An Autumn Morning

To be awaken before the dawn,
to follow in the path of dead leaves
to where the sun will rise
The still and chill air
to breath of the lake blowing in
and the eerie month of hallow

To walk to be followed
to walk to follow
to find an to lead
to get a fresh of air
in your cornered little house of a cell.

nothing more pleasurable
than the morning of autumn before dawn.

So tonight did not end how I had hoped or how I had begun it.
I am still in the process of putting my life in order and living through it. You can say that I am still struggling with it to state the obvious.
There was a time in my life where I was great with lists, and orders. It came naturally to me, but now, maybe due to my special circumstance I just can't bring myself to do so. Who knows?
Yeah, probably that's it.
There is so much in this little body of mine, but half of it is lost in translation and half I am unable to make sense of it much, bluntly. Therefore, it ends up not getting out and it builds on and on.

A little shopping never hurt anybody...right?
Well, I did get two things I've been wanting over a while, and now if I could get my hands on that anti aging SPF filled moisturizer from Clinique, I would have the perfect set.
Today, didn't start quite perfect but it had been rather better than I probably hoped it would be.
I at least ended up getting some good time, and a little time outside of home does wonders to anybody to get inspired and motivated. Home as wonderful as it is, it is unhealthy to be at home all the time.
have no idea how Emily Dickinson, lived at home, without ever stepping a foot outside all that time. As my age grows the more I respect her honestly. I am amazed how she can continue to write so wonderfully without stepping a foot outside, and only from the real of her home she looked at the world and was able to give us a great insight at the world. A deep insight that most are unable to give us even living out in the social world like the social animals that we are. It is quite fascinating to me. However, staying at home does signify a great mental illness, I wonder what compelled her to never set a foot outside and I wonder what she had gone through that dispelled her from engaging in love--at least no one can tell if she was with someone all those years. There are of course theories of possible love that Dickinson possessed towards people. but nothing ever has been proven and nothing as ever been admitted by anyone during her lifetime. All there is left for us to do is to just wonder and well, a secret that will never be explained in reality. Regardless of how much conviction, how many evidences, how many theories we have, it can never truly be proven hence we cannot talk to the late Dickinson. It's possibly a pointless thing to talk about, but regardless, one does wonder. If anyone has ever read anything by Dickinson, it does raise suspicion, it does strike one with awe, if she could capture and captivate an audience with all of these emotions without herself living such, she is one brilliant human to be celebrated.
ahh..Dickinson.

I did wanted to live my life differently today, and make it a little bit zesty, make a difference.
However, currently that is all too much for me to handle.
Sleep calls.

Late night, autumn strolls are exceptional.

Today was crap

I feel so tired today for no obvious reasons.

You know what, it's a beautiful sunday!

Sleep over!

I would of liked to be read,
Carefully and with your whole heart,
But maybe that's asking too much out of you.
It's obvious that's not where your intentions lay.

out of my mind

Today is going to be a great day!!

Continuum

Sometimes life turns upside down and with it everything that you associate and attach yourself with.
I miss school, I dearly do, but I don't know what I want to do. I am not sure if I want to go back.
I hurt all over, and I am beyond confused.
Then on nights like these, where I can't sleep and my mind just runs over questions a billion miles an hour with rarely any answers, its hard not to fall into despair. Even if it's briefly. It's so hard to resist with so little going on.
Sure, I am on an intellectual surge where I read two books a week, and I write like a mad woman with a publishing deal. I wake up and I write, I am getting ready to go to bed and I write, I write in the middle of the day, I write paragraphs, I write stanzas, I write pages and pages of stories without a break like it's no body's business.
But, among all of this there is or are, something, somethings missing. I am not quite happy, I am no quite convinced, I am not quite satisfied, I am not quite up to par.
My mind is literally like a whirlpool.
Then, I am so afraid of you losing interest, of you thinking this is going to become something ordinary and that things will end worse.
I am beyond afraid of losing you, I am devastated by the suggestion alone, of having my heart broken again.
Somehow, I want things to work.
Just like how it was at the very beginning of this second round, I want you to be interested in my writing again, look for it, search for it, be in interest, and read and discuss it with me!
I don't want to walk down that path again.

Now, maybe a cold shower will help me with all of these feelings.

Warning: Cyclones of headache.

Late Night Talk

I can't seem to sleep tonight either. I went to bed and woke up three times by now.
I am not too happy about that to be honest. On top of everything, I am extremely bored. I could read a book, I don't really feel like reading Charles Dickens' "A tale of two cities" at this moment. It is rather morbid and I don't think I could handle any more morbid at the time. Its such a suffering book. Its brilliant but, its not an easy read like most of the books out there. These ones takes some time and a lot of thinking and a considerable amount of brain power to put things together.

I am not in the mood to write anymore either. I wrote a lot yesterday, and I wrote today two different stories complete with rough drafts, and edits and finished revisions. I don't think my mind could handle any more writing at the moment. I looked over transitional sentences and other things that would help anyone with their writing but I too soon lost my interest.

