the first

i guess i know it now, even though i'm a bit late. now i know how it feels to know that they are just there, thinking about you as much as you think about them even though you don't talk much anymore. they live in your daydreams; you see them in every street, you get so close to shouting their name out just before you realize it's not real. you get sad for a tiny moment but then a smile appears on your face. the smile of a friend. a friend you remember through songs. a friend you know who is there. you close your eyes for one second and then you keep walking in a street that you walked your entire life yet it seems foreign. life goes on.

expect?

life taught me not to be expecting. that with each question, comes another sadness. expectations fall on the ground like flies and time keeps flowing like in an hourglass. nothing was able to stop it and nothing will be.

i tend to ask a lot of questions when i write shit like this. once a hobby, turned into occasional bullshit. but there won't be any questions in this one. look up a little bit and you'll know why.

i also tend to write like i'm talking to a person, mostly you. and most of the time i have no idea about who the fuck you are. so no more you, just me. well, at least in this one.

life is weird. and after 21 years i can proudly say that i don't know shit about it. puppet friends giving advice, looking through a mirror and i see we have switched the chairs. life is bullshit like that. in a way of thinking, maybe everyone is born with all the knowledge that exists in the world but they just turn into complete retards when the thing is about them. this fucking deficiency is actually what gives birth to these care talkings. well, no one actually cares. they care more about their dog food or cat litter.

another thing i tend to do when i'm writing is to write long. get lost in consciousness, travel to her head, feel her wet lips, come back to solitude and think why we can't have good things here on earth. it's probably because nobody is actually good. and what good means is so variable that even the fucking x in math can't vary more to y. or z. well, no one gives a fuck about z.

no expectations. no questions. no sadness. no hurt. add these bastards together and you'll get "no feelings." casual sex and a little bit of herpes. live life like there's no tomorrow while working at a mcdonald's and spitting on people's onion rings. is there a purpose? or can we just paperball everything i said and throw it in a thrash can? which means there's somebody out there who can actually give the right answers and meet the expectations? then what will happen to their expectations? i'm lost. and just like i'm incapable of keeping most of my promises, i couldn't keep this one too. maybe you didn't notice but i just said "you". and i know i suck at endings as much as i suck at goodbyes, so maybe the proper way for ending this is just saying fuck you.

the best 5 minutes and 47 seconds of the day

***headphones recommended***

more than a year ago, or something like that.

sometimes you want to say that you are sorry, for too many things. but in those times, words tend to not come out. you just stay silent and no one will know what happens inside. you try to smile. smile all the time. smile like a stupid person, or like a child. and if for a single second you frown, they will say that you are always sad.

i once thought it better to regret the things that i have done, than haven't. yet now, i'm not able to do anything i want. i want to express myself but i'm like an iceberg. one side, and another. i hurt too many people and i can't even remember if i was always like that or is it just now. i'm not happy about it and i forgot how to be sad. i'm in purgatory.

i tend to lose people. always. the ones i love the most, i keep losing them. too proud to apologize, too stupid to realize what i've done wrong. and when i wake up in the morning, it's all gone. just to come back again in the night. i can't sleep, i can't wake up. i think i'm in a dream which is too real that it hurts. so would you call that a dream? i kiss, then i forget. i love, then i run away. i get hurt, then i hurt another. a circle, my life.

will the wind stop blowing? or will i ever know which way it blows? i think i'm lost in a place which i've never found. i want to be found but i keep on hiding. some tries to seek me but in the end they just get tired of my impenetrability.

i tell things which i don't mean to in anyway and i stay silent when i actually want to say something. i bore you now, i bore you every time. i make you laugh but only to make you cry again. i think i'm some kind of disease you can't live without. but soon you will realize that you can and you will be gone like the rest of them. then i will find a new one and then they will be gone. a circle, my life.

once a man said that "you are only as sick as your secrets but the truth shall set you free". so here's the truth, but i don't feel any different. my cage is forever i guess. forever i'll be in it. and then he continued; "the truth is the truth, so all you can do is live with it". but, will you keep on living with me?

jale

i was supposed to write this yesterday but circumstance. for the new readers who are not familiar with my old (but not gold) writing style, this one will be a starter for you. so;

yesterday marked the day that i first heard what i've been telling people for many years, from someone else. and she was very good actually, even better than me. i guess years make this difference, and knowledge of course. but even considering all that, she still had the passion. a burning one i must say. she was on fire. the topic you ask? it was religion.

