Hard Earth

It’s so hot in Istanbul the sheets cling to my body as I roll from side to side. They’re green as the Meditteranean, and I could pretend I were in France, frolicking amongst the foreigners enjoying the last of late autumn holidays. Everything I eat upsets my stomach. It’s an emotional malady. I think too much, and my dreams were about Instagram influencers that wore gold rings and orange sandals.

I went for a ten-kilometer run around the marina and a small park when a man scooped ice cream in waffle cones. The park was empty. Where have all the people gone? The globe is overpopulated, and everyone is losing their minds. Alzheimer’s is on a steady rise and not enough money goes into research. Is there no way to protect ourselves? Too many people focus on petty differences; ultimately, we all forget the person we want to be.

I read that the Permafrost in the Arctic contains viruses from 30,000 years ago.
Like love, some things never die.

Mornings: open your eyes to the wonder.
Evenings: stroke the beast closest to you.

I’m learning to contain my excitement. It’s too precious to waste on insufficient sources, including the walk to the grocery store where I look for kabak and domatesler. I’ve put my daydreams on hold. Pause for a second and listen to what is happening inside. Stop asking questions if you want to know what it feels like to suffer.

I assert myself in so many culturally unacceptable ways. I did not know anything about Turkey until I arrived. I worry about the future as if it exists.

Forget everything!
(Gilles Deleuze.)

Yesterday night, at dusk, a flock of birds with gold breasts and black wings flew overhead at the marina. The people picnicking in the park procured their phones to record the event.

What is being captured in this excursion?
(Freedom?)

Photo source.