i used to write a lot here.

all of that is so far away

it seems absolutely impossible to write nowadays

probably i'll never do it again

as borges used to say: i feel prouder of my readings than of my writings 

"phillip tourian is seventeen years old, half turkish and half american. he has a choice of several names but prefers tourian. his father goes under the name of rogers. curly black hair falls over  his forehead , his skin is very pale, and he has green eyes."

"and the hippos were boiled in their tanks", jack kerouac and william  burroughs 

this is the end of the world as we know it

you choose...

i find that  i have to put myself in those situations to produce any reasonable good writing. i've still got that same thing about when i get to a country or a situation and i have to put myself on a dangerous level, whether emotionally or mentally or physically, and it resolves in things like that: living in Berlin leading what is quite a spartan life for a person of my means, and in forcing myself to live according to the restrictions of that city.

why dont you come over here, we´ve got a city to love

she only said the words again and it started to rain (rain rain rain)

Amy: "... Leonard, a word of advice, moody self-obsession is only attractive in men who can play guitar and are considerably taller than you."

.

being there

Preamble To The Instructions On How To Wind a Watch        


Think of this: when they present you with a watch, they are gifting 
you with a tiny flowering hell, a wreath of roses, a dungeon of air. 
They aren't simply wishing the watch on you, and many more, and we 
hope it will last you, it's a good grand, Swiss, seventeen rubies; they aren't just giving you this minute stonecutter which will bind you by the wrist 
and walk along with you. They are giving you - they don't know it, it's 
terrible that they don't know it - they are gifting you with a new fragile 
and precarious piece of yourself, something that's yours but not a part of 
your body, that you have to strap to your body like your belt, like a tiny, furious bit of something hanging onto your wrist. They gift you with the 
job of having to wind it every day, an obligation to wind it, so that it goes 
on being a watch, they gift you with the obsession of looking into jewelry-shop windows to check the exact time, check the radio announcer, check the telephone service. They give you the gift of fear, someone will 
steal it from you, it'll fall on the street and get broken. They give you the 
gift of your trademark and the assurance that it's a trademark better than others, they gift you with the impulse to compare your watch with other watches. They aren't giving you a watch, you are the gift, they are 
giving you yourself for the watch's birthday. 




julio cortázar
 

the hunger

bite me, david bowie

i guess you know i never wanted anyone else more than you

-never have been in love, to speak of. i was in love once, maybe and it was an awful experience. it rotted me, drained me, and it was a disease. being in love is something that breeds brute anger and jealousy, everything but love, it seems.

"when you write the biography of  a friend,

you must do it as if you were taking revenge for him"

flaubert, letter to ernest feydeau, 1872

In the beginning, when we were winning

I was your ever-present love-sick fool

sorry, mr. lennon, but happiness is not a warm gun

happiness is twitter (?)

when i grow up,

 i just wanna be tina turner

and one morning you wake up

and the lost boy that you had taken to your home

turned into something like this

welcome to reality

hey, are you lost?

do you want me to take you home?

-was berlin your first choice?

- sorry, i dont get your point

- nobody comes here for no reason. people come to this city for two options: looking for the cure or death

- i see. give me a pair of days here and i'll give you the answer

those days in berlin were the weirdest

being so lost in the middle of the world

berlin is probably  the best city to hide

mrs. jones

be my wife 

Bloody your hands on a cactus tree
Wipe'em on your dress 
and send it to me

i dont need to be the producer anymore. i just wanna be the channel for now and ever

i've come to wish you an unhappy birthday

the sex machine

i wanna be a toy at your birthday party

ok, ok, ok. this is the last video that i post from Bowie. but his guest... it was so hard to avoid. i just couldnt help it

David Bowie - Life on Mars

"thursday, i slept with my girlfriend. she likes to wear a blindfold during sex. she always carries around a piece of cloth in her airline overnight bag just for that purpose.

not my thing, really, but she looks so cute blinfolded like that, i can't very well object. we're all human, after all, and everybody´s got something a little off somewhere"

