explain yourself with the words you don't know where to use and afterwards, your giving up from yourself like nothing happened and you.. Your reproach to the man writing these words, like they are not from you; and your hopeless shadow showing up on the light behind the paper walls that you actually built from your reproaches and you.. would I say these, you would be so willing to go away from these pages, I know.. You are hiding.. Your arrivals to home, from the long and tiring, boring and bored roads that you used to and full of your hate; and while you are on those roads, from roads that you prison hundreds of more adjectives in your mind, somehow never make you happy. After all the harbors that you didn't bind your happiness to; especially while there are dark and cold storms breaking in yourself so much, it doesn't effect you that you don't bind the most fearful place of your life to the roads. And on top of these, the noises and known fights, at home where the getting harder to bear roads are ending; in your sun smelling room where you spread your worlds into each corner, your not being willing to do's and not being able to do's; the you that is squeezed after all your "et cetera"s.. again, you.. I am talking about you. The you, that you actually know very well. The you that you are trying to freshly get to know with every doings of yours and the you that you give up in every thought of failure of yours.. I am explaining you. I am explaining you, who would do the things in the name of human kind kids, for them, even if you wouldn't do it for yourself or don't do it even if you would; and struggle for it; you who doesn't give up on this only. Even if you don't believe me, even if you don't believe in yourself.. I miss you. Once with your being like a fresh and dynamic, un-frayed and clean baby in the mornings of the days far away from shines, you are being a stranger tome and many others who has to fight with you to make you feel the love, even if you don't believe in yourself and that you are being loved.. Everybody is right for themselves, everything is right with the assurance of the trust given by the perfectiveness. So familiar this view seems to you, who knows better than anyone the days that he goes through. This is the view that you have lived through, have seen when you have lived, have gotten bored when you have seen, and have gotten bored of seeing when you have lived. The days, that has to end somewhere; that you said somewhere will end, will stay in a corner of your life like your observer-ness, as far as you stay as an observer to them.. You have to give up with your stubbornness, you have sacrifice from your fake happinesses. You have to face the you who is hiding behind these words; you have to teach yourself to make him live.. before it is too late.." 


"Yorgun akşamüstü sevişmelerinin ardından, içinde kopan fırtınalara ışık tutacak tek bir deniz feneri bile yoksa o özenle yarattığın bahçelerinde; geçen zaman yazık eder sana, sen sahte gülücüklerle avutsan da yaşamını.. Bir zaman kurdu gibi kemirir dakikalarını bildik anılardan uzak tutmaya çabaladığın yaşam. Olup bitenlerin şahitliğinde sana kalan, aslında kavgalarından uzak yapmışlıklarında sahneye koyduğun sensindir. “Bencillik” tutkusuyla harcadığın iyimser dakikaların ve sen.. Kendine itiraf etsen, yaşayacağın şoka dayanamayacağını bildiğinden, hep uzak durduğun gerçeklerin.. Seni yalnızlığına, sen istesen de bırakmayacak umutların, karmaşan, karmaşıklığın; sevgi dolu bağlılıklara alışmışlığın ve sen... Nerede kullanıldığını bilmediğin sözlerle kendini anlatışın ve ardından, hiçbir şey olmamışcasına kendinden vazgeçişin ve sen.. Tüm bunları yazan adama, bunlar senden değilmişcesine sitemlerin ve aslında sitemlerinden ördüğün kağıttan duvarların ardındaki ışıktan beliren çaresiz gölgen ve sen.. dersem, çekip gitmeye can atarsın bu sayfalardan, bilirim.. Saklanıyorsun.. Uzun ve yorgun, sıkıcı ve bıkkın, alışılmış ve nefretinle dolu yollardan ve sen bu yollardayken, daha yüzlerce sıfatı aklında hapsettiğin yollardan eve varışların bir türlü mutlu etmez seni. Mutluluğunu bağlamadığın onca sakin limanın ardından; hele bir de içinde karanlık ve soğuk fırtınalar esiyorken bunca, gidip de yaşamının en korkak yerini yollara bağlamayışın da dokunmaz sana zaten. Bir de üstüne üstlük, o katlanılması sana gittikçe imkansızlaşan yolların son bulduğu yerde, evinde; kendince dünyalarını her bir köşesine serpiştirdiğin güneş kokulu, bir o kadar da güneşten uzak odanda seni bekleyen o hep bildik kavgaların ve gürültü, yapmak isteyişlerin ve yapamayışların ve vesairelerin ardında sıkışıp kalan yine sen.. yine sen.. Senden söz ediyorum. Senin de aslında çok iyi bildiğin senden. Senin de her yaptığınla yeni baştan tanımaya çalıştığın ve her başarısızlık düşüncende vazgeçtiğin senden.. Seni anlatıyorum. Kendi için yapmayacağı ve yapacak olsa da yapmadığı her şeyi, insanoğlu çocukları adına, onlar için yapan, bunun için çabalayan, bir bundan vazgeçemeyen seni anlatıyorum sana. Bir o kadar bana inanmasan da, bir o kadar kendine inanmasan da.. Seni özlüyorum. Bir zamanlar günlerin ışıltıdan uzak sabahlarında, taze ve dinamik, yıpratılmamış ve tertemiz bir bebek gibi oluşunla seni özletiyorsun bana, kendine ve seni sevdiğine inanmasan da, sevgiyi sana hissettirmek için seninle savaşmak zorunda kalan onca insana.. Herkes kendince haklı, her şey olup bitmişliğinin verdiği güvenle doğru bu günlerde. Öylesine tanıdık geliyor ki bu manzara yaşadığın günleri herkesten iyi bilen sana. Her yaşadığın, yaşadıkça gördüğün, gördükçe yaşamaktan sıkıldığın, yaşadıkça görmekten bıktığın manzaradır bu aslında. Bir yerlerde bitmesi gerekir; bir yerlerde sonu gelir dediğin günler, aslında sen onlara böyle seyirci kaldıkça, sen seyirciliğin gibi kalacaklar yaşamının bir köşesinde.. Vazgeçmelisin inadından, feda etmelisin yalancı mutluluklarından. Tüm bu sözlerin ardında saklanan seni artık önüne koyup, onu yaşatmayı öğretmelisin kendine.. çok geç olmadan.."

