2011-09-19
2011-09-17
2011-09-16
something unpleasant is going on. i hope it waits at least a couple of weeks before revealing itself to me. i might not look it, i might not talk it, but i've been pretty annoyed. don't mess with me.
i shouldn't be thinking these today... the only brother i've ever had is getting married in five hours; and in two weeks he'll fly off to another country. i'll make myself pretty for him, he likes to see me dressed up. well actually, he doesn't care, i just feel festive... and tonight i'll dance till my feet curse at me; i'll dance till i can't conceal my limp anymore; then dance some more...
- - - - - - - -
i am sorry, bro. for not seeing you so often lately. but you know me - well, you used to know me better than anyone- i am stubborn and proud. i'll never tell you this, but i've missed you like hell, and now i'll get to miss you like heaven. yesyes, i am silly, too. i won't forget to bring bubble maker bottles to your wedding, don't you worry.
i love you, bro. more than i'll ever show.
be happy, and raise some smart kids.
your loving sis till the end of time,
elif, death, melek, jack, ...
(heh, well, you know all my names)
i shouldn't be thinking these today... the only brother i've ever had is getting married in five hours; and in two weeks he'll fly off to another country. i'll make myself pretty for him, he likes to see me dressed up. well actually, he doesn't care, i just feel festive... and tonight i'll dance till my feet curse at me; i'll dance till i can't conceal my limp anymore; then dance some more...
- - - - - - - -
i am sorry, bro. for not seeing you so often lately. but you know me - well, you used to know me better than anyone- i am stubborn and proud. i'll never tell you this, but i've missed you like hell, and now i'll get to miss you like heaven. yesyes, i am silly, too. i won't forget to bring bubble maker bottles to your wedding, don't you worry.
i love you, bro. more than i'll ever show.
be happy, and raise some smart kids.
your loving sis till the end of time,
elif, death, melek, jack, ...
(heh, well, you know all my names)
2011-09-13
me
i am bursting with emotions
that are not mine to keep.
same story, different faces.
you keep telling me to make my move;
i told you, i told you,
i never taught me the chess game.
the horses feel nice pressed to me palm,
the checkered board looks good,
but i don't know the rules.
"come out to play" the world rings.
play? play you say?
come watch me play
within me dream painted walls.
take me to the woods;
i'll be quiet, i won't need to talk
to converse with the fireflies.
drop me in the ocean;
i'll keep real still, i won't need to swim
to reach the shore; i won't need to die
to float over the sharks and the fishnets.
in the city let me loose,
screams will scratch me from within.
me fidgeting legs will run miles
among the concrete boxes,
through piles of undead, unheard, unloved.
i am bursting with emotions
that are not mine to keep.
one of me appears by the window:
"i can only hold a ciggy in my hands,babe;
don't give me your heart."
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here among piles of papers,
staring at the words i've been switching
from one tongue to the other;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
it just dropped out of nowhere, the photo;
stuck itself on a file, made it's way
from the purple lake, fell on me lap.
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here with a silly grin on me face;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
i dismiss her with a shake, she won't budge:
"eye to eye, heart to heart, it is true love."
if she weren't a child i would give her a beating;
twisting me words like that
become a writer she might as well.
i am bursting, i am bursting;
if i had a god i would be praying.
that are not mine to keep.
same story, different faces.
you keep telling me to make my move;
i told you, i told you,
i never taught me the chess game.
the horses feel nice pressed to me palm,
the checkered board looks good,
but i don't know the rules.
"come out to play" the world rings.
play? play you say?
come watch me play
within me dream painted walls.
take me to the woods;
i'll be quiet, i won't need to talk
to converse with the fireflies.
drop me in the ocean;
i'll keep real still, i won't need to swim
to reach the shore; i won't need to die
to float over the sharks and the fishnets.
in the city let me loose,
screams will scratch me from within.
me fidgeting legs will run miles
among the concrete boxes,
through piles of undead, unheard, unloved.
i am bursting with emotions
that are not mine to keep.
one of me appears by the window:
"i can only hold a ciggy in my hands,babe;
don't give me your heart."
