from the summit of exhilaration to the deepest pit of helplessness.
the distance was covered in precisely 43 seconds.
holding on to the slope, digging my claws, i try to crawl my way up again,
but the rain doesnt stop.
my hands slip. its too dark, i cant see where i am.
there are two ways, up to the summit, again... but its difficult to hold on.
or give my tired body and broken fingernails, the rest they deserve.
i decide abruptly to leave, just let go. but only after one last haul,
i heave all my strength, trying to make sense out of shadows in the inky night.
through, the thick layer of water that has now somehow collected in my eyes,
blurring even those shadows
and i push my body... deliver one last kiss of hope.
there is no response... just the deadly deafening roar of silence and withdrawl.
i decide to leave, this time, not so abruptly.
but with intention.
in the void of darkness, i feel an overpowering force,
am i flying, or falling
only time will tell....
i give myself to the darkness.
swallow it hungrily...
in search of the end of it all.
this time not so abruptly.
but with an intention.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
the quest for nectar
sometimes judgements fail me.
realising that the last time, i fall into it yet again.
the belief that i carry the burden of.... the belief of the eternal goodness of the human soul....
is what makes me commit the biggest of mistakes and blunders, and the most beautiful ones too.
every time the compulsive need to meet new people, know new cultures, new ways of thinking, is almost too much of a temptation for me to resist.
im a slave of habit. and habit is the most floundering thing i possess.
like an extremely restless butterfly. meandering, frivilous.
But equally alluring with rainbow wings.
and only at these times do i realise, that whatever i may believe, i still have a lot to learn,
in order to be falterless in my decisions and my choices.
a lot many years before i can say that, the decision i have taken is the only one i should have taken.
and only at these times, i know that my parents are not wrong when they say, you are but only a child.
the child in me looks for the parent, finding a slight resemblance, the butterfly settles, but it takes only a few moments to realise that, this is all i can get here, and it flies again.
fluttering about aimlessly, charaterlessly.
but i forget... butterflies dont give away their heart and soul to every flower they settle on.
they know only one thing.
the undying incessant quest for nectar.
realising that the last time, i fall into it yet again.
the belief that i carry the burden of.... the belief of the eternal goodness of the human soul....
is what makes me commit the biggest of mistakes and blunders, and the most beautiful ones too.
every time the compulsive need to meet new people, know new cultures, new ways of thinking, is almost too much of a temptation for me to resist.
im a slave of habit. and habit is the most floundering thing i possess.
like an extremely restless butterfly. meandering, frivilous.
But equally alluring with rainbow wings.
and only at these times do i realise, that whatever i may believe, i still have a lot to learn,
in order to be falterless in my decisions and my choices.
a lot many years before i can say that, the decision i have taken is the only one i should have taken.
and only at these times, i know that my parents are not wrong when they say, you are but only a child.
the child in me looks for the parent, finding a slight resemblance, the butterfly settles, but it takes only a few moments to realise that, this is all i can get here, and it flies again.
fluttering about aimlessly, charaterlessly.
but i forget... butterflies dont give away their heart and soul to every flower they settle on.
they know only one thing.
the undying incessant quest for nectar.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
says Orhan Pamuk and me
As you know, the question we writers are asked most often, the favourite question, is;
why do you write? I write because I have an innate need to write! I write because I can't do normal work like other people. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write.
I write because I am angry at all of you, angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write because I can only partake in real life by changing it. I write because I want others, all of us, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey. I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at all of you, so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page, I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. I write because it is exciting to turn all of life's beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story, but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but – just as in a dream – I can't quite get there. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.
why do you write? I write because I have an innate need to write! I write because I can't do normal work like other people. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write.
I write because I am angry at all of you, angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write because I can only partake in real life by changing it. I write because I want others, all of us, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey. I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at all of you, so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page, I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. I write because it is exciting to turn all of life's beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story, but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but – just as in a dream – I can't quite get there. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
my extended family
there is such beauty is friendship...
be it as fresh and new as the coming of winters... or as old and crass as my grandmothers pillow, the contours of which i know like the back of my hand.
i had heard somewhere that families need not be biological... and i laughed and poo pooed the treacherous lumps of mankind that believed in this.
over the years of staying away from the only 3 people i knew to be my family, my world... being on my own...
has made me (no matter however much i try to deny it, with contemptuous disbelief) very dependent on certain people.
