i can't remember at all!

size senate house library'den sesleniyorum sayin dinleyicilerim. uzun yoldan geldim ama su sorular hala aklimda:

yerimiz mi dar yoksa yenimiz mi dar? ne var?
ucurmus, HERKES, o da kim oluyor, sen kimsin? kim bunlar?
en buyuk KIM?

cevabini bulamadigimiz sorular bizi sehirlerden sehirlere, ulkelerden baska ulkelere surukler sayin seyircilerim, daha da dogrusu dinleyicilerim. kafanizi kurcalayan sorulara cevap arayin! hic olmadi bana sorun.

yeni bir persona olayiyla karsi karsiyayiz. adi hikmet olsun. ama onu halka aciyorum--bence boyle tipler karakterler herkese acik olmali, isteyen tipe girmeli istedigi kadar kalmali, sonra baska tiplere gitmeli. hikmet'i halka mal ediyorum. evet sayin margo, buyrun sayin franny. (ama sana sesli yapmaliyiz once bir duy.)

bak simdi yine gir-icem.

some day soon I'm gonna tell the moon

bu da biraz ani oldu ne diyeyim...

birdenbire, hakkaten.

ya sonra?

my green parrot from last year came alllll the way here. (three minutes by walk, I cannot imagine by wings.) just now. now, that green is some green, fresh edible alive young happy.

when I am famous singing by the piano, I changed my mind, I want not a red dress but a green dress. will please margo, that's for sure. and the repertory is growing, to say the least...

my indian cuisine

many many cakes on glass display shelves, gateaux, really delicious. you bite into one (with your sister, obviously) and it turns out to be paper-like. lent. when is it?

eggs and bunnies. chocolate and apples can keep you alive. and grapes. seedless. tesco finest?

sausage roll.

macchiato. and, flapjack?

tost. well, whoever invented that may s/he rest in peace. much better than otherwise, as margo put it.

chocolate soufflé.

but today, I broke the fast and cooked. and what to put? tabasco. hmmm. curry. raisins! yes, raisins! onions, peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, mushrooms, courgettes, carrots, curry, tabasco, and raisins. on rice. not bad, actually.

kaymak. not good in a can. gotta throw it away, sadly.

yeşil erik, ah, yeşil erik!

mother's vişne reçeli. vişne beats cherry as a word. in literary and theatrical contexts. (re: Vişne Bahçesi)

something's gotta hold of my heart

I need Italian men. Lots of them. Preferably old. I wonder if I could persuade the father and sons at the cafe near senate house.

I am Venus today. Granted, my children.

The eyes. Eye-solation. "He looked at it with...hatred. Yes. He looked at her in...surprise! Yes, surprise!"

I've never been so lucid in my life!

the moon and I

bu gece ay doğdu ninni,
herkesler uyudu ninni,
yum artık o güzel gözlerini ninni,
uyusun yavrum, ninni.

we go way back.

dediler ki:

uykumda gülmüşüm, "there has been a misunderstanding" demişim. ya da onun gibi birşey. gülmüşüm ama... a chuckle. a giggle. outright laughter.

şimdi, zamanında da "at this point we have to make a choice" demişmiştim...

nereden nereye...

mevlana'dan

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.

dream a little dream (of me)

quicksilver of the winged shoes

the thief

the messenger

the bringer of dreams

this one clown

sees some one, falls in love, inevitably...

loses her, has to become her, otherwise...

now at times like this you need a voice: to call. to persuade. to charm. to lure.

guess the tune:
bir sürüüüüü bir sürü öpücük veeeeeeer...

bunu da banu alkan'a sattık mı yırttık.

mnemosyne, lethe

the despotic signifier has the effect of overcoding the territorial chain

coding pain and death, it has foreseen everything--except for the way its own death would come to it from without

the resident spectator calls it 'one of the best accidental encounters ever'

and that encounter is with napoleon, in the worst weirdest best woody allen film ever.

