Marrow

I come home every night with my bones broken and my brain crushed in. No blood, no marrow: all drained out of me. No energy, no desire: all taken out of me. No plan, no tactics: all wrecked out of me. Eyeglasses broken, hair ripped off, fingernails pulled off.

I sit and sit and sit and look at the empty page and my pen. I feel every time that I must be doing better, I must’ve done better, I must do better the next time—that is the first feeling. So I pick up the pen and start blackening the page with all sorts of nonsense; because I know you need it. My scribbling and doodling is needed to give you appetite for tomorrow’s meal. I know the raw meat smell of the nonsense I put on paper will awake the beast within you.

After I’ve blackened enough pages and blackened them enough with my crushed-in brain and my broken finger bones, I know I must erase the things what you put on me. I know you want me fresh and new. You desire me to be touched by none before you; and not touched by you before either. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been handling me for the past twenty one thousand years or the past three minutes.

So I reforge: I give it all that I have left to—no, wait, I first enlarge what little amount is left within me to something that I can work with and satisfy you. Then I give all that I have to remaking and purifying the thing I am. It is slow and achy as the bones mend and rejoin. I have to push the pieces of my skull back up with the pink disgusting puddle that was once my brain; and then I have to freeze that puddle, pass an electric current through it and let it defreeze to remake it into my brain.

Immediately after, I take out of my pocket the only thing you ever gave me: A fingerprint. From the little finger of you left hand, of course. It makes me laugh every time that what I am about to do is so similar to Jesus Christ touching water to turn it to wine: I touch your fingerprint to red wine, the most expensive I can afford, and the wine becomes blood. I do this for a while; I need to have enough blood for your thirst tomorrow.

And then I sit and meditate silently and focus and focus to refill my bones with marrow. I know you like the marrow good and juicy. I know it’s your favourite part of the day when after breaking my bones you finally reach the colourless liquid, I know the smell makes you crazy and I know you almost love me when you’re licking up all the delicious fluid.

Regaining the energy and the desire are easy. The knowledge that you desire those of me is enough to make my heart restart beating every night both literally and figuratively.

A plan. Tactics. These often take some effort—a joyful effort, though: Every single thing I reformed and recreated and repaired has been tormenting me to have a new plan and develop new tactics since the moment I brought it back. I just listen to the call as it comes to me; and in no time the domesticated dog that I am turns back into the alpha wolf.

As the sun rises, I quickly pull another pair of glasses from the spare box and put them on. I pour some water on top of my head and smile as I feel the hair growing back out. If everything else has gone well until that point, and it does every night, I become quite confident and it is enough for me to wish my fingernails to grow back for them to.

Just in time, every time. I put on a shirt and pants for the sake of those that cannot see through my clothing like you do and I go out.

I walk around, work the routine; and I look for you even though I know I will never find you until I stop looking and I will then come across you only if you wish to find me. Thank goodness you do. Every day.

When our eyes meet; or rather, when I look at you –because you seem never to look at me until you gaze through my whole existence, because I don’t even have a single vague idea where you eyes are-, I know that it began.

You break every single one of my bones without hitting me. I don’t protest—it is my pleasure to satisfy your appetite for my bones and my pain. Except you like it better when I protest because my protest also feeds your appetite, so I do let out a little scream that is not a fake because it actually does make me a bit sad when you smash my brain without –and by not- thinking a single kind thought of me. You still do not take a single step toward me but I feel pale and weak and I know that all the blood in my body is drained as I see your face become rosy and beautiful. Then you finally reach for me, hold me tight and go for the broken bones. On the verge of passing out, I hear your teeth rattling and my bones cracking and I feel the marrow flowing out slowly. That’s when you go crazy—you suck every single bone, lick it all up, gulp it all down. I feel it strengthens you, I hear your growing pulse until it becomes thunderous to my ears. By the time you are done, I have no energy left, curiously. You have abused me so badly I feel no more desire for you either. So I assume you took the energy and desire too, somewhere along the line.

You rise to leave; but return after the first two steps after every time. Almost as an afterthought, you snatch my heart and take my plan and my tactics as well. Even without a mind, I know you need those to prepare your own offerings to some man or deity I wish I never knew of. In desperation, I manage to break my own eyeglasses, rip my own hair off and pull off my own fingernails every day.

Very shortly after you depart, some kind soul takes me back home. And

I come home every night with my bones broken and my brain crushed in. No blood, no marrow: all drained out of me. No energy, no desire: all taken out of me. No plan, no tactics: all wrecked out of me. Eyeglasses broken, hair ripped off, fingernails pulled off.

I sit and sit and sit and look at the empty page and my pen. I feel every time that I must be doing better, I must’ve done better, I must do better the next time—that is the first feeling.