now this one is tender and i'm not going to waste it at a timeless time like this. i actually may never write about it here, i don't know. because if i learned just one thing all these years (except that religion doesn't exist ofc), it is that there's no point in discussing this. even if you spend hours talking about it, in the end everyone returns home walking the same path they came from. well, except some exceptions.

but the thing i wanted to mention is that sometimes i start to have a hope. a hope for what you ask? you ask too many questions tonight but you're right. for this to be understood, some background information on this beautiful country of ours is necessary. i'm writing in english to reach more and more people and the people who read these (at least most of them) don't know much about turkey except it's a chicken-like animal. i'm kidding, they also know that we are terrorists and we ride camels. no-no. i stop joking. what they, you, don't or might not know is the trouble we have. i would like to call him a trouble. imagine a country where you could go to jail just because of calling him a trouble. and this is another huge topic. shit. it's so hard to explain huge things with little talking. new paragraph.

so whatever. what a nice start to a paragraph. good job arda! turkey was a taboo country all along. it's no lie. however; during the last years, and by that i mean the half of my life, this kept getting bigger because of the religion imposing government. and during this time, not just 'fuck but don't talk about it' logic got heavy but talking about religion also became impossible. replace talking with discussing. and come on, everyone could agree that if an individual starts questioning any religion, he/she will stop believing. well, that's not our point for now.

it's so hard not to go deep inside my thoughts on religion now, but lately some voices have started to be heard. it's a fact that this kind of people are afraid to talk. not just here but in many parts of the world. i'm not talking about talking in the daily life but taking a step. for example in the last population counts in the US, it's found that the number of atheists is greater than any lobby. this means there are more atheists than jews, gays and black people. but where? where the fuck are they? have you ever heard something called the atheist lobby? and these are just the people who are not afraid to speak. imagine the real count. they say 99% of turkey is muslim. i say bullshit. i'm sure it's much less.

i'm so out of topic now. and i'm not an atheist if anyone was wondering. i forgot why i even started to write this. can you see why i dissed my old writing style in the beginning? i hope someone actually kept reading until this paragraph. so this woman took a huge step by telling her thoughts in front of many different people. if the trouble was there, he would be troubled. i can imagine the look that would be on his face. but since you don't know her thoughts or mine it's hard for you to understand. god, i really suck at this. this is why we write when we feel like it kids. this is why we don't delay because if you delay, this happens. this post could be a religion by itself; it doesn't explain anything, it makes you confused, it's written by a man (not a god) and you can find 3 different versions of it on the internet. also 3 different versions of those 3 different versions hahaha. well, i just loved that woman and she gave me hope. nietzsche says hope is not good and i say his moustache is not good. kidding, it's awesome. arda out.

the room

memories. they are hard. even the good ones. it's weird that one can feel so much just by remembering. even though they make you smile, the fact that they are gone and you can never reach that place far away is a pain. a pain that i'm more than used to. you could call it an addiction i guess.

my own little world. with del rey playing in the background, so much have been lived. the happiest days of our lives as pink floyd would call it, we never learn to appreciate the good times. we race those beautiful seconds as if they would never come to an end. a knock on the door, hours of pure happiness. 

my balcony. no matter how cold the weather might be, i never felt so warm inside all my life. it gave me goosebumps each time i took a step out there. seeing d. across the gap that separated us, waving hands with childish smiles on our faces. la casa. it's where they lived. 

all those tasty cheap stuff i used to buy, place on my shelves. every warm shower i took, alone or together. every night i put my head on that pillow, thinking what a wonderful day it had been and how much more the next will be. it feels so weird that i once knew the feeling of knowing how beautiful the day that lies ahead is going to be.

precious. if i had to choose just one word to describe everything, it would be this. my own little world. no questions, no rules, no obligations and just living the life because it's good, because i like it. not because i have to. waking up tomorrow with a big smile because i want to. now it seems like i wake up because i wake up. because that's what i'm supposed to do. 

today ruins yesterday. new blood won't match the veins and the desire has never been this out of reach. i extend my hand and grab emptiness. as empty as a child who never learned to appreciate. 

the eggs i made in the morning, the pasta in the afternoon. the milk with honey before sleeping after all the high in my head. only to repeat the next day. it feels so weird how something can feel so good. when was the last time i felt that good?

my room. with del rey in the background. summertime sadness. it wasn't summer and there were no sadness. though it fit perfectly. it fit those white walls i turned into a paradise. so much has been lived. it's all in my head now, clinging to life. the only ones that won't die. memories. in that room. forever. 

harmony

the beginning of all things to end - part II

first read part I here if you haven't already!

