Pages

Friday, December 14, 2012

Cancerland


One of the boring days in the neighbourhood. I, today, wake up thirsty as hell, just like the old days. The apartment at which I live is as poisonous as at least the city I live in. I don't mind my sore-throat and I just put the half-empty whisky bottle in my mouth.

I feel a little dizzy once I get up. By getting some help from the furnitures around me, I get myself out of the home, which is possibly the worst one. I have my viewfinder with me. It's as if I curse at all the people who live in this city when I get outside and breath in the nitrous smell in the air. At the people, who think that there is still life in this town. Ten years gone, maybe. How much more can the dirty rain that runs through the cracked walls contaminate me and this city? This city is like a recycle bin. It somehow can't get me, you, and the radiation out of the place, it constantly wakes us all. We all wake up. We all die. Ten years gone. I am still here. Cancer is still here.

Today, just like the other days, is unspecial. No day is special. Unless someone thinks it is. A special day, is only being disrespectful to the other days. It is to curse, the idea of a special day. To your own existence.

I watch this middle-aged married couple which lives by the side of my apartment for a while. That woman's hips are my specials. How long has it been that I realised there weren't any good neighbourhood in this city? Ten years, maybe.

I breath in the nitrous smoke of my cigarette with the nitrous smell in the air. I could never decide on which one was more nitrous. I walk for a while. Around that wet, muddy, and full of shit smelling rocky road. These people has builded up their home upon a tiny hill. They've also put some windows for their one storied rancid house. As if there is a worthy landscape to be seen. This fucked up city is not even worthy to be smelled.

I take my viewfinder. I'm at least one hundred meters away to that slum. The sky is as overcast as it could ever be. I live with a tsunami expectation for years in this neighbourhood, this fucked up place is at least ten miles away to the sea. I sometimes want to foretell an unnecessary prophecy, just like other people, for the city. Something like, this city would be erased from the map by a tsunami. It shouldn't be very hard to be supported by holy books. If all the people get the fuck out of here, this city might be endurable.

I start watching the house. If you put windows for your house in this city, you seriously want to be watched by me. To get peeked. Yes, I like this. The brown woman heads to the living room, shaking her hips. There is an indepence competition in between the hip lops of this woman. As if she doesn't own the hips but the hips own her. This woman thinks by her hips, smells by her hips, and makes love by her hips. It's like the center of gravity, the hottest spot in the whole world. As if she deserves to be peeked by me, even in that nasty peasant skirt. One day, when the guy beats up my brown woman again, I'm going to break in and kill him in front of her eyes. I don't have a gun and this is going to make me even wilder but it's okay. We're living in Cancerland, aren't we? Nobody asks me anything because I've killed a woman's husband. In fact, that's not the half of it. I'm going to replace the husband I've killed. Yes, I'm very sceptical to pay a whore. That ghetto woman and her hips are going to be mine soon and I'm going to be hers. Just like my viewfinder.

4 comments:

  1. Bil bakalım ben kimim;

    Dış suretlerimiz farklı farklı görünse de; aslında aynı et ve kemikten yaratılmışız; fakat, ''biz''ler hala, -sözde- (ama sadece ve sadece sözde, maalesef.) aynı ana ve babadan türemiş olduğumuz kardeşlerimizi dış görünüş ve dış noksanlıklarına göre yorumluyor - ya da- yargılıyoruz. (hala, asırlardır, hala) Aslolan, yine, etin içinde gizli olan, o muhteşem hatlara sahip, et değil midir??? Tam olarak da emin değilim açıkçası. Bilemem. Bize bahşedilen o muazzam hediyeyi gerektiği gibi kullanabiliyor muyuz, yoksa birileri bizim beyinlerimizi, bizim yerimize mi kullanıyor??? İşte tüm bunları,''..arif olan bilir...'' gibime geliyor ama emin değilim yine de. Peki arif kimdir? (- G.O.R.A. mı ağğğbi??) Hayır, tabii ki Hakk'tır...

    -Telefonun var mı hacı?-

    - Var...

    - Haa, iyiymiş. Benim de var da öyle meraktan sordum işte. Güzel icat canım(kötü noktalarını tenzih ederek.)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Bak bu da çalıştığım ''iş'' yerim:

    facebook.com/abe.fe.33

    - Beklerim evladım, halanlara çok çok selam söyle, çok öpüyorum onları.

    - A-be Fe, peki ya ''ev''de yoksaannnn??

    - Hahahaha ayhhh olur mu ayol, ben hep evdeyim, Gönül mahallesinde. Yani en azından o eve yakın kalmaya çaba sarf efiyorum diyelim.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ali Bilgehan Fakı! Bildim mi?
    Bu arada e-mail'ini şeyet de telefon numaramı vereyim. A bientôt!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Vay amk. Şimdi bakıyorum da tüm yaptığım hareketlere, dediğim sözlere, yazdığım yazılara; bu yorumlar da, kafayı sıyırmaya yakın ettiğim, sağlıklı son kelâmlardan olmalı. Sonrası malûm. Geçen sene, bu zamanlara tekâbül eden târihlerde, aramızda geçen ve benim şizofrenik, aynı zamanda bir o kadar da tatsız sanrılarımın sana yansıyan bölümünden sonra, sana ne diyebilirim bilmiyorum; ancak şu mail şeysi hâlâ geçerliyse oradan sana gerekli özür ve açıklamayı yapmak isterim. Mail adresim; alibifathesonofrhye@hotmail.com. Ha, eğer ''yok, hayır, ben aklî dengesi yerinde değilken bana da bulaşan bir akıl hastasıyla kırgın kalmak istiyorum.'' dersen; saygı duyarım. Ancak, Fransızca Hazırlık Birimi'nin deneyimli hocası ve birçok çevirileri olan bir insana bile, bu bahsettiğim ruh hastalığının bir tezâhürü olarak saygısızlıkta bulunmuş birine kırgın kalman pek mantıklı olmaz sanırım. Kendine bakar ol, esen kal.

    ReplyDelete