Muharrem

Bugun Muharrem 4. Gecen entry'nin zaten grammar hatalarinda kahkaha tuttu beni Kutuphanede. Sanki onlari yazan ben degilim.

Muharrem, Hicri takviminin ilk ayidir. Bereket, bolluk zamanidir, Allah on peygamberine cesitli ikramlarda bulunmustur. Bir rivayete gorede, dunya Muharrem ayinda biticektir. Ayni zamanda Muharrem ayi, Matem ayidir, uzuntu ayidir, Kerbela ayidir.

Muharrem acidir, Peygamber varisi, Hz. Imam Husayn'in bizlerin gozumuzdeki nem, kalbimizde hic dinmek bilmeyen acidir. 10 Muharrem'de, Hz. Imam Husayn'in Kerbela'da ailesi ile Yezid I tarafindan sehid edilmislerdir. Bu yuzden ne kadar goz yasi doksekte, ne kadar oruc tutup, sussuz kalsakta geri getirmez Hz.Husayn'i yapilan yanlisligi vede yanlis halifelikten Islam'in bugune gelisini. Ehli-Beyti oldurebilicek kadar acimasiz, vicdaninda Islam sevgisi, peygamber saygisi olmayandir, vede onlardan buyumustur ve oylece taninmistir, tanitilmistir dunyaya, ve bu baskici, yanlisliklariyla emislerdir onlara biad etmeyenleri, tipki Hz. Ali'ye ve Hz. Husayn'a yapildigi gibi.  Hz. Husayn'dan sonrada kendilerini rahata koymus, ezmeye devam etmislerdir.

Hz. Husayn, Hz. Hasan gibi, bizlerin incileridir, peygamber efendimizin kendi kanindan, canindandir. Cigerimiz yanar, her saplanan ok, temiz kanini akitmistir. Bizler icin Hz. Husayn, birer bayraktir, baskiya bas kaldirmadir.

Muharrem

Muharrem is the first month of the Islamic Calendar. It's also the time where Moses has landed on the Mountain, escaping from the flood. It's also a time of mourning for us. A time to collect and contemplate. Therefore, I will be on a short Hiatus for 12 days to perform certain religious obligations I tend to fulfill lovingly and wanting so :)

Voices

Sometimes my own voice is not enough. It's not loud enough, it's not clear enough, it's not crackling and sophisticated enough, condemning for you to listen, commanding your soul through the sound of my voice.

Sometimes my voice just doesn't have the strength to reach to you, leaving me here, feeling silent, beaten and forgotten. My own demise feels just around the corner as the New Year shall begin.

Strange melancholy has gotten a behold of me, no good poetry could sway me away from the tide of the moon, my fangs have already visibly flashed everyone around, no use to retract them now.

My heart can no longer deal with the violent shrinks and expandings...I no longer can afford such rapid, insolent and fickle, intense emotions.

Therefore, I often I need other voices to help me figure out the distorted emotions within and to put them into a eligible context where understanding them is possible.  Others' words on situations or topics that sometimes that are irrelevant with my own existence, situation or emotions, sometimes they guide  me to the right path.  With their voice, mine becomes a whisper in the background that really guides me into the my own salvation, to hope, to dream...for a short while that is.

Ozlemek mi?

Ozlemek cok garip birsey. Ozledigin zaman bir kere neden ozledigini cozmek zorundasin. Ozledigini anlamak zor oluyor aslinda...nerdeyse birini sevdigini anlamak kadar zor. Birine ihtiyac duydugunu bilmek, birine mutlulugunu baglamak, onlarin muhabbetine ihtiyac duymak, insanin gururunu oksayan seyler degiller. Hic birsey kitaplardaki, filmlerdeki gibi olmuyor ki. Insanlar duygulariyla cok savasir, icten icte, bin kere dusunur, emin olamaz. Genellikle kor olur uzun bir sure, duygularinin gercekligine. Bazense, anladigindada, gec olmus olur zaten.
Ozlemekte onun gibi. Yanimizdayken, onlarin degerini bilmeyiz, onlara ne kadar bagli ve muhtac oldugumuzun farkinda degilizdir, duygularimizin derinligini ancak, cok uzaklara gidip, ayri hayatlarda buldugumuzda anlariz, onlara olan arzumuzu (ask olarak degil), onlara olan bu "yearning". Yanlarinda olup, seslerini duyup, sohbetlerine duydugumuz ihtiyac. Cunku, onlarin bir cift sozu, milletin saatlerce dil dokmesine yakindir. O iki sozyle, seni guldurebilir, aglatabilir, icini rahatlatabilir. Seni cok mutlu edebilir.

