Fix your gaze on such distant horizons, but do you stop to ask what it is you're trying to run from? And does it feel better to have no one to talk to? Without fear of hurting or being hurt. I'm sorry I am cruel. I wish I knew some other way. I wish I was better. But I've found that the world is not as straighforward as I'd once thought. And in finding I can no longer be the colours I once was. And so I walk here now, between the seams of what holds us all together. Aloof. Unresponsive. Unreactive. Though every pain drives so deep and every fear is overwhelming. I hold my peace. I yearn to flee. Because in my loss I know only how to hurt us.
Gomen.

I picture you in the sun wondering what went wrong
And falling down on your knees asking for sympathy
And being caught in between all you wish for and all you seen
And trying to find anything you can feel that you can believe in

May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you

I know I would apologize if I could see your eyes
cause when you showed me myself I became someone else
But I was caught in between all you wish for and all you need
I picture you fast asleep
A nightmare comes
You cant keep awake

cause if I find
If I find my own way
How much will I find
If I find
If I find my own way
How much will I find
You

I dont know anymore
What its for
Im not even sure
If there is anyone who is in the sun
Will you help me to understand
cause I been caught in between all I wish for and all I need
Maybe youre not even sure what its for
Any more than me

May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you

--Joseph Arthur: In the sun

Life.
Over and Over Again.
I am not Dana.
Sorry.

So far so good
Stumble through life
so complicated it's nearly Impossible
And i lost my way like i knew i would
and keep it together somehow anyway
And i remember you and me
Climbing over backyard fences diving naked in the Swimming pool
All those faces friends those memories fade so fast
Like every love song on the radio

Is it brilliant where you are
Where the lights are low
Is it brilliant where you are
Where the lights are

Through a million days through a million hazy nights
We sit amusing in our politics
Through wine and talk through sex and art we fill our time
And numb ourselves with what's to come
But i'm older now got a little girl of my own
And her fears are my fears now
I know that it's the end of days for moderates
But thinking people are thinking still

Is it brilliant where you are
Where the lights are low
Is it brilliant where you are
Where the lights are

So far so good
Stumble through life so complicated it's nearly Impossible
And we lost our way like i knew we would
And keep it together somehow anyway
Woke up from an impossible dream
And we talked and we spoke and we drank and we sang
And we danced and we live and we love and we give
Without question or faith then we fight till we hate
And we hope and we pray that this violence will fade
It's always the same it's the same life

-David Usher: Brilliant

My friggin gutt hurts from the disgust I have for myself, for suddenly missing a bastard who made the past year of my life a benign misery, all because of this damn hair I found.
The stoopid shiKt.

People who have too much time on their hands, and who use this time to send you stoopid things on stoopid face book and cram up your profile page with these stoopid, embarrassing things, PISS ME OFF! One of these days I'm gonna get rid of them or write something mean on their damn wall.

sigh

14th January, Year of the Nerd.

Elest is planning her escape, while trying to stay entertained by trivial things like oomphing up her flat with new Creature Speakers (they was cheap!) and orderring lots of books, then waiting for them to arrive every day.
Miyavi sounds good on the Creature. (I'm still gonna marry him by the way)
What else sounds good on the Creature is One Republic's soundtrack to the Year of the Nerd.

Life is a little dissapointing really. I feel like one of Murakami's protagonists most the time. Just going about my buisness, doing mundane things, indulgently, as though indulging solely in the act of doing them. Processing it all with an overtly animated and observant inner voice, that keeps yapping away at me like it was the narrator and I wanted to listen. All by my lonesome.
And while all this is going on, in the back of my mind is: Pixy, my girl, this world is bigger than you can ever imagine, even with your increadibly wild imagination. Remember always, that you are often seeing out of your little worm universe, from which things may often appear shit, or just simply not make sense. This time next year, you will not be here.

And then I wonder though, this time next year, where will I be? where do I want to be? what do I want for my life? and then it hits me: I'm not actually looking forward to anything any more.

We do not believe in falling in love; getting to know someone; trusting. We do not believe in surrounding ourselves; having children and a family. We observe couples on the tube or the queue at Sainsburys and think: Damn, are you in for a shiKKt time mate, and if you're not, then what are you and which human person's body have you snatched?
We no longer feel a need, or desire for such things. And if any such thing drops a hint on our horizon, we turn and run in the opposite direction, because, I'll be quite frank: we are scared to death.
And then, what's left? Fame? Fortune? Pshaw.
How lonely and futile is the lot of man.