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here among piles of papers,
staring at the words i've been switching
from one tongue to the other;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
it just dropped out of nowhere, the photo;
stuck itself on a file, made it's way
from the purple lake, fell on me lap.
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here with a silly grin on me face;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
i dismiss her with a shake, she won't budge:
"eye to eye, heart to heart, it is true love."
if she weren't a child i would give her a beating;
twisting me words like that
become a writer she might as well.
i am bursting, i am bursting;
if i had a god i would be praying.
2011-09-11
bedtime stories: a moaning groaning flab
I was almost 16 when I met her. I loved her curly hair right away. I thought it was ironic; she was a good girl, her hair was wild. Who would have thought her hair was only the tip of the iceberg? Her madness was big enough to cover the Atlantic. She liked to straighten her hair with flat irons; we would both get burned in front of the mirror in her tiny bathroom. I had gotten my hair cut real short a month after we met, so the flat irons were used only on her. She couldn't get the back done right, so I would squeeze in behind her to do it. She would never keep still, so we would both get burned. Sometimes she would burn me for the hell of it. She thought it was funny to hurt me. This was in the beginning; by the time my remaining days with her could be reported in two digit numbers I wouldn't even step in a crowded room she was in. It wasn't terror I felt when she looked into my eyes; I was just trying to spare a few breaths to get me home. She was cancer, and she had already metastasized through me; I wished to keep her away from my bones. I was 16.5, I wanted to get me home to hug mommy and daddy. I didn't succeed; I was a moaning groaning flab when she was done with me; and my family didn’t have enough arms to cover me totally.
She was mad; angry and crazy. She was cute; a pretty bag filled with dinosaur excrement fueled over centuries of extinction. Burn and freeze, burn and freeze, I did for months. Towards the end, my insides had fused. I was a moaning groaning flab rolling in the shadows of reality. She took one look at the pink of my skin and the bubbles of my laugh; she took one look and claimed them her bounty. She didn't bother to be sneaky with me; she made sure I heard the click of the safety before she assassinated my sweet elves of youth and joy. She didn't leave one standing. She got them all.
No, she didn't bother to be sneaky but she took her time. She would lure the soul-elves out of their hiding places with pecan pies and romantic comedies. She would pet their hair, and take them out for a drive. They would all sing along to country songs as we passed through towns with no traffic lights. The elves would get tired and she would lovingly tuck them in. Alarms would be going off, sirens would be blaring, and my eyes would rarely close when she was in the house. The elves wouldn't be able to sleep with all that noise and light. I would be wondering if she might be too tired to kill this time. The alarms would be going off and I would be waiting. It would be only a matter of moments now. The smell of excrement would fill my nose, and then the sound of her voice, “wakey wakey!” Her face would hover over mine for a second before she took another shot at me. One more elf would be down, and I would start cleaning up. I would be too tired to mourn yet another death of mine. I would be too relieved to grieve, for she wouldn't be crazed with hate for at least a couple of hours. Guilt liked to take hold of her after each attack. I prayed for her psychotic episodes as much as I dreaded them. She would cry herself to sleep afterwards, and I would rest for a bit knowing I had some time before she might come around again. The alarms would silence, and my muscles would relax a little. I would leave one tiny guard by my ears, and the rest of me would dive in a fresh grave to sleep. Yet before I closed my eyes, I would wish I just had it in me to rip myself apart, and join her on the other side. If only I could show her she wasn't alone, if only I could become her partner in crime, we would become the sisters-for-life she wished upon. She wouldn’t hold these hunting parties then; sisters don’t hunt each other down; if they attack, they attack on ancient battlegrounds.
