I don’t feel comfy with those “normal human events” that everyone takes part in like the parties they invited me in Berlin, or those club nights, or even much more innocent and usual festivals here. It’s mostly not because of the particular people. I can’t connect. Another version of me can, but I have to pretend hard to put on that act, and it ...
Orhan Veli'nin sevgilisine mektupları hakkında birkaç satır.
I used to think that the human nature is to deny nature, now I see that we have power relations everywhere
Someone should write the story of a man living in an ancient civilization or a medieval village or a town whose lifelong job is keeping the time by counting numbers with a fixed time interval.
life is not a marathon. it is more like a run that you've spontaneously decided to take, and it is difficult. more difficult, i should say, than a marathon, i think
a description of an eternal dance between the earth and the moon. eternal enough anyway
complaints about an unbreakable pattern. it is probably indeed breakable, but i couldn't succeed, not yet
people's beautiful creations amaze me. i want to gaze at them forever. but there is a part in me that wants to become an artisan too
it turns out things can be difficult to manage. still i survive, and it is a destructive result
a new way of life, probably. i see that things are changing. what to do now? how to handle change?
home is a word that can tentatively morph into anything. it is sort of unsettling to think about. also, i am in germany
this is more of a log. it is about not being able to write recently and the seemingly never-ending problem of slumbering
a promise i make to myself uploaded here for the sake of commitment and accountability
hope grows on its own all the time. it is more uncontrollable when the gardener is absent, for it leaves room for the weed to grow
a detailed english explanation of "iyi ki doğdun" from my tongue. written for a special occasion
"there is charm in the mystery, i must uncover what lies beneath"
having social interactions and feeling weirdly good about them
our words, however noisy, may not make any sound, for they are mostly empty and distant. much like how our houses may not have any homes. yet, we stay
"no one knows that underneath this high-achieving machine slumbers a lazy ogre"
the turkish translation of a text written, erroneously, in english for a friend
a letter of hopeless romantic hopefulness and an imitation of a style that i've encountered frequently
might the answer be a hug in the woods? it sounds like a valid solution as we can not claim solitude
"what to do as a statue when the moment of alignment is gone for good"
a description of an inanimate homunculus, and its story. you will have to be forgiving for it to count as both
sometimes i can only write what i want to say, and put it here
as i grow older, i grow further from what i used to believe, as i have not been taught how to
a dialogue between terrified uncertainty and ruthless naiveness