Not lying when eating in bed.

Wife: Do you think the new purchase brings us closer?
Husband: Brings us closer?
Wife: Yes, that’s what I think the pleasure caused by buying something new.
Husband: Yeah, that’s true.
Wife: You’re a tight-lipped leech.
Husband: Don’t even heat it up.
Wife: Sometimes, you seem very beautiful to me.
Husband: Hahaha.
Wife: I miss the snow. Take me to Bakuriani.
Husband: Let’s go next year.
Wife: I’d go to the village, but nothing can warm up the cold rooms.
Husband: And the rats.
Wife: Hahaha.

Edgar Allan Poe's raven,
A devourer of carrion,
The raven of the underworld,
Gustave Doré's ravens...
A black raven perches on manganese.

You entered my kitchen,
a magnificent, radiant light.
I wanted to say magical words,
but I couldn’t dare.
I loved you,
You said nothing,
but made me feel
that you understood my pain.

I watch as the wind stirs my black curtain,
it’s 20:09.
I’m cooling my green tea.

Today, I’ll probably plan nothing,
sudden decisions unsettle me.

But as Kafka would say, perhaps once, by our actions, we should surprise ourselves and others, even if it’s just an impulsive stroll…

From the windows of the building across, silhouettes can be seen in the light,
it’s the loveliest stretch of summer.

I feel how you touch your body,
like the gentle melting of ice in spring.
I'll tell you the story of Scheherazade,
and together we'll listen to Antar.

Snow melted on hair,
A cheerful child, all laughing,
Stuffed snow in pockets.

*

A poor man ate bread,
Sipped his tea, lost in thought
A sad bird flew off.

I place my slippers by the bed,
Hoping I’ll wake up to find them where I left them,
I do this over and over, feeling the same.

Habits, feelings are ours—
Our manners when we open a beer can or simply glance at something, someone.
No one can change our behaviors,
Though we might imitate another's manner for a while,
Like the weather, never repeated,
We can't become someone else.

An actor brought a book character to life,
But in my mind, they remained different.

As the years pass, we betray our habits,
Just as our altered bodies betray us,
Yet mannerism still dwells within us.

Woman: Tell me, how can I surprise you?

Man: Send me a picture where your long hair is flowing over your shoulders, and your chest is visible.

Woman: You've never had such desires before.

Man: You've awakened something new in me. I just want to touch you.

Woman: There's a great distance between us.

Man: I believe in love online.

Woman: I understand.

Man: I'll definitely come to you, see you. I want us to have fun in a hotel, drink, and have ***.

Woman: That sounds very good, but I'd like us to meet in a year, during winter, in freezing, cold weather.

They never met. What's more, they ended up arguing.

Google Assistant is reminding me that my birthday is coming up, I'm turning 34, and this age doesn't make me happy anymore. It especially annoys me when people call once a year just for this and don't think of me the rest of the time.

I think I'll go somewhere,
Freezing in winter I'll settle alone.

I pondered on the fallen angel.

No matter how dark my thoughts are on the essence of the universe,
I love the piercing Cold so much.

Even God grows evil.

I pondered on the fallen angel.

Poetry is not prose!

I'll settle in Alaska.
Black branches, Naked branches.

With anarchist behaviors We turn our backs on all the proud ones - I thought about virtue, forgiveness - But no, Even God grows evil.
I love winter, Black branches.

Poetry is not prose!

I have grown a lot,
my brain is growing,
the knots in my brain are untying.
I want to be small,
I am in despair,
Or like Alice…

I feel light,
as if right before death
or maybe I’m already dead and writing.
Who can make sense of life?
I’ll just go out onto the balcony,
smoke a cigarette,
keep up the routine,
and act as if I’m alive.

I created an ambient music playlist on Spotify I'll probably listen to it when I decide to meditate, but I think it's a really good one.

You wear a long black coat,
your hair falls over your shoulders,
You  have  Chloe perfume.
Your life simply isn’t like anyone else’s,
you never wanted to be someone else.
You drink white semi-dry wine.
You have everything,
maybe that’s why you’re alone.
You read Agota Kristof,
you don’t smoke and you work out.
You are sad,
and everyone like you is sad.

Life will destroy us if we surrender, if we let people deeply into our hearts, they will hurt us. Let us turn our backs on all the arrogant!

Once, a poet told me a story
about a charming girl
who received compliments from everyone,
But one day, her cousin arrived
someone even more beautiful.
The girl’s beauty faded into the shadows.
She grew despondent.
Her mother told her,
“When sadness visits you, sing.”

It’s a cold day, sunless,
I took a walk outside,
The chill reaches down to the bones,
People move swiftly by.
Markets are bustling,
Prices on products
Are already high.

Is every book really a book? Some authors are at such a low point, yet someone will come along and say, "This is great," and that’s how even such an author gets motivation...

Babette: Don’t dream make your dreams a reality.
Lea: When I see an expensive hotel on the street, I get the urge to strip down and lie in its bathtub.
Babette: Convince yourself that you’re already there naked, lying in the bathtub, maybe with a man beside you.
Lea: I don’t need a man.
Babette: How could you not? What about someone like Hugo?
Lea: Oh, maybe... but he probably had too many women. Could I really waste my love on a man like that?
Babette: Let’s have a drink.
Lea: Let’s get some Italian Aperol.
Babette: Oh, that’s a great idea.