-

i opened my eyes. my head was hurting like an evil hammer crushed it, then put it back together and then crushed it again for good. i couldn't see very well, there was too much light. it was like as if none of my senses were working. well, i guess one was working because i was feeling like someone glued my t-shirt on me. wet! everything was wet and cold. some seconds later, when my brain started to regain it's function, i realized i was shaking like a naked brazilian in russia. "what the hell happened?" i thought to myself. of all the pain i was feeling in my head, there was a specific point which seemed to hurt more. i touched it and i was right, it definitely hurt more. i tried to get up as i pushed myself away from the sand and that was when i saw the red. my hand was covered in blood.

i got up and looked around for a bit. i wasn't the type of person who panicked but the situation was disastrous. there was a fucking ocean in front of me for god's sake! it was like fucking cast away. fucking tom hanks, on a fucking island, talking to a fucking ball. i was starting to lose it but then i heard him yelling at me: "n.!, n.!"

i turned around and saw him. he was running towards me and shouting repeatedly "are you okay?". i said "i'm fine." then he came and held my head inside his hands and turned it with a shocked look on his face, "you're bleeding man! fuck! how is this fine?" he was panting, "did you bleed too much? tell me?" his eyes were like crazy "we need to do something... shit. we need to do something!". i closed his mouth with my hand. "calm the fuck down, i said i'm fine." then i added, "i must have hit my head somewhere. i have no idea what happened.". he looked surprised, "you don't remember?" he asked me. i replied, "do i look like i remember? and can you please tell me why the hell we are on an island?". a smile appeared on his face, "it's not an island dude. have you watched too much cast away or what? you and your fucking mov-" i punched him.

"what the fuck man?!" he shouted as he fell down. "why did you do that?" - i could feel the anger building up inside me, "is this shit supposed to be funny? how can you laugh god dammit?" i yelled at him. "whoa whoa, calm down man, i'll tell everything. just calm down." he said seeming a bit scared. calm down... calm down... i hated these words so much.

"i am in the middle of nowhere, with a bleeding head, freezing like fuck, have no fucking clue about what just happened and have a retarded friend laughing at me! how can i calm down? tell me! how?!" i have to admit, this helped me start to get a little bit warmer. he couldn't say anything. i never saw him shocked this much. "i'm sorry..." he murmured. and then i remembered.

-

my friend reached for the drawer as we heard the door squeaking and the dog was out of control. not like he was doing something to protect us or whatsoever, he was barking like a rabid dog. i wasn't sure where to look because so many things were happening but as the infamous curiosity of mankind kicked in, my eyes chose the door and that was when i saw it.

there was a man, relatively huge. i mean, really huge. i considered myself tall but compared to him i was like frodo. he had a caveman beard and i don't know why but he reminded me of my father. he looked like he was in his mid-thirties, god, i sucked at these things. i was never able to guess someone's age my entire life. not even once. but as every other relentless loser, i took another guess again. what was there to lose anyway?

the man stopped my train of thought with a surprised look on his face saying; "put that away, joel. god, you scared me." scared? what the fuck was he talking about? scared him? he was the one who walked in our place like a horror movie at 1 a.m. and he was the one who was scared? why was he scared anyway? with the dozen questions i asked myself in a second, i turned to my friend and saw the revolver in his hand. "what the fuck?! why do you have a gun?" i shouted at him without thinking. i felt like my voice sounded like a little girl. talk about first impressions. whatever. my friend looked relieved; "it was you, huh?" he said as the dog kept barking where it was standing. "calm down fluffy!" he yelled at the dog. right... fluffy. i remembered his name with a flash. fluffy... why would you name a giant german shepherd fluffy? and more importantly, how could i forget something of this level of stupidity?

"of course it's me! who were you expecting? your high school girlfriend? because as far as i remember she was the last one to make the mistake of being with you." the man said. he was laughing and as he laughed, he kept spitting which was enough for a little man to take a shower under it. "boy, she was one hell of a beauty. i remember the nights when i used to-" he coughed "this won't count as pedophilia right? she must be our age by now." he seemed thoughtful as if he was trying to answer a very difficult question. "are you done?" my friend asked as he moved his eyes away from the clock on the wall with a look on his face as if this man had just wasted some irreversible seconds of his life.

fluffy finally calmed down and lied down on the carpet. i was very confused with everything that just happened and i broke the hanging silence in the air; "will you explain anything?" i asked my friend. "sorry man, things just happened very quick. this is brock, and this is n.. brock, n.; n., brock." he replied trying to look at both of us. "whoa! so you are the famous n.. i heard a lot about you." the man said to me. "well i heard no shit about you", i wanted to say but my mouth did the talking instead, "yeah, me too.". "really?" brock said as he looked confused and turned his eyes to my friend like questioning him and my friend turned his eyes to me like asking "how?". it was a mess. but one thing was certain. everyone in the room knew that i've never heard anything about brock. maybe except fluffy. and he wasn't giving a shit as usual.

