Young Meryl

Photo: Ron Galella / WireImage

happy birthday Freddie.

Here why I listen to ålesund

and why I want to be there with just a bottle of wine

"...

Up here in the air 
I'm just mumbling at the clouds 
Wanting to be known 
While I pass the lonely hours

...

Your calm hypnotic eyes 
Your Scandinavian glow 
I felt them like a flame 
Candle in my cold bones 

...

But I turned and walked 
Away from all the fun And back into the black 
Seaside night of Alesund
..."

"..
I try to recall the
thousands of years when
these stories were
waiting to be told
.."

early snow piece of today

some sounds irritating sometimes, just because of their obsolete and corny meanings.. but where the figures of thoughts still attract the insight, there is no irritation, but the pure imagination.

çok şahane şeyler

old friends in the garden

TÜKENMEZ DOLMAKALEM DOLDURULUR,
KIRILMAZ CAM TAMİR EDİLİR YÜZYILINDA
İKİYE KIRILMIŞ BİR ŞEYİN BİR PARÇASI
KONUŞSAYDI

böyle cacığa rakı mı dayanır

the weight of the book

"miss" someone.

he's gone behind the night lights

http://www.flickriver.com/photos/stefanoromagna/4684291077/

controller of the dice

Exit Signs

This is not the silence, I've been waiting for so long, the stars in the water reflect the hours that are yet to come, I hear insects buzzing like the city nearby, watching some fireflies die/ The odds are good, New York below his feet, anyplace, anyhow he makes his sound, neon lights beat down upon his face, a Brando look-a-like/ Eight in the morning, it doesn't get much worse than this, my mask of iron is heavy and thick, like names on a list/ Remember my name for every time I lied, I raise my voice and scream out to anyone around, I bite my tongue when echoes strike me down/ He's ready to stumble, ready to fall, ready to reach out for nothing at all, he never got an answer to the one thing he just had to know, is he someone to die for?/ Wrote you a song Leonard Cohen, I've stolen a line for a few, It's also to Stipe and Bob Dylan, and yes, it's to Kurt Cobain too/ This time it's either black or white, and I'm sorry, sorry for the chain to tight, you've been the master of disguise/ My tongue's a stone, the words are stuck behind, I secretly adore you, and lick your feet for one more perfect rhyme/ I ripple across the rows of weathered bricks as the ghost of Bill Hicks/ All he could think of to say, was drowned in the sound of boisterous waves/ Too scared to tell you I never knew that someone could be this sweet, patiently listen to all my complaints, while I spit them in your face, trying the hardest I can not to be left behind, writing my name across the ground/ I take a ghost train and forever I leave this town, a heavy storm is loose and all the lights are out, only gravity's pulling down, outside my window the night is coming through/ You examine every hair on my chest, we listen to awkward rhymes, in a Honda on the 5 to LA, a flash of light, a tiny motion in your eyes, a flash of light from all the cars and exit signs, cars and exit signs.

..but how was his nose? his neck? his smell of breath?

capital

the syndrome

Long time ago, years ago, when I was a wayward teenager, she told me that I used to behave very alike Istanbul. She compared; "same passion, same vividness, same melancholy, same pain, not that much big but crowded, full of things..sophisticated, uneasy but still worth living.." I used to like cliches, especially this kinds of Istanbul similes..I liked it at the very first moment....Then years have chased each other, and I suddenly got shattered by the fact of the identity change..Another city, another identity, another person.. How have I been becoming this city now calmly, slightly, automatically? How could I take my character off and turn it into a hysterical and a cynical moose?.. I know it is beautiful..I love it..
But I hate the fact that I love it..