Bir seyin yada birinin ozlemini cekmek guzel oldugu kadar da, insani zorlayan birseydir. Ozlemle yasamayi bilmek, insani yogururken katilastirir. Hemde cok. Ozlemle yasadigin icinde, yanina vardiginda sasirirsin. Uzaktayken, hayaller kurarsin, ama gercegi ya cok daha guzel olur, yada hayallerinin cok altinda kalir. Sense...bunu belli etmemek icin elinden geleni yaparsin. Ama, karsindaki sezer, birseyler kirilir ikinizina rasinda.

Icinde bir alevi dinmek bilmeyen ates gibidir. Yanar, alevlenir, ve tekrar tekrar sen kendin beslersin. Resimlerine bakarsin, gonderdigi mesajlarina...tutarsin goz yaslarini. Ozlemissindir, ama bunu soylemek artik anlamini yitirmistir, cunku senin yerin onda eskisi gibi degildir, onemini yitirmissindir. Sadece sana geri donmesini beklersin. Arkadasligini korumak, yeniden yesertmek istersin, ama elinde olan birsey yoktur...yapamazsinki.

Dreams

Waking up early is one thing I've accomplished today. It's better than nothing done at all perhaps. But it isn't as early as I would have liked to woke up. Nonetheless we (I) need little things to keep my motivation going as it's quite low recently for I've been overwhelmed constantly trying to struggle through life. I've decided I've had it enough, but still, there is very few I could actually do about it and this waiting period is killing me. Each hair is on it's end.

I miss the nights were I could dream, dream endless things from personal future, to other strange things that sparks my imagination to create my stories and the world of imagination that keeps me hoping striving. But I've been unable to make up any stories in my head regarding any one. Not the crazy ones where there are supernatural ones, not the ones about people in the deep forests or sandy corners of the earth, literally scraping through to survive, trying to fight against all odds in their own sickened, disabled, diseased and powerless states of personhood in the eyes of their governments. No stories about college students trying to make it big, or how love happened to bring two people together, unrealistically. My own future..well, seems quite bleak to me, with not much that I seem to be able to dream or think about. I don't know whether it's because I've used my imaginative juices for a while and they need a rest or it's because of the mild depression I'm going through. It's not good, I used to be able to picture myself in so many different scenarios, in so many different shoes, different homes, different friends, with some of the old and the dreams that are as different as day and night, living through them through those very vivid and out there imaginations of mine that would usually seep out through my mind at night as I would lay to sleep and when I walk around alone at night, in the silent streets that screams of middle class America boredom roams through.

My dreams are rare, and when they do happen to visit me, it's short, brief, confusing and I usually have been forgetting even a bigger chunk of the very few seconds and leaving me one image that is either too scary to think about, or the remaining image is too insipid where I can't make anything out of it.

So I've lost all of those dreams of what I wanted to do, what I wanted to become, what I wanted to change...I mean the big ones remain as to what I would like to do in the gist of my life (publish, help women around the world to gain their voices both in their governments and within their personal lives) but I have no other dreams left than that. No other personal dreams have been collecting dust in my mind. It's a blank...

Christmas Music, Noo!