And why should I not be ok?

10th January, Year of the Nerd

I've got a bad case of yellow fever. What's worse than not being able to get the thing out your system is that for some reason, it can't get you out of its. It appears that I’m irresistible to East Asians in general and Japanese in particular. Even half way across the world I get accosted; from random Chinese guys asking to take pictures to Hitori-sensei. Who?

December 25th 2007, Christmas at the Shajendra's had me locked in a never ending conversation with Hitori-sensei ('sensie' is what I called him. To everyone else, he was Hitori, the crazy conceptual artist, who'd subject you to pictures of his new sculpture on digicam if he got his hands on you. Indiscriminately.) It started off with where I was from, took a detour through "Your name means 'alone', right?" "Eh? Who told you!?" "No one, I can understand some Japanese." And then ended with The Historical Friendship of the Turks and Japanese. 'Aha.' -I must not have sounded convinced, so he rambled on for another 20 minutes about how the Turks know very well of the great episode when said friendship was forged, but the Japanese seem to have irreverently buried it in the past, along with the emperor of the time. I conclude, and his wife assures me afterwards, that Hitori-sensei loves Turkey.

Eventually, I did manage to get away, but along the course of the evening, the more he got pissed, the more he'd try to get me to come sit at his table with him. At 5am, when the party was still booming, I got tired of trying to tell him I was sleepy, and just went to bed.
End of Part One.

Part Two will commence when his daughter contacts me in a few weeks time upon her arrival from Tokyo. The arrangement is that I teach her Turkish and she helps me with my Japanese.

2008 – Year of the Nerd

Looking over the past years in blog, and throwing up a random comments to offer my contribution to the rapidly changing conversation going around me in the office: I've concluded this. Everything I wrote during my uni years and a little bit of what followed after were some good shiKt. Everything which followed was shiKt ShiKt. I am Jack’s literary pretention and disdain. I know why.

Elest said goodbye to 2007 bitching about mediocre fireworks on the London Skyline at Ally Pally, surrounded by Turks and Polacks. She made a few faces for the camera, to remember this auspicious Kodak moment of the end of possibly the shiKtest year of her life. She then said hello to 2008 falling asleep in the back of Shaheen's car. Basically, we celebrated in true style.

Being back? -I contemplate this as some volunteer makes sheep's eyes at me from in front of the HR department. Little does the kid know that I'm about 4 possibly 5 years older than him. Being back is a bit crap. It wasn't so bad at first because I was still on a high but I've realized one truth: As liberating and thrilling as it is to travel alone (the moments when I was completely by myself were best), it is the complete polar opposite on the feel good scale to be alone when back at home. This rat hole of a place was not made to be suffered without company or warmth.

We therefore have a predicament on our hands, which offers two alternatives. Find company or piss off out of here. But this is the year of the nerd; in which Elest remains asexual, grows androgynous, turns her nose up at fit guys and naively ignores the flirtatious advance of men around her. It is the year Elest concerns herself only with nerd things like books, manga, movies and all things to feed her imagination and creativity. This is the year Elest sees things through to the end and is stingy with her time because time is something, she's found, we, non of us, ever have enough of.

In the warmth of far away lands Pixy was heart broken to find that life is a cold, meaningless place. We grow up, grow old, and die alone. We lose the things we take for granted and realize their value. – Things like your testicles and your manhood. 'They took it all! They took my testicles! They took my manhood!' -raved the funny old, Norweigen man who no one knew at the Rajendra Christmas party. And though he was so light hearted about it, and everyone found it so funny, Elest smiled but only sadly. Apparently they picked him up at the bakery earlier that week when he'd collapsed. When they found out he was alone, they invited him to the party. When he asked later in the evening to take a picture with her and her friends, 'because I want to show that I was here' Pixy was even sadder.

And one more thing: To all those pretentious little white or would-be-white boys (this is not a colour, it's a cultural mindset) out there who fancy themselves artists, believe gender equality means making a woman pay for your drink, and don't know their own asses because constantly getting stoned, pissed and laid has not only left them with STDs and psychosis, but severe narcissism too: Grow up and get over your F***ing selves. Every such white boy needs to be dragged to some remote Kampong in the Far East, and made to use a squat toilet. Nothing to humble you like peeing in a hole in the ground, with malarial flies buzzing about your vulnerable behind, then having only stagnant, collected rain water to wash with afterwards.

-Sha, my love, this one's for you.