What You Defied

I could wait for you forever
I could wait for you while
Summerians invented the cuneiform
to record your beauty
while the Egyptians built the pyramids
so that their godly pharaohs
could reach you in the afterlife.
I could wait for you with the Israelites
in Babylon, you could be my Jerusalem.
I could fight with Alexander
I could wait through his dreams
and his fever, you could be my Babylon.
I could wait patiently by Jesus Christ as he rose to you;
and I could wait and wait and wait

(through Rome's burning, through the medieval dark, through the Black Plague, through the Thirteen Colonies, through the Opium War and through the Revolution, through Napoléon Bonaparte and through old Otto van Bismarck)

until after good Prince Franz Ferdinand
died for you.

but
I
won't

because those deciphered the cuneiform
had in your opinion wasted their lives
because you remained silent when they made quarries out of the great pyramids
and you changed in exile, you forgot your Jerusalem
and you had never been to Babylon
and because you had no sin for Jesus Christ to wash away
and (not only you didn't care about any of the things that happened in between at all but also)
you did not even weep for Prince Ferdinand.

I could wait for you forever. The atrocious truth is
I still can; but I really hope now, I finally hope

not
to.

Golden

Having survived two weeks of morbid academic intensity and lack of inspiration, I am now back. I'll greet you with a new poem called "Golden". I don't really know what to make of it, I myself am a stranger to its semi-surrealism.

Golden

Your golden head
within the crowd
around the corner
above the sky
Your golden head
in the dawn
your golden head
in the dusk

Your golden head
dripping honey
smells of orange;
drink for gods
fruit for us
Your golden head
is the dusk
your golden head
is the dawn

Your golden head
it assembles--
dissembles then
into scars
a mane around your neck
a leash around mine
Your golden head
is my dusk
your golden head
is my dawn.

I am alive. I will be back. Soon.

Bravery

I could tell you about brave acts:
The people of France were brave
when they rose and started the revolution.
My roommate was brave when he
asked the girl out, shouting it out loud
in a flag ceremony.
(it is my opinion, though
it is still a brave act
if not performed before the national anthem)
A cherry tree is brave when it blossoms
for no more than a few short days.
The gazelle is brave,
the cheetah is brave too.
Brave were the soldiers,
brave were their mothers
and wives and sons and children
battle after battle;
but
no being in the entire huge universe
has been, is or will be as brave
as the shopkeeper in İzmir
who named his female boutique
"Hippopotamus".

The Jukebox

Right, I promised a song list post; and here it comes. I was inspired to write this after watching Lise Live, my school's freelance-student-bands concert (Lise means high-school in Turkish.) Only a very small number of the thirteen (because I like the number thirteen.) tracks here were heard there for the first time by me, though. One or two were reminded to me in that same concert; and most are the stuff I somehow came across and am listening to on a daily basis for some reason or another nowadays. Some are obvious no-brainers and are possibly known by every single person in an ideal Earth, some might be considered a bit unheard of.

1) Hans Zimmer&Lisa Gerrard -- Now We Are Free (Gladiator soundtrack)

Lisa Gerrard is so cool that she sings in a language of her own invention.

2) Hans Zimmer -- A Small Measure of Peace (The Last Samurai soundtrack)

For when you need a small measure of peace. The entire The Last Samurai sountrack is impeccable, actually, like anything composed by Hans Zimmer pretty much always is.

3) Louis Armstrong -- What A Wonderful World

This is one of the no-brainers I mentioned above. Armstrong almost makes me believe in the wonderfulness of the world, even in the darkest of moods.

4) Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes --If You Don't Know Me By Now

Lise Live made me ashamed of not knowing this one until now.

5) Nilüfer -- Erkekler Ağlamaz

The two girls who sang this at Lise Live could be twin angels for all I care. I'll do a rare thing and give a direct youtube link; because they deserve it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSzmma22LpQ

6) Franz Ferdinand -- Take Me Out

Liked the band, always did, always will. I love how the song can be read in two different ways (confirmed by the band): It tells the story of a guy who makes that move even though he knows he'll never be able to take the girl out AND describes the inner world of Archduke Franz Ferdinand as he witnesses the death of his beloved life, himself about to die. The event is what started WW1.

7) Ludovico Einaudi -- Farewell to the Past

Ludovico Einaudi is genius. His genius is pure and beautiful and the world probably not be able to turn without it. Just listen the "Dr. Zhivago" soundtrack

9)The Mamas and the Papas -- Make Your Own Kind of Music

The anthem of the non-conformist ıf you ask me. You'll know this and it'll put a smile on your face if you once were a Lost geek.

10) Franz Ferdinand -- Ulysses

Well, I know I already gave you a Franz Ferdinand song that is a no-brainer; but this one has suck a nice kick, makes a bored person say "c'mon let's get high".

11) Sting -- Englishman in New York

I know, I know. But I bet you don't know who this song was written for. Listen to it again and start researching the life and the ideas of Quentin Crisp. You'll be grateful to me.