I thought of a whole string of topics I wanted to talk about last night as I was trying to fall asleep and yet when I woke up, they're all gone. A few of them were actually really good and things that mattered to talk. Sleep and the awkward sensory stimuli that we call dreams, sometimes nightmares... just leave it to them to ruin my mental process.
But here, we enter another highly commercialized holiday; Christmas. Usually I would say Thanksgiving, but Christmas music has started playing at the malls and gas stations, Christmas candy, gift cards and decorations are up everywhere and lined up in stored to be sold. What is wrong with this picture? Well, firstly, it's still only November, meaning we're still a whole month and then some away from Christmas. There is another rather important holiday I'd like to say, in between now and till then that requires perhaps enough attention as there are important historical factors and shame within this holiday that needs our attention and acknowledgement as Americans living in the 21st Century. I fear between September and December, all holidays will vanish in time due to the engrossing growth of Christmas.

Also, I don't want winter to approach. I am perfectly content it, being November for another three months or so. Would make my life ...well not better, but I just don't want Fall to end.

Aspern Papers

There is magic to waking up early. I swear by it. The earlier the better, so much gets done by noon and with a powered lunch, you can still go for another eight hours, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders to a solid finish, come home and settle into that book by Henry James after dinner with a cup of hot tea and say hello to Juliana of Aspern. Even getting out the house, perhaps not daily, but a few times a week is healthy. It's more than healthy, it's a necessity. It takes away the stale air from your lungs, instead filling it with fresh air and giving you a chance to soak up in the sun. Seeing faces doesn't damage either. By nature, our psychology is wired to interact with others socially and well, although sometimes people could get the best of us and get us down, they can also make us feel like we belong in the bigger picture to feel not so insignificant, lost and without value.  Social animals is what we are the very least. This interaction among other human beings is necessity to continue to function properly, even if it is barely and you had the look on everyone's faces. You had the smell of passing cars and chill seems to bother you endlessly. You might hate the kids running around, and the sight of the joggers with their barely there shorts whipping against the wind. You might prefer the quietness and the stillness of your house, where you can hang around in your underwear and drink endless number of cups of tea, coffee, lattes, sodas and what not. But even so, it is still good for you to be out there.

Been there, done that, have tried it. A good balance as always is what gets us through the day...and oh yeah, recognizing, knowing, understanding and embracing yourself to work out a schedule that works out for you, but perhaps doesn't work out for the rest of us...that's okay too. We might not all be as individual as the each snow flake that falls down from the heaven, but there are many different kinds of us out there and one thing will not suit another. Even logic seems to be subjective as of late. I digress, because after another episode of depression I seem to be struggling again to make something of myself, of my life and still trying to be on track, at the very least try to get out of this rut, against all odds...Even I am surprised at myself at this point and to be in the library, surrounded by books once again, I am ecstatic and words seem to fall off from the tips of my fingers without any editing or control and I find myself at the end of very long run-on sentences.

Well, hello Henry James and the Aspern Papers :)

Cursed Sundays

I hate waking up late on Sundays. I know that it is the norm on Sundays to wake up late and just kind of taking easy, relaxing. But my days goes to a waste when I wake up past 9, where I lazily try to catch up and well, wake up. I walk around like a drunkard, wondering were the day went.

I know that some people don't like to walk when it's windy and out in cold weather. I couldn't have liked it more though. To feel the cold air in your lungs and the reality of the world swirling around your skin, under layers of clothing, and the wind slapping your face against your will, reminding you of the past, regrets and the dawn of the future that could make you, one that's just around the corner.

Senseless

Writing senseless things seems to be the current itch of mine as of late. The irresistible currency that seems to leave me uncomfortable when I am done writing and when time doesn't permit me to get to pen and paper, and or here, I seem to lose partial bits of my sanity into the abyss that's been eating me for the past few weeks. I just am not sure what is there left to think, analyze let alone write and talk about. Everything is out there, flown like a wounded bird, halfway soaring through with heavy wings that no longer could carry it with it's broken pride and broken goals to fly across the Atlantic. Within this unhappiness, there is absolutely nothing left to think about and nothing to feel. Just what is it that I am trying to get out of me...that even I am not sure.

