İt Ürümesi

İnsanı Edebiyattan uzaklaştıran şeylerden biri gene insan.

Kendin olamadığın şeylerden dolayı nefret ediyorsun eninde sonunda, yapamadığın şeylerden dolayı kızıyorsun kendine biraz. 

Herşey oldukça sikikken gerçekten durumlar ile ilgili üzülmeye veya kafana takmaya enerjin kalmıyor, çünkü herşey nihayetinde oldukça sikik.

Sonra duygusuz oluyorsun, halbuki diğer taraftaki modern orospu çocukları bilmiyor ki bazı şeylere ulaşmak için başkalarından ne kadar verdiğini.

Çünkü farklılık var, o orospu evlatları ile benim yaşadığım hayat arasında ki ince çizgide oldukça kalın farklılıklar var aslında. O kalınlığı yedirebiliyorsan bir taraflarına işte o zaman oldum diyebiliyorsun.

Ben tiyneti böyle olmayanların gelecekte de böyle olmayacaklarına dair inancımı koruyorum tabii ki, şüphesiz kelimenin saf haliyle orospuçocukluğu paradan başka şeyler kazandırıyor. 

Bir iki kitap okuyupta dünyaya açıldığını düşünen, edebi postülası cinsel organları kadar gergin ve yerinde olan bir iki it ürümesinin söylemleri rahatsız etmedi ama beni, beni rahatsız eden onların pek tabii ve daimi varlıkları oldu bu götünü siktiğimin düzeninde.

Be amına kodumun çocukları, kredi kartı limitiniz bittiğinde, sevgiliniz başka bir adamınkini haberiniz yokken ağzına aldığında, çok sevdiğiniz televizyon dizileriniz yayından kaldırıldığında, üzerine oturduğunuz yarrakların konukları değiştiğinde, size kim bakar bir sorun kendinize?

I've had a girlfriend when i was 18 years old. I loved her, we dated like 2.5 years. I believe at some point she genuinely loved me too. Our relationship was not ordinary, we went through many things together. We shared our most personal pains and we did everything.

I never said i was in love with her, not even once.

I think she understood, she never asked if i ever loved her or not, that's why i loved her.

It's just, i never loved anything but bringing that up was too tiring, at one point, i did bring it up.

I told her i never loved anyone or anything, i was a loveless little prick and i blamed the world for it.

We were crossing the street and she held my hand and said "I never loved anyone or anything too, let's hate everything together, at least together, it wouldn't be so lonely right?"

That was genuine, in the end she and i had to go our seperate ways and i blamed her for it, but hey, what can you do.

She still says she hates everything, she is still true to herself and i admire her about this. But now she says she learned hate is a personal thing and you cannot share it with another, so she is out there, hating the world alone.

She went on a quest to find another one who can share her hate.

When we were separated, i started to dabble around the concept of "love". Like how it supposed to make you feel, how can you love someone, how can you be "in" love with someone, it was so alien to me, i didn't even comprehend the basics of it you know?

Then i met with someone else, she was a complete headcase but then again average Jane's always bore me so i accepted that part of myself. Anyway, that someone made me feel some feelings, it was ok at some point but certain time had passed i started to lost my control over my feelings, in the end she and i had to go on seperate ways too, she damaged me i damaged her things were said and done but it was OK. It was a brief period of stupidity on my part to let my emotions go on a rampage like that.

But in the end, the girlfriend i dated for like 2.5 years had gone on a quest to find out more about her hatred and i've gone on a quest to find more about love.

I met with her recently, she said i had changed, i've became a less sincere person, my mask had become harder my shell had become thicker. She said i was not the person she liked.

She had no emotions besides her hatred but in the end she stayed true to her one identifiable emotion and that way she never lost herself. On the other hand, i dabbled in emotions that i didn't understand and that made me a abomination, i get sad in weird situations, i get angry in unnecessary people, that "learning to love" process fucked with my head so much it made some perma changes in my character.

So i tell you kids, stay true to your familiar emotions in case you don't wanna be fucked in your head like me.

They say that the first line should get you in. While how's this for a first line? I've just shot my best friend. 
I did it with a .32 calibre Smith & Wesson revolver. In fact, the barrel is still warm, and the pungent smell of hot, smoking metal is somewhat satisfying to the nostrils. I shot five times... just for the hell of it. 