12) Tea Song of the Xiang River

Type this to youtube. Yes, it goes under the name of "Relaxation Music-Tea Song of the Xiang River" or something. Takes you away from all the stress like a raft on a river.

13) Leonard Cohen -- Do I Have to Dance All Night?

The last one comes from the wise old Canadian hero of mine. Unknown to all except the most ardent (or obsessive, depending on how you look at it) Leonard Cohen fans, this song is actually easy enough to find on youtube. Both studio and live versions are very sweet, do listen to the lyrics.

Good job, me. I hope you'll like some of this stuff, friends, and I am also open to suggestions. Another list next week!

Hello, pals.

Goodness, it's been ten days since I last wrote here. Yes, I'm alive; and no, this will not be a juicy creative post. Just wanted to let you know that I am not killing off the blog.

The sad thing is that I don't really have stuff that I could share on the blog. On Thursday I rewrote 5-6 sentences for eleven pages. And my Advanced Writing teacher did NOT collect our writings because he'd be travelling over the five day break we're having now. It was a true torture, though, the writing. I mean, look at some of the sentences I used(everything in "..." was rewritten for a page): "I hate Advanced Writing daily writings." "My roommates are cool." "Franz Ferdinand was King of Austria." "WRONG--He was just a prince!" (I actually need to venture into Wikipedia to make sure which is true, ay me!) "Balbasaur is not my favourite Pokémon." "Writing heats up specific parts of the brain" "--now this is a very very silly argument." "This is just a very very stupid" "waste of my precious time."

Right, I told you I didn't have a very creative week. But I won't lie to you, I have some stuff that I consider too private for the blog which probably will make their way to the blog next Thursday. They already would have if I wasn't stupid enough to actually turn in my literary-stuff-notebook (now this is a crappy name)to my teacher the week before this. I am yet to get it back for a variety of very very silly reasons.

What else, what else.. Well, the musical isn't far away at all now--actually, six weeks from today is the day we'll have our third and last performance. We only do three nights. (Invite us to your schools, yo!) I am ashamed of myself for starting to truely ponder on what playing an overly-effeminate eunuch (ah, you guys didn't know that, did you? well, most of you were probably already told by me) will do to my reputation at school. (BECAUSE IT IS MY NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME! *spring flavoured cookies for the first 657 people who tell me what this was a reference to in the comments*) I mean, I know it's just a role; and everyone with a handful of brain within the skull would know that. Doesn't change the fact they'll make fun of Kutay and not Şakir the Eunuch. Doesn't change the fact I shouldn't give a damn. You know what, that was why I actually auditioned for and accepted the role of the effeminate eunuch in the first place: To challenge myself, challenge my ego; and challenge those with more bone than brain in their heads. But still, it makes me nervous. I won't be cool playing Şakir in any case. Oh well, when was I? When did I care? Right?

What else, what else..well, I'm sort of an emotional trainwreck nowadays; and I'm desperately trying to put myself on recovery mode. I probably will not be able to; but the incoming increasing workload with the approaching play is a welcome distraction. Everything should be fine in six weeks when I'll virtually have no energy to care for any certain person's affections (Well, maybe except my own loyal self's. You know what I always think? If you ever feel that you ceased loving and respecting yourself, you are walking a terribly wrong path.) and just focus on accepting graceful congratulations and just walking past those who are not as graceful. Six weeks. Last week when I was performing on stage for a Modern Drama project (yes, my lessons are cool.) I realized that I am happiest, purest in terms of emotion, most balanced and most alacritous, and curiously, most seperated from any negative or positive impacts of my ego, when I'm on stage. I expressed the realization to my drama teacher with the words "I've been in love. The stage is better." Every word of it is true. I really hope to spend a lifetime on stage. Sigh.

Anyways, back to my emotional imbalance (well, I don't spend 24 hours a day on stage, do I?) "You don't have to win, you just have to play." as the great Quentin Crisp says. I just have to know -and know for sure and with absolute closure- when the play time is over and be able to pat the other players in the back when admitting failure. For now, I have the faint feeling I should keep playing; and so shall I. Oh my, I am exposing my inner world to the entire world, I who have been attributed the animal "oyster" by a friend who knows me really well! Oh well.

Ah, I'm going on the road in four hours, by the way. I have the Bilbo Baggins-esque feeling of not really wanting to go and being really really excited about the journey. It's a seven-eight hour bus trip down south to a city that has a name with only the last letter different than my hometown to which I returned last night. Isn't that fun?

Right, closing time. This is one of those posts that I have doubts as to how interesting can it be at all to any given person on the planet; but if you did bear with me 'til the end, thanks. Take care, I promise I'll write more often when I return to İstanbul in four days!

P.S: Wait wait wait--I'll probably type a shortish post today when I'm on the road suggesting some songs I heard in the school concert on Thursday. Some true pearls, really. See you soon!