Writer · Systems Thinker

08/08/2023
Dawn was still distant, perhaps a few streets away. The moon and the North Star had been constantly shifting places for two months. We couldn't discern who was approaching whom, or from whom we were distancing ourselves. Were we fleeing from life, from ourselves, or from the ghosts whose existence we had convinced ourselves of? I moved away from breakfast, for instance, lest it become a solitary massacre. I didn't want to break that egg. I grew weary of merely calling it 'suitability'. I was tired of acting on the premise that running would invigorate me, only to drift away. I feared the slow deaths at the drinking tables spilling out onto the streets. My stomach churned at the 'play it safe' attitudes and the imitations of freshwater fish. I wanted to vomit, but it would have been a waste of all that I had consumed.

09/08/2023
Many times, I too wanted to leave this city. My failures, my disappointments, my sorrows; there were times, for instance, when I couldn't bear to look at certain views. Sometimes my comings and goings were for a woman, sometimes due to a man. It evolved, not into me running away at the last moment to someone I'd call "my olive-eyed one," but into finding myself in a city I couldn't leave or escape because of the one who loves black olives for breakfast. When you grow up, when you magnify it in your mind's eye, it might sound cliché, but when you don't know where to contain the hatred within you and you're in a fight with yourself, perhaps you too listen to that child. This soul struggled not to love, but its end is mourning. When it's too early to leave, yet not too late to stay, the very essence of these reasons transforms deep within. That deep ache then turns into monologues you have with that child. In that beautiful scenic place, he lies down, and as you sit beside him, he keeps you in that city, and you speak to him about someone named Rifat in your own voice; later, perhaps he speaks to you about Lucas. Your dream, which you've never told anyone about in your life, might come true under a magnificent moonlight, perhaps just as it did for Mauricio and Lucio.

12/08/2023
I burned the words. My fuel ran out that night. I walked home. That night, as in the nights before, we didn't make love. I felt the blood flowing in your veins, the sadness in your eyes, your fleeting glances, but I couldn't grasp them. I exhausted my voice reading sentences written by others. While fleeing from myself and unable to be myself, what was the point of this effort anyway? I missed it. I wanted to be friends with crows. I wanted to share my path, I wanted to share your path. Perhaps the beginning of our friendship would gaze upon a walnut. Yet, it was merely a delusion of considering myself very intelligent. That night, there was nothing in me except my mouth dry from much-smoked tobacco, my shirt stained with beer from my trembling hand, and my hungry soul. So, it was no different from other nights. Along with my words, I also burned. Since I wasn't as wet as before, I quickly caught fire.

07/01/2024
I am utterly fed up. With relationships that don't work out, false promises, their strutting exits and inglorious returns, their attempts to peddle worthless ideas, their petty airs, their 'master of the world' attitudes, the know-it-alls, and all similar immoralities…

-It was like this even when he was a child.
-How was it?
-Like this, you know.
-That's what I'm asking, how?
-You know, right?
-Son, how would I know, man? Did I eat a fortune-teller's poop to know? Tell me!
-Peculiar.
-How?
-Peculiar, just like that.
-Look, this will last until morning.
-What will last, bro?
-Don't start with your 'bro' now. Just tell me.
-You know, he had some feverish illness when he was a baby. Maybe that's why, I'm saying.
-Why don't you just get to the point, man?
-I'm saying that...
-Just say what you're going to say, man.
-Bro, if you don't interrupt, I'll tell you.
-Man, am I interrupting you, or are you telling it in bits and pieces? Think about that now!
-That's not fair, bro.
-What's not fair? Not getting to the point for hours isn't unfair, but what I'm doing now is? When did you get so soft?
-Bro!
-Don't start with your 'bro' now, man. If you just explained it properly, there wouldn't be all this word salad.
-Bro, this guy sometimes stares into space, he gets quiet, and then sometimes all his anger comes out at once, and he becomes a peculiar guy, you know. I think the reason for this is that feverish illness.
-Are we gonna cure him, man? Just let it go. Why are you insisting? Is he harming you?
-Bro, I just don't understand. Not being able to understand and not being able to help bothers me. After all, aren't we his friends?
-Maybe we're not. Maybe we just think we are. Couldn't it be?
-It could be, bro.