++Magazine

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

I’m angry! With the world, with people, with myself, with the way my life goes on every day. Every time I see somebody smiling I want to slam his or her face on the curb, American History X style! I wasn’t always like this. My friends used to describe me as a happy guy. ‘You mean Joe. Yeah he’s always smiling. I’d describe him as a happy guy’ that’s what they’d say about me. Or that’s what they used to say. Now everything has changed.

I can’t look in a mirror anymore. I’m ashamed of that wrinkled, old, grey guy.

My whole life I postponed the things I really wanted to do because I was too busy doing stuff I had to do. At least, things I thought I had to do. Now at the end of the road I’ve finally found the guts to do what I’ve always wanted to do: write. But it’s too late. I have the feeling that my capabilities to learn are already long gone and I’m only capable of repeating the same writings everyday in a slightly different setting. It just simply isn’t the middle of my life anymore. I’m probably at eight ninths. Where is the time for major improvements making me the new Chekhov or even the new grocery store novel writer?

I miss my wife. If she still would be here I would have never started this silly writing.

Look at me, what am I doing? Not everybody is creative. But in this world of possibilities it’s hard to know what you’re good at and what you’re not good at. It was a good book I have to admit. Not brilliant, but definitely better then what I’ve written. Or at least it was different then my work. The way he describes things is so much more vivid. I can almost smell and feel the things he describes, whereas my stories get lost in mathematical formulas without the entertaining Dan Brown theories to hold them together.

I don’t know. It’s hard to comment on something that is so close to you.

But how could it happen that a gift from my wife and me to this wretched world could turn out to be the ending of my happiness. I don’t get it. They say kids are a blessing and they are. Until they get older and you get older. You see your time goes by faster and faster and all the realistic options you had in life turn into dreams that you don’t even dare to dream anymore. And then I look at him: my pride, my only love in life, my son, my seed. I see him do things I didn’t dare. I see him choose for his dream life just like I encouraged him. I wanted him to succeed so badly and feel so proud of him now that he has won that prize.

I’m regular. He’s not. I’m an accountant. He’s a writer.

Normally a pathetic story like mine would end with suicide. Characters that have so much self-pity as I do normally tend to give up, because they think there’s no way of turning back and there’s nothing in life left living for. I never liked those quasi-intellectual fatalistic endings and I’ve never liked giving up. I hope my savior comes in these painful times. That the ugly and egoistic way I feel, shows me a bigger picture. I hope that my best days are still ahead of me. I would even start to believe in God if it would improve my writings. There’s no failing in hoping is there?

I should have had breakfast. I smell like gas. Or like rotten eggs. I can’t tell what my smell is and what the smell of the old lady next to me is. She looks like she hasn’t moved an inch for a couple of years. The sun is rising. The birds are too tired to make a sound. The leaves are gone, leaving the trees as lonely as our bus is on the road. Yet the bus is half full. Full of people who have to be here. On their way to someplace where they probably rather wouldn’t be. But we must, because we are the workers. I feel a union between us. Like we’re all from the same religion or political party. We chose to be these people and now we share these morning bus rides to confirm we are alike.

I look around and see a guy in his fluorescent overall with brown spots on it. Probably works in the sewerage. Maybe that was the smell? There’s a couple sitting two benches away from me. They are old. Or really tired. I think they own a bakery or a sandwich shop. They definitely have bread written all over them. They both have blonde wigs. The guy’s is a little better. I bet he’s pretty good at singing folk songs. She just sits and watches her husband proudly, while their friends in the pub are trying to sing along. I think they know I’m thinking of them. I look away.

The bus slows down and the doors open. Still five minutes left till my stop. A lady wearing high heels and a black shiny suit enters. She doesn’t belong here with us. While she buys a ticket, the draft makes her long brown hair fly like Monroe’s skirt. She walks towards me, in slow motion it seems, spreading her scent to all of those who were waiting for it. Is she coming to save us from our misery? Is she our Jesus? She sits down in front of me. I’m awake. And so is something in my pants. Morning wood? It’s still too earl for that. Maybe the bumps in the road are giving me this satisfying vibration? It can’t be her. I thought I was passed that.

I remember when this used to happen when I was younger. A lot younger. Sitting front row in the corner in high school. Always in the corner so I could look at everybody when I was sitting sideways, facing the teacher. Classes were boring, but my Math teacher wasn’t. She was the opposite. Unless if that would make her entertaining. She was more than that. I remember the day it started. She was wearing a blouse with a lot of buttons. One was missing. The third one from the top. The one that gave me a peek into Walhalla. What a difference a button makes. I felt like Pinocchio, but then in my pants. I didn’t know what was happening, but I liked it.

Shit!! Only two blocks left. It won’t go away. Think of ugly things. Ugly Betty, Beetlejuice, old people’s feet, Two Girls One Cup. Come on, shrink! I feel possessed like the Excorcist and I’m trying to find the holy water. What happened to dick control? I read all those Internet articles about breathing slowly and relaxing your buttocks and look at me now! Then suddenly. Eeeerghh!! The tires of the bus squeal, while the driver is stopping. It’s my stop. I jump up out off my seat. I look down and as quick as it came, it left. Whoo Hah! I’m ready for this new day!