waiting for the unexpected
My dream, come to me.
Today I wish I was normal, normal enough to receive a call from a guy who apparently thinks of me as totally weird. I told him about my thoughts about the parallel universe of souls (not heaven or hell), where I believe everyone ends up sooner or later. Yes, I did, really, and I even told him that I kind of talk to my grandmother, which I don’t, but I do feel her presence sometimes. Especially my uncle’s presence when I think about it. When I left Turkey that summer I knew it was the last time I saw him. He was standing in front of the door crying. And I remember I cried so much, all the way to the airport, that it hurt psychically. I need to believe that he is there somewhere, watching me. I need to believe in his presence…
…as much as I need to believe in the unexpected.
secrets
Are we keeping the secrets or are the secrets keeping us?
I bought a book called My Secrets at Urban Outfitters and it actually became one of my favorites. It is a result of the PostSecret project with a collection of postcards created by students from around the world. The postcards bear personal thoughts and messages about everyday life and I am fascinated by the fact that one single sentence can be that overwhelming.
Have a look:
—————–
I see you see me.
Ask me.
I’ll say
yes.
—————–
I forgot to plan what happens next.
—————–
I’m forced to carry your secrets because you were too weak to keep it to yourself.
——————
It’s always been a dream to attend Harvard Law School.
Now that I’m here, I’m counting down the days until I can leave.
——————
People don’t change…
They just find new ways to lie to you…
lost picture found
a beautiful short film – check it out:
http://www.nrk.no/p3tv/lost-picture-found/
by Axel Mustad Bevreng og Kash Khazai
be inspired
click and listen
damekoret netopia by petter wiik
thank you for letting me post this blog, Petter Wiik!
countryside in norway
I had a photoshoot with elif yildirim the other day. wanna have a look?
tomorrows
like an imaginary lover
he speaks to me.
yes, about the tomorrows,
with a gentle description
of what there is to see
on stage, off stage
he shows me the imaginary tomorrows.
his sound I listen to,
like some hymn
that heals my sorrows.
the Sundays I wait for
with a pitiful excitement.
drifting away
from the golden world,
seeking for an alternative fulfillment.
yes, coldblooded
my heart has become.
the freezing point
sends me a smile
so evil and difficult to overcome.
only for the sake of art
I say to myself so trustfully.
…and I let
the indie tomorrows
come to me ever so easily.
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