Another Morning

It is not just another morning, it is just a morning. Is it even? Morning. What is it? Words are thieves. They steal what is.

My mind is naïve. My mind? You see? Truth hasn’t invaded the whole yet. How else could one speak — one’s mind? Not a particular one, just a point of reference. Nothing special. Language is more stubborn and strict than society itself in accommodating your truth.

It is a space where many contradictory things coexist. On one side, I don’t exist — I become a backdrop — yet in an hour, I’ll go to the office, mingle with people. From my own experience, I know they don’t exist either. Why do we try so hard to keep our masks? Day by day, it becomes more painful — and more surprising.

We should go crazy. Go mad. How can one stay so normal in the face of truth? Just imagine, while sitting at the table, pushing everything off it — while walking, lying down on the road. Putting my face on the plate. Throwing away my shoes, screaming, talking aloud to the air. Talking to doors. Rolling on the ground. Crying. Hugging people. Running and suddenly stopping. Dancing. Just random things — so unusual. It becomes almost funny to keep acting in the play. So unrealistic. I can’t believe it.

How am I able to stay and act so normal?

One may think I’m speaking of anarchy or rebellion — no. I’ve known that feeling, I had that in the past. But I know this isn’t that. This is harmless. It has no intention to harm anyone. It’s just too serious — too serious for the sake of what? Life is a joke.
Not in a underestimating way, but it is just a joke. Like a funny, tragic comic one. Let’s do all that we do — eat, drink, sleep — but for God’s sake, let’s die instead of living. I don’t want to live. I want to die — every moment — again and again.

Life is so mechanical, so predictable. They programmed it. But that’s not it. It is unusual. It is not serious. It is unexpected. It is lonely. It is unknown. How, in all seriousness, you can talk, walk, and live like you do? You are dead. So dead.

You have frozen time. You have frozen life. You are frozen.

It is not what is. It is what must and should be.

I don’t need to talk to someone, I am not sick or suicidal. I am calm — peaceful as much as it could be. I am alive.

Life is not absurd. Your life is.

I am okay with being lonely — with feeling and thinking all of this. It is all okay for me. I just want to be — to be what is.

I am not expecting any understanding, or even maybe validation — whatever. It is all good. Day and night are shorter for me. I am in one place, then in another — it is all good for me.

I am not so afraid of loneliness that much anymore; I am not trying to fix it. I even like loneliness. In that loneliness, I sit with all.

Is it day, is it night?
What is it to me?
What is the time?
What is the date?
What is it to me?

Your stories are from TV channels I don’t watch anymore.

I am this close to your madness.

Silence is the most beautiful story.

Normal is your prison.

A soft smile is for your serious.

Please, please,
Let me stop you for a moment,
For God’s sake,
Can you tell me:
Where are you going?
I am dead serious.
At this very moment,
I see you moving,
Where are you going?

A baby is the most human of you.

You didn’t grow up,
You unhumaned.

You won’t go to the grave,
You will walk out of yours.

Married.
Couldn’t find its soul.
Childed.
Couldn’t own its own.

A tree is more you than you.

Save the explanation.
Life is happening.

You is not yours.
You is mine.
I and you,
We dance in rain alone.

I can’t lie down on your roads,
I can’t dance on your tables,
I can’t laugh at your urgency,
Yet, but:
I will break down your language.

You filled me with your language.
I will empty your language.

Do you know what normal is?
You don’t, but you are.
I know, because I can be.

I am not a rebellion,
That was yours.

You cannot reach my circle,
I move it again and again.

Another vein is cut.
Blood is flowing.

You gave me meaning,
Clothing, manners, dreams.
Body is throwing them up now.

A house is being built.
For real to visit.
I am becoming homeless.

Where is meaning in all this?
Meaning?
What did I just ask you:
Where are you going?

I am breathing.
I am breathing too.
I am also breathing.
I am breathing.
I am exhaling.
Breathing.
Exhaling.

I is all.
You is a piece.
There is no one.
Just echoing.

You just stay with me.
Leave the rest to me.
Nothing can happen to you.

If eggplant is really eggplant,
Then I is really Selim.
What is eggplant?
That’s I is.

I close my eyes.
The world disappears.

You are the drug,
You are the drug dealer,
You are the addict.

You are moon.
Talk to it.
You are a bird.
Sign to it.
You are a flower.
Smell it.

Your body is your mind.
Your mind is your body.
One escapes if the other can’t.
What is chasing you?

Your body did what you couldn’t.
What you even couldn’t see.
Sit and honor it.

Sit and have a bad dream,
Instead of keep living one.

I am sorry for abusing you,
I am sorry for running away from you.

You find our way in there.
I find our way out here.

You are not alone.
Look, I am breathing for us.
Stay with me.