confusion as a state of being / laf salatası

ama basite indirgeyelim: benim yükselenim (eyvah) terazi olmasın? valla bak. var öyle bi ihtimal. 
annem doğum sertifikamı kaybetmiş. daha doğrusu senede bir yaptığımız "anne benim doğum sertifikam nerede?" sorusu çıkışlı muhabbetlerin bu seneki ayağında annem geçen senelerden farklı olarak "yoo duruyor o, dur getireyim," dedi (?!!). şimdi burada şaşırılacak bir durum yok, senelerce ağustos'un 18'i olan doğum günümü bana "gece yarısı filan ben anlamam bana hala 17'siydi," diyerek 17 ağustos'ta kutlatmış bir kadından bahsediyoruz. neyse, gitti, bir doğum sertifikası getirdi ama o sertifika kardeşiminkiydi tabi ki. hayır bu kadar ölümüne benzemesek diyeceğim hala bir ihtimal karışmış olabilirim hastanede. 
bu arada amerika'da her gün bir bebek yanlış bir aileye teslim ediliyormuş hastanede. yaaa. 


ps - tabi ki her zamanki gibi bunların hiçbirini demeye gelmediydim ben ama diyeceklerimden bunlar daha absürd ve dolayısıyla daha eğlenceli geldi. ama kafam çok karışık blogk. tek bir mesele ile ilgili değil, varoluşsal kafam karışık benim. 

bu cumartesi,

güzelleri de var. 

a mock poem about a romance gone wrong

'i don't hate you, by the way,' she said.

it was unnessary, he already knew it was a joke, anyway.

she didn't, though

because all the things she said

were the after-effects

of a summer filled with downpours, wet socks, mute songs and pseudo-intellectual conversations.

but if she did, know i mean,

whom she didn't hate would turn into a flashback,

of this tedious feeling of weary attraction

that would cause all these poems

about british plantation, drunk and hopeless musings, edinburgh's magnificent but also depressing early evenings

all of which were supposed to be about her, for her, within her,

she wouldn't say she hated him, in the first place.

she knew that much.

he didn't, though.

after that it was all downfall,

she forgot it happened, and 'it' was exactly what she didn't think it was.

he didn't forget,

technology and facebook got in the way

somehow on the internet it was much easier and much more ugly

to fake disinterest

and there were always personal messages that no one would see

shame and possible rejections would be handled there, it would be OK.

then one day, after a cup of non-british tea,

she decided to end it, and end it once and for all

one film script, countless conversations with the friends, stalkings, poems' analyses were not enough.

she would do it,

do it in his way.

she would try writing a poem about it.

and when she finished her first draft,

she realized, the thing she wrote

was not about him.

it was never about anyone.

and she hadn't even begun to write it.

she hadn't begun at all.