I was a moaning groaning flab by the time she was done with me. Her poor mother was crying as we carried my bags to the car. I was feeling guilty for I couldn’t cry. This woman was the only reason I could still pass as a human being; this woman had guarded me as best as one could while one was dying a thousand deaths oneself. Guilt and gratitude tickled me. Manic laughter was trying to rush through my vocal folds. I was feeling something for the first time in a while now. Who would have thought there was still a sentient being hidden within all that flab? Her poor mother held the flesh which once was my face and said, “At least say bye to her.” I whispered, “You should say bye to her, too.” Her poor mother never would.
She was resting in the living room when it was time for me to leave. She was recovering from minor surgery, so she couldn't make any sudden movements. She was drugged up, I was assured, there were no risks of her verbal lashings either. I still wouldn't enter the room. I stood a couple of steps behind her poor mother, and coughed out a forceful "Bye." My own voice startled me. I didn't know the number of days I had whispered through. The manic laughter was threatening to burst out again. I still had a voice. I still had a voice. She hadn't been able to beat it all out of me. I moved a little to the right so she could see my eyes. “How are you?” I asked, "Are you in pain?" I took a step forward as she uttered, “Yes.” I said “I hope you feel better.” and she flinched, sensing I was done with her, and I wouldn't remain a moaning groaning flab for long. She was a true Christian, so when Lady Gaia breezed through the house and a magnificent crow landed on the kitchen counter foreboding my revival, she was petrified. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Gaia's little messenger made a soft, gurgling sound after inspecting the flesh which once was my face; I think I was smiling, he flew away seeming pleased. I placed my hand on the tip of the iceberg one last time; I even kissed it to make sure the chill sank deep. She said “I love you so much.” I said “I am lucky you don’t love me more.”
She was mad; angry and crazy. She was cute; a pretty bag filled with dinosaur excrement fueled over centuries of extinction. Burn and freeze, burn and freeze, I did for months. Towards the end, my insides had fused. I was a moaning groaning flab rolling in the shadows of reality. She took one look at the pink of my skin and the bubbles of my laugh; she took one look and claimed them her bounty. She didn't bother to be sneaky with me; she made sure I heard the click of the safety before she assassinated my sweet elves of youth and joy. She didn't leave one standing. She got them all.
No, she didn't bother to be sneaky but she took her time. She would lure the soul-elves out of their hiding places with pecan pies and romantic comedies. She would pet their hair, and take them out for a drive. They would all sing along to country songs as we passed through towns with no traffic lights. The elves would get tired and she would lovingly tuck them in. Alarms would be going off, sirens would be blaring, and my eyes would rarely close when she was in the house. The elves wouldn't be able to sleep with all that noise and light. I would be wondering if she might be too tired to kill this time. The alarms would be going off and I would be waiting. It would be only a matter of moments now. The smell of excrement would fill my nose, and then the sound of her voice, “wakey wakey!” Her face would hover over mine for a second before she took another shot at me. One more elf would be down, and I would start cleaning up. I would be too tired to mourn yet another death of mine. I would be too relieved to grieve, for she wouldn't be crazed with hate for at least a couple of hours. Guilt liked to take hold of her after each attack. I prayed for her psychotic episodes as much as I dreaded them. She would cry herself to sleep afterwards, and I would rest for a bit knowing I had some time before she might come around again. The alarms would silence, and my muscles would relax a little. I would leave one tiny guard by my ears, and the rest of me would dive in a fresh grave to sleep. Yet before I closed my eyes, I would wish I just had it in me to rip myself apart, and join her on the other side. If only I could show her she wasn't alone, if only I could become her partner in crime, we would become the sisters-for-life she wished upon. She wouldn’t hold these hunting parties then; sisters don’t hunt each other down; if they attack, they attack on ancient battlegrounds.