I am bored beyond imagination, and there is this hovering feeling in my spirit. I am not sure about anything.
Do you even read anything I write anymore?

besides that I am feeling low and blues tonight. Opera isn't helping me, classics isn't helping me. I am just in a shit hole tonight kids and adults. I guess there are a few questions, and there are things that bothers me. My mind plays over them and the questions finds themselves into my mind at the oddest moments.
Honestly, what am I doing? What am I trying to achieve?
Today, I was proven once again of the cold, hard reality. Only if it was as beautiful as a marble skinned vampire. Nonetheless, just like a vampire it sucks my very soul through my blood, leaving me empty and drained. Blahhh--I want to scream so loud on a roof top. Things are not going to change I fear. But than, I can't entirely blame one, its not like I have discussed everything out, detailed, frankly.

Somebody get me out of this stupid rabbit hole.

home sweet home

mini feelings that attach themselves together, along with the thoughts of then simulation of your mind, of your heart.
Things seem to go so well and your bodies mesh so well together that you begin to think that its the inevitable, it's the right and it is heaven ordained.
From one second to the next feelings that seems to link themselves, as if weaving a destiny through thoughts to seconds to ensure divination.

I wonder if you're reading this.
haha.

Uncertainty has a way of unraveling me.

I am rather confused and conflicted also unable to proceed.
ah, so many questions, so many inquiries...
I am unsure about so much, I have all these desires that are bi-polarized which can't be good for anyone.

Things aren't going to sort themselves out..they never do. A necessary amount of time and effort are needed to make anything right, or straighten it out. That's just how things are.
Just gusts of autumn sky

Just wrote a story..inspired by that old man in the train.
He had made me think so much at that time, I couldn't help but write about it!
It took me all night, but it was worth every word

...hm I guess I shouldn't of done that.
Which I will fix now.
Besides that, I realized a few things on my train ride to Rochester.
Love is such a little bitch I swear.
It makes life beautiful but very difficult.

And Rochester welcomes me with warm rain, ah....I do love Rochester in autumn.

Traveling to Rochester so early in the morning sounds so depressing and torturous. How I wish I could travel to somewhere else like, London, or perhaps France, or Berlin, Greece sounds pretty good to my ears too.

I don't know what in the world would drive me to feel this way, however I may abhor the journey to Rochester, I am kind of looking forward to be in the presence of my mother, seeing my grandfather, ah and eating the delicious food my grandmother makes, of course my brothers endless jokes and love constraints. Rochester is truly beautiful in the autumn though. The duration of Rochester's magic is only in autumn. The only time when it seems charming, alluring and something out of a fantasy world. Somewhere live-able.
How I detest Rochester.

Well, I shall go with a book and my laptop, prepared to finish the book and edit my new short story. Possibly even begin another one. Ah that will be good. I am also thinking about bringing another book so I can read it in Rochester to keep me away from boredom. I am not thinking about buying another book in Rochester, because well, I have a few in my list already that I need to finish before I drawn myself in a never ending book list.

I can't wait to be in my mother's warm, kind, nonjudgmental and welcoming embrace.

And a new journey begins, which I have no clue to where it will end.
The night before is always nerve wrecking, probably more than the actual act of itself.
So, hopefully this one will end good.

another all nighter...

Funny how life works.
We all need certain things to get through our days, our years and our lives. All of us, even the most aimless, carefree creatures of the world needs a purpose, a reason to live, to continue to exist and to justify our own existences, living, breathing, consuming, a reason why we occupy space and time.
We all need, even the most rigid, upscale, responsible people need their drug of choice. When I use the term drug here, I do not mean in the literal sense of narcotics. Not cocaine, weed, acid, or whatever is popular these days. I mean it in the most metaphorical sense. We need to have reality as sweet, as dreamy, in a fantasy like world as we could get it. Workaholics surround themselves in work and only work so the other parts of life that exist and are very much real just like the work life...real....but they do everything in their power to diminish the other circles of life's influence.
religion fanatics live in for the after death, for the promise of the other world to be realer, to be sweeter, to be better than we all currently occupy.
The over sensitive, the emotional freak, as most people call them. To make you feel better, I am probably included in this category of people as well. We tend to live it out, and hope for more intense, more passion in all sides of life, even sometimes we cant deal with the negativity. but people that are over emotional tend to be creative so when we are overhauled and our circuits about to blow up we tend to work more, and create more whatever it is that we occupy our emotions with.

We all have drugs that are inescapable, that we are addicted to yet have no intention of stopping. Because, well most of us aren't even aware of our addictions that drives us to the core of life and madness.

ah, nauseas..so much to do.

The Magic of Books

There is something magical about books and the world it creates for its reader as much as for its author.

Imagine a small local bookstore, as you enter to the store, the smell of pages and covers greets you warmly and softly. The sight of books stacked on bookshelves is rather intoxicating, the knowledge, words, emotions and stories to be unfolded right under your fingertips and hidden away in your mind, your imagination. Things that beckons to be found out, secrets to be revealed, a history to share and to ravel a whole world right before your own eyes.