and dependant not in a life sucking loathsome manner, but in a very unconditional, pleasantly tingling manner, which makes me shudder with disbelief at my good luck.
it started with one person who came to be so important that, without realising that person had become an integral and uningnorable part of my world, my family.
and my roomates, who unconditionally took me to be a part of their worlds too.
not immediately.. but slowly ... progressively.
and the joy one feels when,
a friend finally confides in you walking on a road with you, after listening patiently to so may of your stories. and you cant believe why they would trust you with something so intimate.
a friend telling you how much they care for you... next only to their lover.
a friend telling me that they want to hold me till i feel ok again.
a friend guiding on the road as if their life depended on it not mine..
a friend keeping track of my pms knowing how nasty i become during that time, and still waiting for my mood swing to turn the other way.
a friend i want to meet everyday.. even though they are two continents away.
and to think.. i was immature enough to think.. that only 3 people are my family, my world...
sounds as blasphemous as silly.
cheers to this undoubtedly precious form of expanding your family, your world, your love.
be it as fresh and new as the coming of winters... or as old and crass as my grandmothers pillow, the contours of which i know like the back of my hand.
i had heard somewhere that families need not be biological... and i laughed and poo pooed the treacherous lumps of mankind that believed in this.
over the years of staying away from the only 3 people i knew to be my family, my world... being on my own...
has made me (no matter however much i try to deny it, with contemptuous disbelief) very dependent on certain people.
and dependant not in a life sucking loathsome manner, but in a very unconditional, pleasantly tingling manner, which makes me shudder with disbelief at my good luck.
it started with one person who came to be so important that, without realising that person had become an integral and uningnorable part of my world, my family.
and my roomates, who unconditionally took me to be a part of their worlds too.
not immediately.. but slowly ... progressively.
and the joy one feels when,
a friend finally confides in you walking on a road with you, after listening patiently to so may of your stories. and you cant believe why they would trust you with something so intimate.
a friend telling you how much they care for you... next only to their lover.
a friend telling me that they want to hold me till i feel ok again.
a friend guiding on the road as if their life depended on it not mine..
a friend keeping track of my pms knowing how nasty i become during that time, and still waiting for my mood swing to turn the other way.
a friend i want to meet everyday.. even though they are two continents away.
and to think.. i was immature enough to think.. that only 3 people are my family, my world...
sounds as blasphemous as silly.
cheers to this undoubtedly precious form of expanding your family, your world, your love.
Friday, October 19, 2007
i let go
there are times in everyones lives.
when all the things taught to us when we were small, become immaterial.
all the times when channels were changed. all the times when conversations ended abruptly.
all the times. when you accepted the norms without questioning.
they all have no importance.
perhaps because you discover another way of thinking.
a way that is your own, that you have built on your own.
that is not borrowed.
a way that you are free to question, dismantle, and rebuild. in faith.
and you let yourself disregard all that you had learnt to believe as the truth.
and let your new found thinking take over.
through all my doubts.
i let go
never to be innocent agian.
regret is too far away. blurry.
faith returns with a vengeance.
the same faith that i had disowned.
making me feel dirty more than violated.
dirty to the depths of my soul and my being.
phenyl flowing in the bloodstream would not be able to clean it.
regret is now a part of me.
and sometimes, i wish i didnt question so much.
i wish i had stopped myself.
i wish i hadnt let go.
when all the things taught to us when we were small, become immaterial.
all the times when channels were changed. all the times when conversations ended abruptly.
all the times. when you accepted the norms without questioning.
they all have no importance.
perhaps because you discover another way of thinking.
a way that is your own, that you have built on your own.
that is not borrowed.
a way that you are free to question, dismantle, and rebuild. in faith.
and you let yourself disregard all that you had learnt to believe as the truth.
and let your new found thinking take over.
through all my doubts.
i let go
never to be innocent agian.
regret is too far away. blurry.
faith returns with a vengeance.
the same faith that i had disowned.
making me feel dirty more than violated.
dirty to the depths of my soul and my being.
phenyl flowing in the bloodstream would not be able to clean it.
regret is now a part of me.
and sometimes, i wish i didnt question so much.
i wish i had stopped myself.
i wish i hadnt let go.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
with malice towards one and all
there is this dirty incestuous desire .
to possess malice.
something i could never own.
something i long to hold onto. but it always slips away.