I was a moaning groaning flab by the time she was done with me. Her poor mother was crying as we carried my bags to the car. I was feeling guilty for I couldn’t cry. This woman was the only reason I could still pass as a human being; this woman had guarded me as best as one could while one was dying a thousand deaths oneself. Guilt and gratitude tickled me. Manic laughter was trying to rush through my vocal folds. I was feeling something for the first time in a while now. Who would have thought there was still a sentient being hidden within all that flab? Her poor mother held the flesh which once was my face and said, “At least say bye to her.” I whispered, “You should say bye to her, too.” Her poor mother never would.
She was resting in the living room when it was time for me to leave. She was recovering from minor surgery, so she couldn't make any sudden movements. She was drugged up, I was assured, there were no risks of her verbal lashings either. I still wouldn't enter the room. I stood a couple of steps behind her poor mother, and coughed out a forceful "Bye." My own voice startled me. I didn't know the number of days I had whispered through. The manic laughter was threatening to burst out again. I still had a voice. I still had a voice. She hadn't been able to beat it all out of me. I moved a little to the right so she could see my eyes. “How are you?” I asked, "Are you in pain?" I took a step forward as she uttered, “Yes.” I said “I hope you feel better.” and she flinched, sensing I was done with her, and I wouldn't remain a moaning groaning flab for long. She was a true Christian, so when Lady Gaia breezed through the house and a magnificent crow landed on the kitchen counter foreboding my revival, she was petrified. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Gaia's little messenger made a soft, gurgling sound after inspecting the flesh which once was my face; I think I was smiling, he flew away seeming pleased. I placed my hand on the tip of the iceberg one last time; I even kissed it to make sure the chill sank deep. She said “I love you so much.” I said “I am lucky you don’t love me more.”
2011-09-09
2011-09-07
bedtime stories: it is your fault that i left
(male narration)
i am coming
i got coffee and jack and pudding
i don't know which cigarettes
you smoke these days
i got five different packs
you didn't call me on my birthday
all day i waited for your song
are you not happy anymore that i was born
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to tie us together
tight and strong
seal us up down in your cellar
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
it is your fault that i left
i asked you to change me
change together we shall
if it's meant to be
was all you gave me
it wasn't hard to leave
i won't lie
the door was open
and i loved it
when she clawed her fingers
firm into my heart
she needed me
i yearned to be needed
you don't need anything though
you merely want
if things fall apart
you shrug your shoulders
and say life is shit
so be it
i am coming
tell me where you are
i have the chains ready in the trunk
i don't care if you want to fly
i'll make them into wings for you if i must
we'll be heavy but you can get us off the ground
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to beg me
i wanted to tell the boys
she just won't let me
but you left the door open
and waved me bye with a smile
you took me literally
or saw right through me
who cares but when i said
i don't have time
i wanted you to take it
you just stopped calling
you took me literally
or saw right through me
same difference
you made yourself scarce
did you want
to be needed
i know you were hurt
why wouldn't you
let me see it
all you had to do
was close the door
say there is no way out
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
you left it wide open
you said go ahead
i don't mind
you knew
how to love
silently
on your own
why didn't you
just
scream me
back home
it is your fault that i left
tell me where you are
i went miles without you
loved and ached and cried
it is you that i want
i shall be born with you
if you won't have us rot
i am coming
i got coffee and jack and pudding
i don't know which cigarettes
you smoke these days
i got five different packs
you didn't call me on my birthday
all day i waited for your song
are you not happy anymore that i was born
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to tie us together
tight and strong
seal us up down in your cellar
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
it is your fault that i left
i asked you to change me
change together we shall
if it's meant to be
was all you gave me
it wasn't hard to leave
i won't lie
the door was open
and i loved it
when she clawed her fingers
firm into my heart
she needed me
i yearned to be needed
you don't need anything though
you merely want
if things fall apart
you shrug your shoulders
and say life is shit
so be it
i am coming
tell me where you are
i have the chains ready in the trunk
i don't care if you want to fly
i'll make them into wings for you if i must
we'll be heavy but you can get us off the ground
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to beg me
i wanted to tell the boys
she just won't let me
but you left the door open
and waved me bye with a smile
you took me literally
or saw right through me
who cares but when i said
i don't have time
i wanted you to take it
you just stopped calling
you took me literally
or saw right through me
same difference
you made yourself scarce
did you want
to be needed
i know you were hurt
why wouldn't you
let me see it
all you had to do
was close the door
say there is no way out
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
you left it wide open
you said go ahead
i don't mind
you knew
how to love
silently
on your own
why didn't you
just
scream me
back home
it is your fault that i left
tell me where you are
i went miles without you
loved and ached and cried
it is you that i want
i shall be born with you
if you won't have us rot
. . . . . . . .