"the gun, joel." i gave my friend a questioning look. "yeah, yeah, the gun. the thing is... well... it's not like you think." he seemed lost. "are you guys married or what?" brock interrupted. "can you shut up for a second?" joel replied to him angrily. "i just have it, in case..." joel said. "in case what?" i asked. "look, i just have it ok? it's no big deal. everyone has one these days." he replied like a guy caught cheating on his wife. "and don't act like you're unaware of somethings. like oh my god joel! why do you have a gun? why?!" now he was defending himself. "everything becomes a big deal with you." he seemed like he concluded. "are you drunk?" i asked him. "maybe?" he replied. this whole situation seemed like a chaos.

"i'm sorry to interrupt you ladies but do i need to tell that we have to get going? now." brock said. he was still standing on the doorstep. i turned to joel but he seemed like he knew everything i was about to say and before letting me speak he said, "n., please. don't ask any questions and just go with it for once. i know i should have told you but i wasn't expecting him so soon. please, just take your things and come." he looked desperate. i knew this look very well. "ok." i said as i started to wear my jacket. "come on, fluffy. we are going." he said to the half-sleepy dog. "the dog is not coming." brock said as he tried to clean the dirt inside his nails.

"what?!" joel barked. "you expect me to leave him here? alone? he will fucking die!". brock looked tired, "you know we can't take him, joel." he said. "you always bragged about how well you trained him, so he will be able to get over this too. you know it has to be this way. you knew it the moment you called me." he added. joel didn't like the truth. he looked like he was about to puke. he wasn't looking at fluffy, he wasn't looking anywhere. "come." he said to me. "will you really leave him? won't you say goodbye at least?" i asked. "it'll only make things harder." he replied as he looked away, i think i saw a tear. it was the first time i saw him crying, if you could call this that. but there was something worse than all this. and even though no one mentioned it, it made me feel like shit. all these things, everything and everything that happened or will happen, fluffy, joel's tears... it was all because of me.
-
part III is out! read it here.

count to 9

when life seems overwhelming, when you have to leave your bed in the morning, when getting out of the warm shower to step on the cold outside or when you have to say goodbye; just count to 9 and do it. i know it's easier like that. i know 9 seconds is not so short after all...

rob

once a man told me that there are three things in this world. i couldn't understand it at the time and i was too young to care. there's no chance that you could guess who this man was and to be honest, it isn't very important at this particular moment that you are wasting reading this. 

years later when i remembered this incident, i was eager to find the meaning. what did he mean? was he talking about the trinity bullshit? he wasn't a religious person as far as i could remember. and where the hell was he anyway? all that i could recall from those racing seconds seemed just like a dream. did i dream our meeting? i remembered shaking his hand and i knew it was real. 

so what were these three things? it was eating my mind bit by bit and starting to turn into an unbearable headache. i was staring at my notebook in front of me. it was one of those "cool" ones. like the ones writers or artists used to capture their ideas when they appeared in their heads. the ones they always carried with them. like small, round cornered. not that i was any of these but i just had it. it was a present as far as i could remember. hard black cover, white pages... and it stroke me at that moment. 

black and white. everything seemed just like that. i never cared to realize it, all these time. why just black and white? why not something in between? why not a third option? why no gray? well, i could put the gray and voila! i would have my three things. 

with this new found piece of mind, and the peace that was flowing into my veins that i was finally able to understand what he meant; i leaned back and took a sip from my glass. i could finally return to not doing or thinking anything at all.

the beginning of all things to end - part I

"have you ever regretted anything?" he asked me as we sat there and sipped our half-way beers. "don't worry, there are plenty of them. no need for baby sips, eh?"

"i know, i know." i replied. "just taking it slow tonight. you know?"

"yeah, whatever. as long as you keep going, it's fine." he was constantly staring at the clock on the wall, like he was supposed to go somewhere. i knew this man for so long that i couldn't care to remember. and i was sure as hell that he wasn't going anywhere. it just seemed like, i mean always, he had some sort of problem with the concept of time. i could care less.

his dog was sleeping on the ancient carpet. where the fuck did he get all these stuff? i always thought about it. well, i did when he stared at the damn clock. the woods from the fireplace kept cracking and the room was amiably warm. i could almost call it peaceful. the dog was making faint sounds and i bet he was the happiest being in the room. funny thing envying a dog. actually everything was some sort of a fun at that moment, considering we were both fucked up big time. i'll come to that later.