something i desperately try to invite, every time i try...
try to be mean.
to push away.
to bitch.
to repulse.
to possess.
to be sarcastic.
try too hard perhaps.
bordering on obsession.
i dont know when or how it came to be so important.
but i know why it did.
to build a wall of bitterness around me.
so that none of it from anyone else may effect me.
but no matter how much i try.
my dilapidated attempts at the construction of the wall are diluted with the lack of improper upbringing, but strengthened by improper schooling.
the first one prevails.
and unfailingly. the wall gets punctured.... in its nascent stages.
exposing to the world... the me that i thought was well protected.
and im caught unawares.
and thats when it hits the hardest.
bullet fast.
and unwarranted, unexpected.
to possess malice.
something i could never own.
something i long to hold onto. but it always slips away.
something i desperately try to invite, every time i try...
try to be mean.
to push away.
to bitch.
to repulse.
to possess.
to be sarcastic.
try too hard perhaps.
bordering on obsession.
i dont know when or how it came to be so important.
but i know why it did.
to build a wall of bitterness around me.
so that none of it from anyone else may effect me.
but no matter how much i try.
my dilapidated attempts at the construction of the wall are diluted with the lack of improper upbringing, but strengthened by improper schooling.
the first one prevails.
and unfailingly. the wall gets punctured.... in its nascent stages.
exposing to the world... the me that i thought was well protected.
and im caught unawares.
and thats when it hits the hardest.
bullet fast.
and unwarranted, unexpected.
Monday, October 15, 2007
15th october
fuck the guy who invented the roman calender and the concept of birthdays.
calculative sadist of a man.
single handedly playing with and mindfucking so many people....
since time immemorial.
why the hell can birthdays not be like normal days?
why the hulaaballo?
why the cake and the song?
utterly fake wishes
and even more fake hugs.
i say intelligent parents should hide their childrens birthdays.
and not involve them in this bufoonery that exists in such a mindnumbing size all over the word.
what is more surprising is that even after so many years of civilised living... no one has been able to do anything about it.
no one has ever realised the agenda behind archies greetings.
or even if they have they choose to indulge in it anyways.
i boycott birthdays.
till
the first birthday of my baby...
calculative sadist of a man.
single handedly playing with and mindfucking so many people....
since time immemorial.
why the hell can birthdays not be like normal days?
why the hulaaballo?
why the cake and the song?
utterly fake wishes
and even more fake hugs.
i say intelligent parents should hide their childrens birthdays.
and not involve them in this bufoonery that exists in such a mindnumbing size all over the word.
what is more surprising is that even after so many years of civilised living... no one has been able to do anything about it.
no one has ever realised the agenda behind archies greetings.
or even if they have they choose to indulge in it anyways.
i boycott birthdays.
till
the first birthday of my baby...
Friday, October 12, 2007
respect
if you keep respect the basis of every relationship.
it will never go wrong.
it is the one thing.. that makes everything else immaterial.
and if its there... every relationship,
the most strongest ones can be built on it.
and if at any moment you realise that has gone missing,
or god forbid was never there to start with...
its never too late....
just walk off...
dont even think twice...
and if a relationship there is immense mutual respect....
sometimes... thats enough....
and even if it isnt... it will take off from there...
invest.
it will never go wrong.
it is the one thing.. that makes everything else immaterial.
and if its there... every relationship,
the most strongest ones can be built on it.
and if at any moment you realise that has gone missing,
or god forbid was never there to start with...
its never too late....
just walk off...
dont even think twice...
and if a relationship there is immense mutual respect....
sometimes... thats enough....
and even if it isnt... it will take off from there...
invest.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
stay away anyway
out of nowhere, splinters dig into my skin.
splinters, shards...
shards of piercing insensitivity.
of words that come out never to be taken back again.
words that shatter and form splinters.... minute and massive
burning eyes.
prickly words.
no amount of astringent will work once they scrach, prick, enter my bloodstream.
nothing and no one can ever alter that.
because besides the ones that pierce....
there are many more suspended... floating.
like fog, blurring my vision.
forcing me to walk blind folded.
and keep one arms distance.
detect danger. stay away.
if you are unable to detect it. stay away anyway.
splinters, shards...
shards of piercing insensitivity.
of words that come out never to be taken back again.
words that shatter and form splinters.... minute and massive
burning eyes.
prickly words.
no amount of astringent will work once they scrach, prick, enter my bloodstream.
nothing and no one can ever alter that.
because besides the ones that pierce....
there are many more suspended... floating.
like fog, blurring my vision.
forcing me to walk blind folded.
and keep one arms distance.
detect danger. stay away.
if you are unable to detect it. stay away anyway.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
apt
came across this in a movie which i saw right now.... found it quite relevant to my life...
or for that matter anyone elses....
