++Magazine

Goddamn! Have you ever felt like a wannabe? A poser? A fraud? Somebody who wants to be something he just isn’t? Well, I feel like that everyday. I claim to be a positive guy and smile a lot to back that claim, but sometimes I just feel like a jealous bitch. A good friend of mine just started with a column on a Dutch newspaper website and I feel very happy for her. I really do. I love her and see her as family and want her to have everything she wants, because she deserves it. The thing is that her success makes me feel like I have failed. With this ++mag site, the friends that write for this site and the emptiness in that nobody else reads this. That newspaper friend and I are the same age, yet she is somewhere I can only dream of being one day. Her writing has a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ that is so much more refined and writer-like than my scribbling. So why am I even trying to write? I mean there are so many people that write on their blogs, share with us their little stories that they think are going to change the world. Just like I do. But reality is: Who gives a fuck?! Are people waiting to read this endless insecurities? I feel like a wannabe singer who enters ‘Who Wants To Be An Idol?’ thinking he’s the new Justin, while the whole world looks at him and sees the a-melodic, a-rhythmical guy he is and just laughs at him.

The thing is that this inability to produce something creative is a fundamental problem in my life. And I don’t think I’m the only one. In writing these personal stories I hope that somebody will read this and be like ‘I’m not the only one! There is still hope!’ Because I think there is a group of people who are blessed with insecurities and a very negative perfectionism. If I would take the time I use on thinking about writing, designing the cover of my first novel or making up the speech for my first award,  and use this time on real writing, I might be somewhere. However I feel like I’m mentally blocked in putting myself to the test. I think so much about doing, that the only thing I really do is think!

And how to change? I mean, how do you change from thinking constantly to somebody who just does what he fantasizes or talks about? Should I read ‘The Power of Now’ or ‘The Secret’? Should I see a shrink? Try LSD to release my creative mind from its inhibitors? Or is this just who you are? A piece of my personality and will I die wondering what the answer really was to how I could change? I’m scared of that day. Not the dying part, but the part where I look in the mirror and see a fifty five year old guy with gray hair and bags under his eye, who is still working on his first novel, has never published anything except his blogs, has never developed his technique and is still waiting for that day when he isn’t that perfectionist anymore and just writes like he has done thousands of times in his dreams. I don’t want to be that guy. The letters that appear on this digital paper while I write is my savior from being that guy. It doesn’t have to be good or be big. I just want to have the feeling that life hasn’t passed me by. I don’t want to stand on the sideline and see the rest of my friends evolve and achieve their goals and happiness, while I stand and cheer for them but at the end of the night go back to my dream life. And I don’t mean that in the nice sense of the word. So this must be my therapeutic outlet and at least I can lie to myself and be like ‘Hey, well at least I tried to be a writer and gave everything I had’.

Her earrings still lay there on the same spot. The dust had already covered parts of it and formed an extra layer on the couch. For him it was evidence of a seldom moment of happiness in his life.

It was a Tuesday night around two weeks ago. That Sunday he had recovered from another meaningless drinking and going out night with his friends on Saturday. Monday was always a day of deception for him. How hopeful he always started the first day of the week with bright new ideas and a list full of possibilities. But at the end of the day it was always the same downbeat, almost depressed feeling of the inability to actually change something in his life. So Tuesday was traditionally the start of the new new week for him.

After throwing away another day of his life doing the accounting of a random money lusting company, he met up with his two college friends, the only friends he had. It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to be social, but he just didn’t like people. They made him so sad because he thought most of them were just living without thinking and for him they were a waste of space. Normally on Tuesdays they would eat out, but this Tuesday there was something strange in the air. They did go for a quick bite, but one of his friends knew a girl he worked with whose brother had his birthday in an Irish pub close to them. ‘Might as well pop by since we aren’t doing anything better’ and they were persuaded.