     The fall of the roma empire, the 1881 indian uprising, Hitler's invasion of Poland, the realm of  raging winds, from The elephant vanishes, Haruki Murakami

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"she was pretty drunk at this time, and so was i. at eleven, i accompanied her to her apartment, where we had sex as a matter of course, the way they give you a cushion and a cup of tea at an inn.
"put the light out", she said, so i did. from her window you could see a big nikon ad tower. a tv next door was blasting the day's pro-baseball results. what with the darkness and my drunknness, i hardly knew what i was doing. you  couldn't call it sex. i just moved my penis and discharged some semen.
as soon as the moderately abbreviated act was finished, she went to sleep as if she couldn't wait any longer to be unconscious. without even bothering to wipe up properly, i got dressed and left. the hardest thing was picking out my polo shrt and underpants from among her stuff in the dark."

Family affair, from The elephant vanishes, Haruki Murakami

"Afternoon sex was the best sex of all, Ann thought. morning sex she'd had enough of in her time: usually it meant, "sorry about last night but here it is anyway"; and sometimes it meant, "this'll make sure you don't forget me today"; but neither attitude charmed her. Evening sex was, well, your basic sex, wasn't it? it was the sex which could vary from enveloping happiness via sleepily given consent to an edgy, "look, this is what we came to bed early for, so why don't we just get on with it." Evening sex was as good or as indifferent, and certainly as unpredictable, as sex could be. But afternoon sex -that was never just a courteous way to round things off; it was keen, intended sex. and sometimes it whispered to you, in a curious way (and even though you were married), "this is what we're doing now, and i still want to spend the evening with you afterwards." afternoon sex gave you unexpected comforts like that".

Before she met me, Julian Barnes

“But why should you be interested in me?" 

Good question. I can’t explain it myself right this moment. But maybe – just maybe – if we start getting together and talking, after a while something like Francis Lai’s soundtrack music will start playing in the background, and a whole slew of concrete reasons why I’m interested in you will line up out of nowhere. With luck, it might even snow for us.” 

  After Dark, Haruki Murakami

"i WOULD have been yours. you SHOULD have to know it."

"now, let me ask you: do you have any idea what i would like to do right now?"

"i can't imagine."

"well, first of all, i want to lie down in a big, wade, fluffy bed. i want to get all comfy and drunk and not have any donkey shit anyway nearby, and i want to have you lying down next to me. and then, little by little, you take off my clothes. sooo tenderly. the way a mother undresses a little child. sooo softly."

"hmmm..."

"and i'm just spacing out  and feeling really nice until, all of a sudden i realize what's happening and i yell at you "Stop it, Watanabe" and then i say "i really like you, Watanabe, but i'm seeing someone else. i can't do this. i'm very proper about these things, believe or not, so please stop. but you don't stop."

"but i would stop", i said.

"i know that. never mind, this is just my fantasy", said Midori. "So then you show it to me. your thing. sticking right up. i immediately cover my eyes, of course, but i can't help seeing it for a split second. and i say, "stop it! don't do that! i don't want anything so big and hard!."

"it's not big. just ordinary."

"never mind, this is a fantasy. so then you put on this really sad face, and i feel sorry for you and try to confort you. there there, poor thing."

"and you are telling me that's what you want to do now"?

"that's it."

"oh, boy."

Norwegian wood, Haruki Murakami

"what´s this thing that guys have for girls with long hair? fascists, the whole bunch of them! why do guys all think girls with long hair are the classiest, the sweetest, the most feminine? i mean, i myself know at least 250 unclassy girls with long hair. really"

Norwegian wood, Haruki Murakami

"things that dont matter at all to one persona can hurt another so deeply it seems as bad as dying"

Hardboiled & hardluck, Banana Yoshimoto

" i am too pure for you or anyone.

your body 

hurts me as the world hurts god..."

Fever 103°, Sylvia Plath

Billie Holiday - It's A Sin To Tell A Lie (1942)

"It seems to me now that the plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you dont need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone" 

How to be good, Nick Hornby