Today I’m building a pedestal,,

"But I'm still not well again, writing is difficult, and so you
must take these few lines as if there were more of them."

(Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet)

(Magali Reus, Parking (Retainer), 2014)

life mimicks a waiting room. we wait until the next thing comes to get us,
we sit with our shoulders tensed up waiting our name to be called,
we forget to breathe as we are in some in-between state in silence staring at the wall.

unsent #unknown_Xclusive>openletter:HOT LAVA
Our last talk took met back to a volcanic site where the lava would still be hot and in motion. I wish I wouldn’t so easily slip into a place where I am fueled by worry alongside many other places I go in my head because there the lava still remains hot. But it may always be hot, and may it always be hot, because we keep on living. And as I live, I also keep blowing hard and blowing soft to cool it down, while at once joining and mimicking the fluid notion and the fierce nature of the lava, to be able to keep changing and seeing where I’m meant to be headed next. And it seems to me the funny part about all of this is that we keep needing the other, another, to keep seeing and changing. To keep pouring the hot lava over our heads (ouch), to keep being frightened, exchanging liquids, to keep choosing growth and love - together and by ourselves. I try to stay at a place where I can narrowly know where I’m headed only for the next day. I try to stay there. here. As I have always been telling myself on an intellectual but not on a heartfelt level; that I can’t drag anyone by the arm to come, to accompany me to that place. I wish things rolled that way and I see why it shouldn’t. I think I can say it now with more intuition because I understand a little more. And I share a great love for those who help me get there, somewhere. It’s messy and it’s beautiful.


















 

︎Annem bir keresinde demişti ki,

I

 

(all my life I wrote)
I wrote, all my life,
I have been told some lies
and never knew what to do with them
until I saw otherwise 
and not even see but realize 
because otherwise
I wouldn’t have known 
what other stories I could write
and what was in disguise
where to keep and store my cries 
crowds took me and 
looked me in the eyes 
told me, always, otherwise 
I lied 
because
I didn’t know otherwise

II

all my life I wrote
on glass and fresh sheets 
I wrote, all my life, I’ve known some lies
all of them with which I went to bed
and none of them I knew what to do with
until I saw otherwise 
not said but realized, not sad but, 
(come lay on my lap)
because otherwise I wouldn’t have known 
these other things to be told 
(in disguise)
to store and to fold my cries
they always told me otherwise
when I look in and through the eyes 
(lies)
because not only me, but they also, didn’t know otherwise

  

︎Short Short Story


︎Longer Short Story or a Red Light in Space-Time









︎Fear

only after this meaningful push, in every day passing, seeking relevance again,

like magnets running towards each other only by pushing one another away,
separately together,

nothing disappears but transforms in an eternal cycle

-that the time has come on a timeless journey.

I’m missing pieces, must come and collect them on the bed,

I won’t wash myself nor the sheets if needed,

to remind me everyday - I’m wrong again. 

An assumed ephemerality,
or rather holding on to it,
kills what is important,
what is now. 

︎Hypothetical Breakup

bazı duyulanların etkisinin hafiflemesi, günlük hayata devam edilmesi gerekir. bazı yaşananların sönmesi, gerçekliğini yitirmesi gerekir. yoksa mahvoluruz. aşık oluruz. başka hiçbir şey olamayız.