Napoleon: This is an honor for me.
Boris: No, it's a greater honor for me.
Napoleon: No, a greater honor for me.
Boris: No, it's a greater honor for me.
Napoleon: No, a greater honor for ME.
Boris: Well, perhaps you're right. Perhaps it IS a greater honor for you.
Napoleon: And you must be Don Francisco's sister.
Sonja: No, you must be Don Francisco's sister.
Napoleon: No, you must be Don Francisco's sister.
Sonja: No, you must be Don Francisco's sister.
Boris: No, it's a greater honor for me.
Napoleon: I see our Spanish guests have a sense of humor.
Boris: She's a great kidder.
Sonja: No, you're a great kidder.
Boris: No, you're Don Francisco's sister.

millions of thanks to margo, who is not margo. as was written on a high school notepad, still perfect after all these years...

tik-tak

dramaturgically speaking, we are at our top form. roman dish-well. teasing-feastly. moon-seek-ful.

but I have lost my rhythm.

I need my sister's metronom that looked like an antique. not the thing actually, the box. I mean I need the thing but the box looked like an antique.

and then there are the three braids of cut hair.

then the dress my cousin gave me with the animals. and the nice back.

I cannot go home. home has to come here.

kouloupou kouloupou

şimdi: thought-fox'un gittiği yere gitmek cesaret ister, her baba yiğidin harcı değildir.

merdiveni tırmanıp tırmanıp inmeye hazır mısın?
birini dinlemeye bakmaya hani kendini unutmaya?
onun şarkısını duymaya kendin söylememeye.
özlemeye, yanındayken özlememeye, yetmeye yetinmeye.

bu da yemin gibi oldu...
hazırım, doğruyum, yasam kendimi aşmak, soul-searching yapmak, kimseyi ama kimseyi insufficiently amourous hissettirmemektir!

şimdi, bence, gittiği gibi gelsin, ama çabuk gelsin, ve n'olur beni bulsun. eudaimonia.

major/minor

the ladder can accompany singing. like one of those wooden things that go trtrtrtrtrtrt.

the smile at the foot of the ladder comes from the very same depth: the desire for the impossible. the clown who wishes to impart everlasting joy is as tyrannical as caligula who wants to give meaning (and happiness) by showing how it was never there to begin with.

"the striving for distinction brings with it..." and nietzsche draws a whole process like steps up a ladder.

as self-destructive modes of being wear off I get more and more scared of heights.

(another new thought: we need the absence of tyrant: the whore and the poet boy.)

pastime

shock people with your unscrupulous honesty

reveal surfaces

fanatically wait, relish in impatience

continue buying and selling words

reread letter to actor d

waiting

it is possible. it happens.

human contact--the not-so-young young director has his eyes closed, arm extended, hand on mine. I do not move, he does. responding, listening, waiting. the hardest task of all.

"but no I swear I wasn't moving you were fabricating we do it again"

subtle transformation. then for the rest of the given time, he literally rocks.

now, my faith is restored. these aren't mere shells--I meet, really meet, touch, encounter people. it happens. not all--no categorical results--only those who want to meet me too. another breathing possibly-Irish woman, a floor-bound possibly-Jewish directress.

what is most exhilarating is that I too have changed. slower here, imitating there, vicious elsewhere. my whole being turned out...

song of the siren

and the resident spectator, aka the dramaturge, quotes Caligula:

"come here. closer. come closer."

hunger

the clown must return to the scene of crime. the net.

perhaps a mirror? or a bottle of wine? dionysus reclines--yes, to offer pain and pleasure to his guests. I only want to make you alive. If only momentarily.

a being that is close to the ground. the child is there, waiting, listening, scheming. now that is a coup de theatre.

not yet at 'I could have,' still at 'I can.' not 'I almost did,' but 'what if I do.'

l'alma prende fuego 2

the body. expressivity versus pre-expressivity.

I admit I talk too much. unnecessarily and never end up saying what I want to say. count on the fact that I must be saying it somehow, beside myself.

sufficiently amourous words, sufficiently amourous bodies. souls on fire? rained on?

desire-producing machines, always the lack always the void. celebrate the unknown, do everything but never ever normalize. the normal is the abyss.