I've been meaning to write poetry, these few lines have strung together that keeps repeating in my head over and over again, but I haven't gotten the true inspiration and motivation to actually sit down and write those few lines and possibly that will become several poems that will eventually end up draining me emotionally. I just don't feel like I have anything left in me, which is counter intuitive to detrimentally block my own creative expression and productiveness.

First Snow of the Season

On Wednesday, the first snow flakes of the season fell pretty rapidly, fluidly and for a long time. Only it was too wet to accumulate down here in Madison, where it's warmer in comparison to the rest of Wisconsin.

It snowed and strings of my heart were touched and they sang the same old melancholy song for one more time, but a little bit more profoundly alone this time. A little bit more discouraged, a little less hopeful and still resisting to give in, still fighting for that time just around the corner that I've been waiting for a long stretch of time...to my credulity. Let's face it, no matter what I do, it will never get better. It's just the psyche and fate of humanity. While some things might look better, feel better, I will never actually be better than what I am today. On the other hand, I am not arguing that I am at the apex of my self growth, quite contrarily. Though my growth will continue to be retarded by life's never ending circumstances until my nerves one day quite decidedly agree to give up on me collectively, leaving me bedridden and clinically in depression, perhaps with a shattered mind, with my memories wiped out.  I might have a more positive and closer affinity with fiscal monetary seasons, I might become more secure after safely landing a career oriented job. I might age slower and continue to look a long younger than my age. I might gain a few pounds. I might live in a bigger apartment, with better materialistic things surrounding and meeting my necessities, even beyond the essential requirements. But I will never be able to let go of the past, these hounds of my past immorality and the never ending darkness that keeps gnawing at my soul. The secrets I shouldn't hear, the things I shouldn't see.

It snowed, impure. It wasn't a full round snow flake, white and pure, advent of a season of carnival. It was tarnished, watered down like soup, with much of the content and the core missing, snowing just because someone told it to snow. Perhaps, God decided it was time, hence we barely had any rain this fall. It only served the purpose of wetting the ground and reminding me of the momentum I lost while selling my soul to the devil to earn a few bucks to earn a living, not even comfort, quite pathetic, isn't it?

But I can't help it...I feel so dried up, so fed up, hardly have any energy left to keep going.

Into the Winter

Fall has been here with it's rich colors, the cooling heat and the scent of the burning logs have surrounded the neighborhood. Halloween has come and went and Thanksgiving is just around the corner.

Autumn has always been my favorite time of the year. There is solace and comfort in it, artistic creativity and a stir in my soul that could only be comforted by creating these boundaries that makes me feel safe, secure and bound. But Fall is slowly leaning into winter and leaving the warm and cozy feelings carefully snugged within my dark, deep and well, cold corners of my soul to a hollow abhorrence and abandoning the creativity that moved my very passions into a dull mind where curling up on a couch and reading seems to thoroughly challenge my spirits.

I don't like feeling this way, I don't like seeing the loss of motivation in the past few weeks that have sapped into my living energy due to an idiotic boss that annoyingly gets under my skin. I'd like to return to that recovered sense of self that I had so longed for months, even years. The freedom I had discovered, the sense of feeling lightness I had come so used to feeling, all gone and I don't know what to do recover all of that...It hurts and feels like I've failed once again.

You can't fix me

Sometimes there are things you just can't fix in me...When things are broken, they are broken and no matter how much you leave the darkness out in the light to seep through it's core to alter it's personality...but it won't change.

Certain traits are written in stone, you can't alter them. No matter how much you want to remove it from your traits list, or how much you want to tweak it to give you an advantage in life...

I am what I am with the good and the bad. You can't expect me to be like you and try to put me in these molds so that I can become an ideal type of person for you. If I am not catching you as I am, guess what buddy, you and I are not going to make a good match. Because there is so much pretend I can do before it all comes crushing down, taking the two of us in a spiraling hell that just will become our own abyss (well one of my many endless ones).

