it says something when the only time i am able to read anything good this year – that is 2 separate books is a 3 hour return flight from istanbul to cologne.
strange it is to see your sister and her husband there in the flesh, as you were five years ago in the same regular spots. ah the romance of east and west, clash of civilisations, the romanticism of a bygone era, ataturk flags floating in the background, rotting hammams in the back alleys ran by a two-woman operation scrubbing all the dirt away from the entirety of your body, mind, soul and all the ghosts memories hopes and dreams as one stares into stained-glass dotted windows in the ceiling.
i should say that these every two weeks LSD tripping is stripping me all sense of sleep. what does one give in exchange of a few morsels of happiness, of searching a sense of something something. it is very difficult to even write without jumping into another strand of thought. it is even more difficult to maintain a sense of order while the world surrounding you spirals into a merging landscape of thoughts fears and longings.
at two am call to kampung panglima bayu, just in time to talk your grandmother via video call. only to talk about your half-deaf niece and his ears. ah, the weight/sweetness of hearing for the first time. imagine.
a land to be bought, in dabb.
an invitation to zurich, pending. end of november then, J?
the libertines, tomorrow, 20th anniversary. pete doherty, a poet, still? how does one reconcile with old age, age gracefully, while the rest of the world – mainly you as a mere teenager grow up and become so old – moves?
nazir and alia, bag-trippin across the ottoman empire (?), and an introduction into contemporary Johor Bharu rapping scene 420ing their way sampai fly. i wonder i
why does one travel far and wide in order to witness something? do we not wish to marvel at the creativity of others (and by extension, of god)?
ghassan kanafani – underrated writer. died too soon. susan sontag – why are we graced with only one decent female writer every fifty years? (suggestions are welcomed?)
seventh year of marriage – we become each other’s memes.
perkaraperkara 