Sweet melody

"When you are ready I will surrender take me and do as you wish. Have what you want your way's always the best way. I have succumbed to this passive sensation peacefully falling away. I am a zombie your wish will command me, laugh as I fall to my knees. Can I control this empty delusion lost in the fire below? And you come running your eyes will be open. And when you come back I'll be as you want me, only so eager to please. My little song will keep you beside me thinking your name as I sing Now you can't help it if you have been tempted by fruit hanging ripe on the tree. And I feel useless don't care what the truth is you will be here come the day. Truth do you hear me? Don't try to come near me. So tired, I sleep through the light. If you desire to lay here beside me come to my sweet melody."

Illusive

Noon lines: Time is an illusive material that we love to play with thinking that when we "make" it strong enough, it will be the run away door in our difficulties.. Like everything else we "make" strong and powerful in our existence, it is the time that we put into the most precious corner of our lives and hide ourselves beneath. It is the time that we arrange our things according to, it is the time that creates our plans. It is the time that we allow our emotions to grow up; it is yet still the time that we let our feelings to change in. We are leaning ourselves to the foggy existence of time with the hope that everything will be fine if we wait enough, everything will be good, everything will be just the way they "suppose to be". We give even the responsibility to time to repair wounds, to make us get mature, to get more success, happiness and health. We celebrate with the time that we give different names to; we shake hands, we hug, we smile, we laugh, we cry. We define "specialties" in it, we put "valuables" on it, we hide "secrets" under it. Despite of the dear quote of Albert, it is our favorite habit to let ourselves to the flow of time and wait for things to happen. Time is our hero, time is our knight; time is our day and night.. Time is an illusive material that we think we love to play with; yet, at the end, we are its play toys with our beloved pride and prejudice..

Alfa Romeo

Afternoon lines: It has to be a bordeaux color Alfa Romeo 146 Boxer with green dashboard lights. The sun doesn't have to shine that day. It could be rainy, maybe even with some storm. You may not like the wind, but once you close the door, even the wind is fine.. The name of it doesn't have to be a "road trip". Not even a trip it has to be. Just drive out of the parking spot, just drive out to be gone.. The destination doesn't have to be far. Neither close it has to be. Maybe a place where you have been before, maybe even better a place where you have never seen, never been.. It doesn't have to be a friend in the seat next to you, neither a partner, nor your precious one. You don't have to know the person, you don't have to ask. It doesn't even have to be anyone.. Just you and "Norah Jones' Sunrise"; just you and your sunrise.. It doesn't have to be an evening or afternoon, maybe deep in the night; early in the morning is also fine.. The decision doesn't have to be wrong, neither it has to be one of the rights.. It just has to be a bordeaux color Alfa Romeo 146 Boxer with green dashboard lights..

Sun-day

"Sun"day lines: It is easier to be no one. A robot. A machine of some sort. A working non-organism with minimum to no needs, no support, no attention, no interest. A collection of metallic parts, some stones, some ceramics or some glass of some sort; even maybe plastic to bend a little when necessary.. It is easier to be no one. A robot. A machine of some sort. A functioning block of parts with no communication needs, no interaction, little to none expectations. No feelings, no thoughts, nothing that could go up or down, nothing that could change or try to change something or someone. No willingness too.. It is easier to be no one. A robot. A machine of some sort. Then it doesn't matter too, even if it rains; is lonely or cold..