being self-involved does not call for a celebration
you feel lighter for all the times you exist for the sake of another
it is not so hard to figure out how to make someone happy
some people deserve to be happy just because they exist
you can tell those apart with a single glance of the eye
so you have to conceal yourself a little
so you have to pretend now and again
they deserve to be happy
you shall not burden them
but then again you start to feel superior
for choosing decency over absolute sincerity
as if your truth holds the power of crushing worlds
it doesn't
and nobody really cares
you are nothing special
it is just nice
to do something nice
for someone nice
you feel lighter for all the times you exist for the sake of another
it is not so hard to figure out how to make someone happy
some people deserve to be happy just because they exist
you can tell those apart with a single glance of the eye
so you have to conceal yourself a little
so you have to pretend now and again
they deserve to be happy
you shall not burden them
but then again you start to feel superior
for choosing decency over absolute sincerity
as if your truth holds the power of crushing worlds
it doesn't
and nobody really cares
you are nothing special
it is just nice
to do something nice
for someone nice
. . . . . . . .
i write in wine
the words reach their prime with time
i bottle the words up
cork them real tight
store most in the crypt
leave some out to breathe
their true smell true taste shall be mine
until then i just sit and watch them shine
(beware the times i unwittingly rhyme)
the words reach their prime with time
i bottle the words up
cork them real tight
store most in the crypt
leave some out to breathe
their true smell true taste shall be mine
until then i just sit and watch them shine
(beware the times i unwittingly rhyme)
2011-09-06
elliott smith sings from the grave, and i keep moving. lyrics normally confuse me while i work, but these days i don't seem to mind. i shut the drawers up, the closets are all locked in my mind. i am my compartments. everything is in its proper place. there is nothing out in the open to collect dust. the papers are in plastic sheets, the movies are in boxes, the books placed behind other books behind closed doors.
he sings for me, and i keep moving.
i woke up with two stab wounds to the heart, just as he died. the infamous trees tattooing themselves on me in dreamland are getting vicious. my skin is not enough anymore, they want to enter me. i don't mind. i don't mind anything these days. i can listen to mother's never ending demands; quit smoking, stop drinking, get help, get a diploma, get a job, get married, get pregnant. her line of thought doesn't make sense to me. i don't mind. being on the move is all i care about. i can listen without getting annoyed. father is getting comfortable with me:
"where is that watch i bought you 6 years ago?"
"it is lost."
"where did you lose it?"
"that info is lost, too."
"you are keen to lose things. your stuff, your years, yourself."
there was a time, when we wouldn't look each other in the eye. now i do as i am told when he asks for my hand while he drives. he holds it, and kisses it. i sing along to the old turkish songs that touch my spinal cord. he sings with me, he smiles. he knows he is lucky i am keen to lose things; i have lost my anger, too; i have lost my high horse.
elliott sings. his voice breaks you after the third hour, his sorrow crushes you. and i keep working, broken and crushed. i don't mind. nobody can tell anyway. everything is in its proper place. if the trees could stab it this morning it means my heart is back in my chest.
he sings for me, and i keep moving.
i woke up with two stab wounds to the heart, just as he died. the infamous trees tattooing themselves on me in dreamland are getting vicious. my skin is not enough anymore, they want to enter me. i don't mind. i don't mind anything these days. i can listen to mother's never ending demands; quit smoking, stop drinking, get help, get a diploma, get a job, get married, get pregnant. her line of thought doesn't make sense to me. i don't mind. being on the move is all i care about. i can listen without getting annoyed. father is getting comfortable with me:
"where is that watch i bought you 6 years ago?"
