The Blabbery.

"Be the man of your words." How wrong is it, of us, all of us to think that this sequence of words should mean "Keep your promises". A man of words is the least trustable if you ask me. I am one of those of their words; and let me tell you: words are sneaky. They don't come when you expect them to do so. And when they do come, most probably on an improper occasion, they never come alone. They bring their friends. And families. And acquaintances. And enemies. And every other word. So, then, when you want to put a period down, they pull it down with their weight, all of them, make it a comma, so they can keep coming. Sometimes they don't even bother doing that. They keep coming after the period. There is no stopping them. No way. So, how can one possibly expect a man of his words to be trustworthy. How, when we all know that it's not really up to him to be trustworthy or not. It's the words' choice. It's a conviction, decided by words and applied by words. Therefore, he leaves, because the words have come to the conclusion it's better for him to leave. And there is no reason to blame him, because the words have made him come this way, anyway.

Happy As Default

To change.
For a while now, I've been thinking about this.
Wondering, how it would have been, if God, though I have no belief in him lately, had asked me to help him create me. How it would have been to have a say on who I was going to be.

Most of the time, I have a clear vision of what should be, and should not be. A twisted, subjective, painful vision. There are things I hate to be, yet I am, and I cannot help it. I am who I am. My hormones, my experiences, my subconcious desires, everything that makes me, me, has taken over.
My mind, thinks, all by itself, somewhere up there.
My heart, beats, all by itself, somewhere in there.
I know them, I hear them, they hear me, yet we are helpless, against all of that's going on.
Sometimes, I love being me. Because I know me, I learned to be me, I had all this time to make a better me, and I would not be as good with anybody elses mind and body. I would despise a foreing heart. I would rather die.
But sometimes, and it's those times, being me is so hard. It's inexplicable. And it's my fault. My problem. My twisted, subjective, painful vision, that makes me think I know what should be and should not be.
I don't know shit, yet it makes me feel like I do. It messes up my mind, crushes my heart.

And if I were there, with Him, I would not let Him do this to me.
I would make me, as somebody I would want to be.
Someone who can let go of things.
Someone who knows what she is doing.
Someone happy, as default.



M, I wish you could have been me, for a day, and see how amazing you were.

Blog

Bazen bu blog'u kimsenin okumadığını düşünüyorum.
Arada bir Mavi bakıyordur muhtemelen, arada bir de Kuşburnu.
Kafasına eserse Ördek bakıyordur ama o kadardır yani.

M okumayı çoktan bıraktı mesela, biliyorum. Yazmayı da bırakmadığını nadiren atıp, beni yine benden alan iletilerinden biliyorum...

Kimselerin bakmadığını bildiğim için, çok da yazasım gelmiyor doğrusu.
Ama sırf o okumuyor diye, dilediğim gibi ona yazabiliyorum. O da başka türlü bir rahatlık işte.
Kimsenin bakmadığını bildiğinde çılgın gibi dans etmek gibi.

M

Birinin aklınızdan geçen her şeyi,

sizin asla yapamayacağınız bir şekilde,

kelimelere dökmüş olduğunu hayal etmeye çalışın.

Ve bu insanı hiç ama hiç tanımadığınızı;

sizden kıtalar, denizler uzakta olduğunu.

Bu kadar uzak olmasına rağmen;

yanı başınızdaki insanların duyamadığı düşüncelerinizi duyabildiğini,

hayal edin.