"are you waiting for someone?" i asked after a moment of silence. "what? no." he replied as he seemed like his thoughts stopped wandering and came back inside his head. "for whom the fuck can i be waiting for?" he asked. i could see the suspense, and the childish anger in his eyes. "besides i asked you a fucking question, isn't it a bit bitchy asking another one before replying?"

"what question?" i spoke before thinking. i didn't like that feeling when people realized that i haven't actually been concentrating on them as we spoke. "sorry. my mind just went somewhere." i added.

"i asked if you have ever regretted something." he finished his beer. and stood up to get another one. "you want anything?" he asked unwillingly. but i knew it perfectly that he would prepare me a full plate meal if i asked for it, at that moment. i said "no thanks, i'm fine." then i added, "well maybe you can grab one for me as well, i'm about to finish mine too."

the dog woke up as he walked in the room. god, i never got to remember his name. why wouldn't people just name their dogs like jack or john or whatever. i always called him my boy, and i'm sure he didn't give the tiniest shit if i remembered his name or not. he liked me and i liked him. it was as simple as that. well, not considering the fact that i actually envied him. dogs won't know envy, right? whatever.

"of course i regretted somethings." i said. "why did you think of it now?" he stood there as he opened the bottles and gave me that mocking look. "i'm not talking about that you regret choosing masturbation over playstation man, i'm talking about something important. something big." his eyes shone as if he just remembered one of his own regrets. "i know what you mean, and my answer is still a yes." i replied as if i was clarifying something to a child.

"could you elaborate? dude. i mean, this night won't pass like this. you know." he seemed so eager to know about my regrets. and i thought, "how come he doesn't know what i regret?". and after some more thought jumps i concluded that i didn't know any of his.

"well..." was the first word to spill from my lips. "the biggest regret of my life... i let my love go."

"oh come on!" he seemed unsatisfied. "that's from a fucking movie, man. you're really full of shit, aren't you?" he spat some beer from his mouth as his wide opened eyes stared away from me. the exact second that the dog stood up and started barking like a fucking full moon wolf. and that was when i saw the shadow beneath the door as it opened slowly with a squeaky sound.
-
part II is out! read it here.

horcrux

have you ever read or watched harry potter? if not, there's this guy i would like to call voldy and voldy tears his soul apart and puts those parts into various objects so he can't die. but it fucks him up very bad and he eventually dies in the end. well, talk about a spoiler. sorry. but our point is not that. those objects are called horcruxes, the parts of one's soul. and this particular blog is not actually about a horcrux but it's about a flag. a blue and white flag.

tonight i suddenly got the feeling that this story actually happens in our lives. well at least in mine. not exactly tearing the soul apart but giving a lot of meaning to an object. a lot of memories. and at the times you look at it, you see so much that no one else can know and you remember so much. it becomes a part of you. it holds a part of you. 

but maybe it's stupid to get attached to some writings on some flags, t-shirts, notebooks etc. because that time is gone. like pink floyd would say; "i turned to look but it was gone / i cannot put my finger on it now / the child is grown, the dream is gone" so maybe it's better not to keep them close, just like voldy did, and to be comfortable by just knowing that they exist somewhere and they keep you safe. 

i guess this is the most bullshit thing i've ever written. but well, at least both of them are british. i mean, rowling and waters. 

not a welcome

a sunday afternoon. sitting on your ikea chair and trying to hit the keys in a language that isn't yours. you me. you could understand that much. and the moment i started typing, the feeling of writing just flew to a further land. probably a southern land.

blogging is like smoking i suppose. you start at a younger age thinking you're doing something cool when no one actually gives a shit. and during the years, you try to quit, you get back. and finally when you're older, you keep doing it but this time knowing what you're doing. you don't do it to poke someones eye or for glory. you just keep doing it, and no one still gives a shit.

if i must keep it simple, i am nobody. just some letters on the internet. letters that hardly form a sentence and almost never a meaning. i did this thing for quite a time, in my own language and it wasn't any less shittier than this. now it feels like it's time to try something new and waste a beautiful sunday, seeing many beautiful things in my life got wasted. i have no idea if i will write something more, or if someone will actually read it. maybe i'll redo this "not a welcome" thing. maybe i'll just give up writing, like i did countless times. time will show. time... time. let's call it a draft this time.