i am bill

i find the art scene in turkey too pretentious. i don't like how it tries too much. i am turned off by people and things trying so hard to be something else, trying to be something very shallow and alien. to be an artist one must know his/her roots.

one's roots.

what the hell does it mean, especially in today's world? what does it mean when we are all over the place, when the place of 'finding' ourselves is in a coffee-shop or in a club? when we are losing and finding ourselves, when we are on and off, on and off, all-the-time? if we cannot connect with our surroundings, if we are alienated and used? when the value of a human being is as good as the couple of papers with a president printed on them which he/she carries... a couple of bills... as a token of value, as a symbol of humanity, as an entity. maybe not in america... but this is the truth of the rest of the whole world.

this is the history and the story of the whole world. we think by the day. we think of today's bread money. not retirement plans, not investments for future vacations.

a trash can

cockroaches... now, trash.

i feel like a friggin trash can. full of trash and mess. i feel the need for a make-over. anyways, enough with the bitching.

just saw the wrestler. really, kudoes to rourke. the first time i saw his picture, around the time of the oscar buzz and whatnot, i thought what a fucking mess. his face, first of all, his clothes, those dogs!!!

what was so amazing about his performance was that he made me forget all of my prejudices and actually, truly, completely made me believe in his character, which is amazing. and on top of that he was just SEXY! i am not saying this because of his bulging muscles, i am not that shallow. there was something so human and so irresistable about randy. such raw fight at life, such struggle and failure and remorse and regret.

my english sucks. when i feel insecure about my language, i stop writing. i can't help it. what shall i do.