Melon

Friday evening lines: Being together with someone, although anticipated otherwise, is not about "love" at all. It is just about the melon being too big and once you cut it, you better eat it together with someone, so that it does not get bad in the fridge.. Or what about the cold bed right before you go to sleep? Of course it is easier to go in with someone so that the blanket will be warm quicker. Not to mention these long, endless movies in the TV. It is obvious that you need someone to tell you what happened when you went to pee.. How about the Christmas tree? Every time you have to go up and down to pick up this shiny ball from the box. A second hand there and it barely takes time to make it ready.. The walk in the park. Come on! They will call the hospital if they see you talking to yourself. It is definitely better to share the road with someone, then you will not even notice anymore how time passes.. And when the heavy rain starts. Who are you going to show your a little fearful excitement to?.. Even scientists could prove that a breakfast with another person will wake you up quicker and voila! You are ready for the day before you go out!.. And all those friends with wrong clothing choices, all the complaints of the boss, the traffic on the way home, the neighbor's naughty children, the policeman writing you a ticket for parking just for two minutes, you have to tell them all to someone for no reason, right?.. So, being together with someone is not about "love" at all.. It is just about the melon being too big for one..

Moment

It is the moment when you wake up from the foggy dreams and face the foggy street lamp outside of your window with a stubborn light struggling through the night and you realize the existence of the dreamer in you has overtaken what else you might have had; and when you wake up after this very moment, that you are alone as you have always been..

Tik-Tak

A small bouquet of light falls off the blanket to the bed covered in small shadows escorting it. While the lines between the eyebrows become more apparent in each step towards the deep sleep, the clock continued its routine tik-tak-tik-tak. "It is a good feeling to have someone as a guardian when falling asleep like this, not anyone, but.." A guardian to protect from the fearful dreams of the unconscious past or a guardian pre-cautious for the upcoming ones.. A guardian to have or a guardian protecting you from becoming yourself.. Along the shivers and worried short breaths, the time follows as if it would ever give up.. Yet, a happy bouquet of light falls off the blanket to the bed covered in small shadows escorting it, to follow the time and just to disappear..

Foggy

It was just a night like this on the foggy sky with the almost full moon having its yellow white moires around.. The room was dark as it had been every night after the lights were forced to be turned off. The voices of the young boys were forced to mute too but the wooden lines of the metal bed frames didn't care much when they were cutting the darkness in the room with their sharp talks. Under them even darker than the night falling through the window, shadows were about the start their usual show in the minds of the young bodies. Knowing the boring view of the day time theatre didn't matter much. A story started finding its way from one of the recovered voices towards the middle of the room. The young minds forgot the shadow show quickly, they collected themselves to the barely noticable story. Yet soon enough the story was muted too.. It was just a night like this on the foggy sky with the almost full moon having its yellow white moires around..

Time and thinking

It is a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep.. Taking the next step, forwards or backwards; or even sidewards just to have taken that difficult looking step looks meaningless in between those matters. Every night taking you to the next day and yet every day taking you to the same night in endless looking circles is washing up your brain while you are sitting on your comfortable seat in the crowded audience made carefully, proudly yet pathetically by your-selves. Not an improvisionist teather show, neither a tragedia in a monologistical stand-up is what you name yourself being into; it is rather the movie of what you prefer to call your life while nothing you have is truly yours, not even the audience of your-selves. Maybe it is the reason for your boredom you have looking for the exit door without even seeing a simple light to guide your way; the way, that you would hope to take you to the exit you want to have. Yet, there is not even a simple light.. It is a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep.. Dreaming with open eyes looking at the dreamless eyes of the ones that you like to call friends looks meaningless in between those matters. People pass by your existence with sweat and tears, with regrets and fears, with helplessness and cheers; yet your existence looks meaningless in between. Making sense seems like the only thing which wouldn't make sense; and that's why you would prefer to jump into complexity in the dark, hiding from the audience of your-selves; yet, simplicity catches you from your back to ask for a revenge; a revenge, which doesn't make sense.. It is a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep.. Reminding yourself all the ones you would like to have, are being some other one's looks meaningless in between those matters. Yet the flower bloomes in your heart each time your mind plays naive games of illusions with your body; illusions, that you would call yourself still breathing.. It is just a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep, not to wake up to your-selves anymore..

Confusion

It is a confusion in the rational and logical mind that I have not being able to understand the dynamics, reasoning and motivation of hurting or harming any other one than myself. Therefore, it is impossibly hard to come to the conclusion of grief, tolerance or satisfaction of any kind. How can a mind understand something so distant, so irrational, so meaningless yet so real? And if the reality is the reflection of life in the mirror of time; then, it is a confusion in the rational and logical mind that I have not being able to understand the dynamics of life at all. Then, let's put ourselves in the Truman's cube, glue the big, shiny smiles to our faces and say: "In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!"

One more time

One more time: Life is full of surprises. Surprises about people we think we know; surprises in the frame of good or bad, beautiful or ugly.. Surprises about people, groups, crowds we have never heard of, never seen; surprises that cause happiness or sadness, surprises that clears the picture or confuses.. One more time: Life is full of surprises. Not as the words of foreign object in the known, not as the words of a known object in the crowd.. Surprises about the masks, about the "made"s; yet still surprises about the real faces, real personalities, real people.. One more time: Life is full of surprises. Just like a "little miss sunshine" looking with her big ocean eyes towards her mother; and yet hidden treasures within surprises every day, one more time.. Yet, one more time: Life is full of surprises. And we are as well.. Just hiding them, comfortably, safely, unconsciously.. Just to make life full of surprises.. ..