So they went to the pub, not knowing the birthday boy or anybody else except for the sister. It was nothing special: starting out all awkward like a high-school house party, but after two hours filled with beers and shots everybody was mingling. And it was about then when he saw her. No spots on her, no hair or skirt waving in the wind, no angelic choir singing. Just jeans, a blouse and black curly hair. But she had something in her eyes. A spark was it? She looked at him and gave him a Mona Lisa smile. Already pretty tipsy he had the balls to leave his friends, who were auditioning to become a piece of the interior of the bar, and walk over to her. He was tipsy enough not to over think everything but just go for it. No quirky opening line just a ‘hey, what’s up?’ Her smile made him feel on top of the world. He felt so light and strong. He knew it: this was meant to be.

The rest of the night went by so fast. Why are all the good parts of life always fast-forwarded through? No pause button and it was over before you could blink your eye. He was so drunk that night he couldn’t even remember her name the next day. The only thing that he used as proof to convince himself that they got down, were a couple of black curly hair in his bed, the earrings on the couch, the used condom in his trashcan and the eight scratch marks on his back, four on each side.

The first week after that went by as fast as can, still he felt like in some kind of high. Even work seemed like fun because occasionally he would relive the parts he remembered from that night and smile. His colleagues were amazed that their normally emotionally dead looking co-worker turned into a semi-happy guy. That weekend he didn’t go out but stayed in and watched movies and had red wine, alone. Still lingering. But the beginning of the second week that happiness had started to make place for longing for that Tuesday. He didn’t have her number, or just didn’t remember where he had written it down. He wanted to feel what he felt that Tuesday. It wasn’t fair, he was a nice guy and he was still the same guy he was that day. Why couldn’t he have what he had that day everyday? Desperate, he called his friend asking him if he had the number of the sister so he could call the birthday brother and ask him who that girl was. ‘I didn’t invite her, because I don’t know her. I thought you guys knew her’. So she came to the pub but wasn’t part of the party. He felt lost and pretty annoyed. The happiness that day gave him was gone.

Now another Tuesday was arriving. He was tidying the house and understood that the past weeks he had been lingering on that single Tuesday night almost a month ago. How pathetic not to go out and make one night so big. But that’s what he felt. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or more even thinking about the wonderful feeling he had after that day. He wanted that feeling. He already had decided not to go out that weekend, but go out on Tuesday again. Plans to do everything the same: same clothes, same breakfast, same lunch, same after-work quick bite, and then same pub. Hoping for a renewed period of happiness.

1.
A song for the sad

I wish I died sooner
Cause life is too hard
Don’t want to give up
But I’m not moving forward

I’ve let go of my goals
The weight is off my shoulders
I look around and see nothing,
Smell nothing, care bout nothing

Tylenol, XTC or Aspirins
I’ve lost track
I take them all
Looking for better days

No more tears
No more sad
Just me
And my remaining time

By Ufuk Asik
—–

2.
The sound of coming

Kama Sutra, Yoga, Buddha
I want to know it all
It’s the only time when I seem to be free
Letting it all out
On her face and in her mouth

I look in the mirror
And see this guy with his dick in his hand
The sparkle in my eye makes me say:
Ain’t life grand!

By Stephane Mbeki
—–

3.
Didn’t we live here?

The Jews are coming
Close your doors
Hide your children
This isn’t the time for joking

The Jews are coming
To claim our country
No one’s going to help you
They gave them money

The Jews are coming
Don’t just sit there, do something
Total chaos
Look at everybody running

The Jews are coming
To take away our freedom
Until one day Karma kicks in
And gives peace a chance to win

By Ilkin Yildiz
—–

4.
Disco Fever

I’m addicted to dancing
When I do it I’m happy
No tomorrow, no career
Just me and the beat

My body understands it
Moving my feet
It’s not about others
But about freedom

Don’t look at me like that
I’m not insane
Can’t stop anymore
I’ve got Disco Fever

By Martha Gilroy
—–

5.
Camel

Cramp in my feet
Must have been the driving
Did I turn off the gas?

These people stink
Big mustaches and white shirts
I hate religion

The sea is cold
Diarrhea is on its way
Hey look! A camel!

By Nebil Guven
—–

6.
Jesus H. Christ

Fingers like a pig
Are you dumb?
Look at your fucking kid

No respect for my rules
Just do whatever you want
You’re no Christian

I’m going to tell
My dad, he’s going to
Send you to hell!

By Zeynep Aydin