A person can be inspired to change and be a better person as a whole by an event, a person, an idea or a movement. These are all necessary in human life many times over to keep our growth constant and fruitful. Regardless though, the person has to want that change. You can't make me someone who I am not to make me more desirable for you. This cannot be a negotiation.

I am spicy and stubborn. This is who I am. If these qualities bother you, just move on to the next person that makes you feel something. We don't have to end up blissfully together. For all I care, I am not interested in you that way. But I am sick of people trying to fit me into molds and being hard at work to change my personality, tweaking traits and characteristics that I value to begin with, and sometimes wanting to change the bad things about me too, regardless though, these are changes I must want myself. You can't change me for me. That is a decision only I can make and you can't try to make me feel bad for deciding not to change and being perfectly content with being who I am.

Page Breaks

I haven't really written here in a while. I had some drafts and even those got delayed publishing as I seemed to have well, kind of weighed down to the depths of the ocean due to my insane and unbearable boss. I lost interest in pretty much doing everything, barely getting through the essentials.

Losing the joy of living, the energy to be happy is a solemn thing that's not only fleeting, but also easily breakable. It makes the world go around, it allows things to get done, move on and well, make me happy.

I feel cornered with no options out and the oxygen in the room is being withdrawn by predetermined time periods. Trapped and trapped within insolvable problems that are not disappearing or getting resolved on their own, hence the word insolvable, and I digress. I am excited to be taking the initiative to write again, but my mind is not here, my body is definitely aching and I am not sure where I am left with a dread that's growing by the hour of an upcoming shift, that seems ceaseless and a torture from hell even I couldn't envision. I can't leave this job, I am not finding a new job, and I still have to live, pay a shit load of expenses and the debts are not even getting any lighter.

Its the same cycle over and over. Its sucking my very breath of life.

Pure Ramblings

Who can blame sleepless nights when the light of the night seems to be incipient within our consciousness, slowly dripping through our mind's eye and flowing through our finger tips, craving just one more page of Poe's macabre work that's just so tiltating, focused and, perhaps over-abundantly used undefined illness, madness and stock characters, but still, so structurally established that it's hard not to give way to his structural symbolism and the Gothic Literature that everyone is bound to find glistening in the dark hours of the night, attractive like a Siren who is certainly deadly and certainly the soldier is aware of the potential drawing threat, who is ready to embark on his new sexual conquest, hoping, almost confident he can get away with it?

The night, thus stretches into the morning as our credulity thrusts us into the next line, pushing us into the next page, perhaps creating images that stirs our soul in all the right and the wrong ways, in a miraculous way that seems resonant to our antebellum mind, a little rebellious but further craving the black poison that we just can't do? Finding us at the advent of the morning, not so much in glory and in welcoming, open arms that we seem to hate the ending of our sizzling adventure with the cadaverous existence of death. After all, who doesn't think of Frankestein, or Dracula every one in a while, where the impossible seems to come alive, quite probably with a little proving and a little straining of our credulity all in a night's work to open the mind's eye to the way words are strung together on a string of pearl, reinstating a cliche as we turn to run away from in...what's there to be original about after thousands of years of writing?

The night is alive, stirring, it's dull and saddened, it's imbued with evil, fused with the possibility of chances and opportunities. With a little jazz in the background, one or two vanilla spice candles burning, scars of the heart that we all secretly wear, a little wavering hope that seems to flicker with our fleeting emotions and the changing status in the world, it's so logical how the night influences the very existence of our beings, the core of our souls like two windows staring out from it's throne. A little red courage to keep us going, the way it shines in the glass, romantically charming and so fluent in all the languages that we whisper within words and breaths, the ones we refuse to speak at any cost, even if it costs us tears and love at the very end....With so many doors to open, unending into eternity, morning only comes to soon...

So who can blame the night? When such lurid and lustrous creatures, living and non-living seduce us, tempt us and succumb to our own whims and wishes that we follow it through all of its incarnations, blindly like following the Apostles' creed, forgetting Night has her own creed which is unforgivingly punishing.