"it is lost."
"where did you lose it?"
"that info is lost, too."
"you are keen to lose things. your stuff, your years, yourself."
there was a time, when we wouldn't look each other in the eye. now i do as i am told when he asks for my hand while he drives. he holds it, and kisses it. i sing along to the old turkish songs that touch my spinal cord. he sings with me, he smiles. he knows he is lucky i am keen to lose things; i have lost my anger, too; i have lost my high horse.
elliott sings. his voice breaks you after the third hour, his sorrow crushes you. and i keep working, broken and crushed. i don't mind. nobody can tell anyway. everything is in its proper place. if the trees could stab it this morning it means my heart is back in my chest.
2011-09-04
bedtime stories: a thousand knives
I sat there silently as he yelled. I was looking up at the gray sky. It wasn’t an exceptional sky. The windows were closed; I had gone from room to room, closing each one, as he trailed behind with his yelling. The sun was setting when he started, it was morning now, and he just wouldn’t stop. I wondered if I should tell him I haven’t been listening since around 3 am. I decided not to. My mouth might have started forming other sentences, too. There was nothing left to argue. There was nothing left to explain. There was nothing left to save. I didn’t even look at him that much through the night; his voice was enough to blind me. His beauty was not necessary. I wanted him to stop talking; I wanted him to stop existing. I wanted him so fiercely; I wanted him to blow up so I could clean his flesh off the walls. He had already exploded though, hadn’t he? There I sat an early Christmas tree decorated in his body parts. His tongue stuck in my cunt, his fingers up my nose, his cock and balls dangling down my neck. Ribs, teeth, kidneys all mine. He yelled; I licked his blood off my palms. I tuned in to his early morning show for a second “What else do you want from me; I gave you all that I am!!!” I didn’t want anything from him, not anymore. I had wanted him to put his palm on the glass between us. He thought it was too much, too soon. It was a mirror; his resistance shook both our worlds. “You said you loved me!!!” What was love? That sense of drowning I woke up to every morning? All those questions I was afraid to ask? Was it his eyelashes? Could I love without being loved? “I told you, you would grow tired of me and leave!!! You promised you wouldn’t!!! I fucking believed you!!!” We were a never-ending test. It was the fear of failing i got tired of. Why hadn’t he seen it in my eyes? Maybe I should have been flattered from the number of stabs he aimed at my heart, he must have thought I was strong. A tank, in awe of a thousand knives. No, he couldn’t possibly kill me, but I didn’t want to swallow knives anymore, it was messy throwing them back up. I wanted to be swallowing his cum. His cum wouldn’t upset my stomach like steel. “You are just like her!!!” Her... She had taken a leave of absence, I was just subbing indefinitely until her bided return... Was that the glint of a cleaver? Silly boy, he could throw zilch while I sat there juggling his extremities. “Are you even listening to me?!!! Say something, damn it!!!" My words were all there on the walls, on that desk we shared, on the floor we fucked. On his cornea my words were etched. Love was his cornea, his cornea loved me. I realized we both haven’t eaten in hours; he had stayed up all night yelling; I had stayed up all night so he could yell. He had to be hungry. Could he still be hungry all blown to smithereens? He stopped yelling, I looked at him. Someone deep inside me wanted to kiss him. With his tongue stuck in my cunt it would have been pointless. I placed my hand on my sternum. If I could claw through and rip it out, then he would see our blood rush and merge. People are afraid to merge; blood never fears the truth. His whisper tickled my ear “Don’t go.” My words rearranged themselves on his right foot that sat bloody in my lap “i am still here.”
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