"There should be adventure in life, otherwise its just a bunch of thursdays strung together."
so apt..... funny how apt is such a small word that conveys so much.
i think ive been getting kicks since a few days out of words and their construction...
and i guess everyone will just have to bear with any further lines in future which start with.. "funny how this word is...."
hey... dont judge me.. not just yet.
or for that matter anyone elses....
"There should be adventure in life, otherwise its just a bunch of thursdays strung together."
so apt..... funny how apt is such a small word that conveys so much.
i think ive been getting kicks since a few days out of words and their construction...
and i guess everyone will just have to bear with any further lines in future which start with.. "funny how this word is...."
hey... dont judge me.. not just yet.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
brobdingnagian
i dont know why most people dont understand how easy it is to make someone happy.
and how much meaning it gives you to actually watch someone react when you do something small, that you know counts.
small thoughts. small actions. actions that show you care.
actions that take hardly any effort, make a difference so huge...
so huge that huge is hardly big enough a word to describe it.
brobdingnagian is more like it...
ps. that is actually a word...honest...it means huge plus sounds so much more like the meaning... haha...
and how much meaning it gives you to actually watch someone react when you do something small, that you know counts.
small thoughts. small actions. actions that show you care.
actions that take hardly any effort, make a difference so huge...
so huge that huge is hardly big enough a word to describe it.
brobdingnagian is more like it...
ps. that is actually a word...honest...it means huge plus sounds so much more like the meaning... haha...
Monday, October 8, 2007
Friday, October 5, 2007
the science of sleep
sleep is the strangest phenomina.
the subcomscious taking over the conscious or the conscious taking over the subconscious?
we will never know.
to what occurance can we then label things like sleep walking, talking in sleep , doing things that you would not do consciously.
now what do you do when someone is saying something in front of you while they are sleeping, or doing something to you?
do you move away, and in the process wake them up..... let thme wake up in the situation, embarrased?
or let them go ahead whateve they are doing?
do you believe that they are sleeping?
are people unaware of what they do while they sleep? or they just use it as an excuse?... because well lets face it.. sleep is one of the mysteries of the human mind that no one can say they have deciphered. do you trust your heart or your brain or the other person? and let yourself be violated, be revealed secrets to, be talked to, be sung to, be laughed with... there are a billion questions, that need answers. and i have not the slightest idea why im posting them here. hoping from an answer from a lifeless screen? or from myself.
i have not the slightest idea.
what is deja vu all about?
is it that our whole life is pre planned... and comes to us while we are sleeping... and sometimes when we go through the incidents that we saw.. we realise we have gone through them before....
is it that we know what our destiny is?
is it that in the end... no matter how many questions we ask we now what is going to happen in the end?
i have not the slightest idea.
the subcomscious taking over the conscious or the conscious taking over the subconscious?
we will never know.
to what occurance can we then label things like sleep walking, talking in sleep , doing things that you would not do consciously.
now what do you do when someone is saying something in front of you while they are sleeping, or doing something to you?
do you move away, and in the process wake them up..... let thme wake up in the situation, embarrased?
or let them go ahead whateve they are doing?
do you believe that they are sleeping?
are people unaware of what they do while they sleep? or they just use it as an excuse?... because well lets face it.. sleep is one of the mysteries of the human mind that no one can say they have deciphered. do you trust your heart or your brain or the other person? and let yourself be violated, be revealed secrets to, be talked to, be sung to, be laughed with... there are a billion questions, that need answers. and i have not the slightest idea why im posting them here. hoping from an answer from a lifeless screen? or from myself.
i have not the slightest idea.
what is deja vu all about?
is it that our whole life is pre planned... and comes to us while we are sleeping... and sometimes when we go through the incidents that we saw.. we realise we have gone through them before....
is it that we know what our destiny is?
is it that in the end... no matter how many questions we ask we now what is going to happen in the end?
i have not the slightest idea.
experience, observe, internalise
this violent appetite for experience drives me mad.