A good book, can take you not; only to a beautiful place with the most vivid descriptions imagination or reality could offer to human mind, the words and emotion packed stories with good twists and plots, setting making everything else in the story well...set. The characters whimsically play around and you begin to like them like your own, or hate them perhaps. You begin to have hopes and expectations on them, characters that necessarily don't exist, a product of fiction but you can be disappointed, hopeful, shamed, sad for, mortified and the list goes on. The liven up right before you without you even realizing it, or waiting for it to happen. In mean while you holding your breath wondering what is going to happen next. Besides these, a good book always has something its trying to say, something it's trying to prove. Something that the author wants to share and has gone through painstaking processes in order to produce a book, something of imagination, provocation, made up of only ideas and words, nothing concrete, bearing his or her soul, which you will pay between five and thirty dollars and read it all in about probably 2 to 5 days. In return which you will criticize every word, every chapter, the setting, the plot, the characters, the dialogue, and the climax along with the ending. No author can satisfy all of its reader or those who happen to stumble upon its creation.

World of books, magical, elongated, passionated and forever lost.

Good morning earth, and hello wine induced writing.

I feel pretty darn stupid right about now.
Edit: (Addition)
Yeah, yeah. I didn't feel like making another entry right back to back when I've already made quite a few today.

I obviously can't stop writing about my own inadequacies and how inept I can be. Scratch can be, and insert am. I feel horrible. A part of me is dying while I am trying to save the other part. It seems like I can't save myself, can't help my self, me, the only person who should be able to, even when I try my hardest. All there is left is failure. While I clean one part, the other starts sagging and dragging me down. I am always left behind, trying to catch up, but the only thing I seem to be doing to keep lagging behind, being left behind and watch the shoulders of life, heading ahead of me, without me. Like, life ever waited for anybody. Why should it wait for me? Of course it wouldn't.
I did feel pretty good today, to start off, checking off so many things off of my to do lists, but at the end, I just feel like crap, crawling under my blanket and sleeping...running away from it all. The bigger question is when did I became like that? I look back to my childhood years, I was absolute opposite of that. My teenage years has been quite ripe and fruitful. My young adult years on the other hand is quite futile. I feel as though, Life has been drained right out of me.
Life is passing right before my very own eyes, hands and feet and all I can do is, watch it go by in misery, failure and regret.

I should just get over the point that I will never be able to do anything I want, nor anything I had originally planned. Everyday, I drift further away from everything I passionately came to believe in, and planned so laboriously. Alas, my assets amounts to zero, nothing, nadda, zip. I should come to terms with myself, my inability to achieve anything, embrace it, move on with my life and draw a new path for myself so I don't end up in the same place as I am exactly right now in the next 20 years.

Can hardly contain herself

ah, and the wonders it does to your day just by waking up early :D
I feel wonderful today, and even baked a cake to top it all off.
Its good to be on a roll.

something dearly flutters in my heart.
Good morning earth, and hello dream induced writing :D

So cliche, truly. But classics are classics for a reason :D
And therefore; be the change you want to be in the world...

Clearly...you know its like this merry go around that keeps rewinding itself to the beginning and never stops. Right when you think the pace has changed, it goes back to the top again and again. Really, it makes you this great prophecy maker. You can already see how this round is going to end, because well, you've only been there one too many times, seen it from beginning to end one too many times. And, this shall too end like the previous engagements.

Gecenin en karanliginda bile.... bazen bir umut vardir. Dogacak olan gunes, azda olsa bir sebeptir.
Ama elinde o bile kalmamissa...

Icimde birseyler oldu....

and it unravels......right before your very own eyes and feet...

baskin alevler...

We're off to a good start. Productive one at that !

"Merhaba" -- Ahmed Arif

MERHABA

   Gün açar,
   Karın verir yağmurlu toprak.
   İncesu Deresi, merhaba.
   Saçakta serçeler daha çılgındır,
   Bulutlarda kartal,
   Daha çalımlı.
   Koparır göğsünden bir düğme daha,      
   Tezkere bekliyen biri.
   İncesu Deresi, merhaba.

   Genç bayraklar vardır,
   Barış düşünür,
   Kuyularda işçi, mavilikleri.
   Ben hepsini düşünürüm,
   Yirmidört saat
   Ve seni düşünürüm,
   Karanlık,hırslı...
   Seni, cihanların aziz meyvası.
   İlan-ı aşk makamından bir mısra,
   Yeşerip, kımıldar içimde,
   Düşer aklıma gözlerin...

   Oysa murad alamam.
   Oysa akdan - karadan
   Bilirim, payım bu kadar...
   Unutmuş gülmeyi gözbebeklerim.
   Unutmuş dudaklarım öpmeyi.
   İncesu Deresi, merhaba...

                       Ahmed ARİF