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Three weeks of not writing. No. perhaps four. And wondering if I can still write. That's worst time. between projects. Just working long hours at a language school. now moving into friend's house for a while until my paperwork is sorted out with the state university in Ankara. might not have internet for a week or so. re-assess. re-see. pen and paper.

after not writing for so long it gets harder to write because of fear of being banal. but here. this is banal. not deep. My hands are sweating on the keyboard. 35 degrees. palms sticking to the powerbook. smudges. packed six plastic bags, two backpacks, and one suitcase. gonna order a taxi soon. in about 5 min. attachment is also an issue. or anticipation. or waiting. but there is nothing to wait for cause everything is already happening. always. in this eternal present.

off we go into the wild blue yonder.

that was one of the first songs i heard when i immigrated to America. Las Vegas. And Iron Eagle and Top Gun and the cold war. And K-mart hamburgers and 7-eleven slurpies and now-and-laters and trying to do the helicopter on a piece of cardboard and an American girl named Candy who loved Duran Duran and wanted to take me to an abandoned house in the vegas desert to show me something called French kissing but I told her I loved Jesus and I can't do that kind of thing. yeah . . .. . life happens!


Anonymous said…
Makes me smile.. with agony or with joy.. Whatever it is, it makes me write this..

So here I say.. You can still write, and you'll always be able to..

Because.. this is you..
postpran said…
thanks I hope you are right :-)

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