of noting every small detail.
analysing, over analysing every situation,
every conversation, makes me draw such unearthly conclusions,
about myself about other people, about what i mean to other people.... the works.
i want to be able to express without being commented upon.
upon the way, i think, they way i talk, the way i look, the way i exaggerate... even when i dont.
i want to be able to not take every piece of verbal bullcrap diguised as the alphabet which is hurled at me from sometimes the most unexpected places, and sometimes from the most obvious.
i want to be able to be free in my mind and soul and my environment of categories.
of the urge and the need that the human mind has to compartmentalise human behaviour, generalise it to the extent that there ceases to be an entity called the individual.
i want to listen, to persuade, to interrupt, to help, to talk, to laugh, to be a confidante, to love, to be loved, to be fed with warmth, to feed warmth, to cleanse, to pray, to kiss, to loathe, to walk, to see, to make love, to draw, to sculpt, to massage, to soothe, to be the agony aunt, to cry, to sob vehemently, and yet to feel the tears on my burning skin travel down and wet my neck.
to experience.
oh how it drives me mad...
of noting every small detail.
analysing, over analysing every situation,
every conversation, makes me draw such unearthly conclusions,
about myself about other people, about what i mean to other people.... the works.
i want to be able to express without being commented upon.
upon the way, i think, they way i talk, the way i look, the way i exaggerate... even when i dont.
i want to be able to not take every piece of verbal bullcrap diguised as the alphabet which is hurled at me from sometimes the most unexpected places, and sometimes from the most obvious.
i want to be able to be free in my mind and soul and my environment of categories.
of the urge and the need that the human mind has to compartmentalise human behaviour, generalise it to the extent that there ceases to be an entity called the individual.
i want to listen, to persuade, to interrupt, to help, to talk, to laugh, to be a confidante, to love, to be loved, to be fed with warmth, to feed warmth, to cleanse, to pray, to kiss, to loathe, to walk, to see, to make love, to draw, to sculpt, to massage, to soothe, to be the agony aunt, to cry, to sob vehemently, and yet to feel the tears on my burning skin travel down and wet my neck.
to experience.
oh how it drives me mad...
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
fatia
i declare in written ( so that i may not go back on it)
that i will write a book so moving
and a book so intense that no human being will ever be the same after reading it.
tall claim though it may seem.
yet it is a claim, perfectly innocent and striving.
and i have a right to be heard, to be waited for
till i can no longer distinguish between a desk from a human being.
maybe not even then.
not even when all i want to do is die without being dependant on anyone.
not even when im so busy making money that the reminiscent of this thought is so deep inside, that i might have to take a holiday to clean up my brain, and maybe come across it on some afternoon, sifting through old garbage.
all that
just because
i want to claim. and i have dared to claim.
and that claim to remain...
even after all that is left of me is a fatia on my kabr.
that i will write a book so moving
and a book so intense that no human being will ever be the same after reading it.
tall claim though it may seem.
yet it is a claim, perfectly innocent and striving.
and i have a right to be heard, to be waited for
till i can no longer distinguish between a desk from a human being.
maybe not even then.
not even when all i want to do is die without being dependant on anyone.
not even when im so busy making money that the reminiscent of this thought is so deep inside, that i might have to take a holiday to clean up my brain, and maybe come across it on some afternoon, sifting through old garbage.
all that
just because
i want to claim. and i have dared to claim.
and that claim to remain...
even after all that is left of me is a fatia on my kabr.
Monday, October 1, 2007
buoyancy
i think it is going ...
but i can never be too sure...
its like a termite....
keeps coming back...
eating away all the juicy stuff...
leaving skeletons...
and finely powdered hope
crushed in my hand... white shimmer...
like tar in the moonlight. sand in the sun
the more u want to hold it the more it slips.
and falls on the ground, scatters away to unknown lands.
frangments to individual unrecognisable grains.
trampled upon by prostitutes and beggars.
and pimps of reviere.
but i can never be too sure...
its like a termite....
keeps coming back...
eating away all the juicy stuff...
leaving skeletons...
and finely powdered hope
crushed in my hand... white shimmer...
like tar in the moonlight. sand in the sun
the more u want to hold it the more it slips.
and falls on the ground, scatters away to unknown lands.
frangments to individual unrecognisable grains.
trampled upon by prostitutes and beggars.
and pimps of reviere.
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