I'm a writer. I specialise in short murder mysteries, so is not unusual that I keep a gun. Actually I have several. It helps establish authenticity when you can actually look at the object you describing. Besides which, I enjoy collecting them. I have an 18th century flintlock pistol in pride of place over my Mantel, along with several trophies earned through my involvement with the pistol club. 
Although I've had three books of short stories published, I'm working on my first novel. My publisher would like it completed in six weeks. Fat chance! After all been through these last few months, I'll be lucky to have it finished this year. 


Six months ago, while riding high on the success of my third book, I discovered my husband was having an affair. 
It came as a complete surprise, though in retrospect, I guess I hadn't really been taking much notice of David. I was busy with my career, and I suppose I to my marriage had granted. 


I hadn't noticed that he was coming in later and later each evening, nor had I paid any attention to his excuses. I was completely involved in my work. I was married, in a sense, to my word processor. 
A typical day from me is one where I lock myself away in my office fro 7 am until around noon, working solidly at my machine. I have lunch, then walk for an hour with my St Bernard, Achates, through the fields around my farm. I love the peace and tranquillity of the farm, yet it's only a 20 minutes drive to the city,where, unfortunately I often need to be. 


At two, are usually make all obligatory phone calls, or run any errands before settling back into my office at three, and working until 9 p.m. a fairly rigid schedule, but one that any dedicated writer would find necessary. 
There are, however, deviations from all schedules. On the day of my last book launch, I had the book signing session to attend in the city, and an appointment to take Achates to the vet, after which I had arranged to meet my publisher, Rusty Chan for lunch 
My husband's office in the law firm Martin, Maguire and Hamilton, is just across the road from the restaurant. As I was a little early from my luncheon appointment, I decided to make an impromptu call on David. I walked into the foyer of the building, and as I waited for the lift to take me to his office on the 13th floor, I noticed a red Mercedes convertible pull up outside the building. 


I recognise the car is belonging to Diane Lane, a woman I have known to 10 years, and whom I considered a good friend and confidante. It was, in fact Diane who had encouraged me to write. 
In the passenger seat was David. This immediately struck me as odd because I'd always thought that David never cared much for Diane. "too prim and proper", he always said. The next thing I saw was Diane slip her scheming arms around my husbands conniving neck as he delivered a passionate, lingering kiss on her prim and proper lips. 


The lift door opened. Dazed,I got in and press the button for the 25th floor and the roof of the building. 
An icy wind tugged at my hair as I leaned over the railing and gazed down at the streets. I saw the red Mercedes drive away, and the end that was my miserable husband enter the building. I felt angry, betrayed and humiliated. How could I not have known! And how they both must have laughed at me. 


At home later that afternoon, I placed the floor trying to decide what to do. Then the phone rang. It was the vet with some devastating news. I was told that my beloved Achates had an inoperable tumour in her stomach. It was terminal. "Six months", he said. "It would be kinder to have her put to sleep". 
In one afternoon, my whole world had collapsed around me. I'd been betrayed by two people I loved and trusted. And now, the ultimate irony. I was being forced to betray my most loyal and unconditionally loving companion. I felt helpless and out-of-control. 


I locked myself in my office and cried tears of frustration, grief and anger. I had no want to talk to-to share my heartache, and my heart truly felt as though it would break. I tried to imagine life without David, and somehow that prospect didn't seem as dismal as life without Achates. 
I managed to transfer my feelings of lost to my word processor, and sometime later, I began to type furiously, filling the screen over and over with words and emotions that just seemed to pour from me. 


The plot began to form, a storyline developed, and quite by accident that afternoon, the skeleton of a rather good novel was created. 
So here I am, six months down the track, still working on that novel. Rusty is excited, as all good publishers are when their favourite author is about to produce their best work. 


Sadly, I made the most difficult decision of my life, and had Achates put to sleep shortly after the diagnosis of her tumour. 
I may do not so difficult decision and divorced David three months ago, almost immediately after which he married Diane-in a very "prim and proper" wedding ceremony. 


And after a long and fruitful association, I parted company with my word processor. It was my very best friend, yet its betrayed me too. An electronic malfunction caused it to wipe to entire chapters of my novel. A major setback, and quite unforgivable. 


I bought a brand-new computer yesterday, and since the word processor was declared officially beyond repair, I decided to use it for target practice. 


I promise you, it didn't feel a thing.