Fly away black bird,
perhaps you’ll encounter a carcass
or someone kind
will offer it to you.
You’ll hide in the dry bushes with food,
Your black feathers will flutter in the wind,
satisfied and full,
your body
will heavily descend again to the ground.

The wind stirs my black curtain.
I hear the sound of branches,
The wind sweeps the dry grass on the fields,
Like waves on the sea.
Cold hearts,
Like the black curtain.
If you go to heaven without me,
Or even to hell,
My heart will fall asleep.
Love is as dark
As a moonless night
In an impenetrable forest.
Bats must long for such nights.
The black curtain rustles—
The night is not so long for me.
I am like a fallen angel
Whose paradise is taken away,
Yet Cupid strikes me
With an arrow of love.
The black curtain rustles,
For me, the nights aren’t so long.

Our bodies
Real,
Painful,
Beautiful,
Sometimes beautifully ugly,
We wither,
Age,
Shrink,
What matters is to accept them as they are
Or fight for how
We want them to be,
Our souls merge with each other,
While our bodies, intertwined like branches,
Bodies seek love.

I used to have a neighbor
who would gnaw on chicken bones.
He said that the chicken's brain is in its bones,
he brought fat chickens roasted them,
removed their bones, and gnawed on them.
As a vegetarian, seeing this made my heart ache.

Somewhere far away
meadows,
a small spring,
the sound of a lyre,
smiling people.

In cornfields,
peasants working.

I searched for a medicinal herb.

In the village where my grandmother lives,
chestnuts are plentiful,
encased in prickly shells.
They drop from the trees,
hitting the ground with a thud,
and crack open to reveal their fruit inside.
I love collecting them,
immersed in the magical stillness of the forest.
The scent of rhododendron luteum sweet, unforgotten.
Our years resemble stones,
stacked one atop the other.

Madness, like a human's mark,
It claims that everything is fine,
It plays, as for it, God has changed,
Faith is either exalted or diminished.
Signs are everywhere,
It has become the center of the universe,
It has absorbed every book,
This treacherous ailment
Has added uncontrollable power.
It plays with colorful thoughts.

Clergymen live in luxury, I wrote to them, asking what they think about the idea that Satan might punish them for it if God doesn't have time. They blocked me.

The president drinks Coca-Cola, just like we do, says marketing. Oh, what a privilege.

The wind flutters your black cloak,
You smoke a cigarette
With a hand frozen from the cold,
The red fragments of your heart
Are piled beneath your feet,
You’re going nowhere
Because of your love’s hold.

It was a beautiful morning
When I stepped out onto the balcony and saw a crow.
It seemed as if it had been waiting for me-
Me, who was going through an existential crisis.

I felt the urge to throw some food to the crow from the balcony.
I knew my grandmother always kept meat in the house.
I opened the fridge and tossed the crow a piece of meat.
It quickly caught the scent of raw flesh,
Grasped it in its beak, and disappeared.

Do not turn on the light, for you will scare away
the evil forces that have entered your home,
forces that sing.
And perhaps Satan does not exist,
if evil itself does not exist.
Then there will be no God to protect us,
and perhaps God has abandoned us
because there is evil in this world.
We have angered them all together,
nourishing the soil with human flesh and blood.
I must drink wine
to forget my rotten life.

I am not afraid of death,
It has simply taken root,
Killing everyone in its reach...
I never attend funerals.

Where is utopia or disappointment in death?
Or maybe the stretched-out black silence
is death in hell
when neither the devil sings to lead you to him,
nor does God.
a suicide,
lying in the darkness at a crossroads.

I want to live in a house where silence reigns,
to hear the echo of sounds drifting in from the yard.
To live like the beautiful tales written on the pages of a book,
to love like Juliet,
and to be able to die with her.
He will come in the evening, open the door,
we'll talk simply.
Our desires are the same,
don’t we all long for peace.

I used to write by hand, but I don't anymore because I kept losing my diaries. I lost my first diary back in school, my teacher told me, 'I'll read your poems,' and then the diary disappeared. I was too shy to say, 'Please give me my diary.' Now I have a tablet, and I always leave it at home.

Today
In the outlets, they were giving out flowers for Valentine's Day.
It was a foggy day.
I bought The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson.
I think I dressed a bit hippie, as usual, and my hair is dyed.
I just liked myself today, or rather, yesterday. This doesn’t happen often, I’m not really a narcissist.

We die when we are no longer respected; at that moment, we simply wither like a flower left without water.

Black dreams

Never scared me.

Kubin's mystical dreams mean nothing.

Once, I used to gaze at the dark moon,
I wandered through the abyss,
I saw the snake’s skin,
My heart was not this dark,
I felt more love,
I read Beddoes,
Everything has grown colder.

Nothing disappears from the earth,
What is of the earth stays with the earth.

Feed the earth flesh,
So it may be fertile.
We eat carrion
It sounds revolting!

Do not close the coffin doors,
I have fears.
Don't bury my hands,
Let the animals eat them
For we eat them,
It sounds revolting.

Dead trees will come to life again.

Food is a pleasure if the flavor is like the ingredients.

Perhaps the source of immortality exists,
If it truly does, I don’t want it.
I only wish there were an elixir of eternal youth.
Scientists, through cellular rejuvenation, may likely achieve this result.
I would simply ponder how worthwhile these scientific interventions are.

I always wanted to have a white dress like Emily Dickinson's, and if I could, I would never leave my room.

I wear black clothes.
The world is dark for me,
I notice bloodstains on the snow,
Someone has been sacrificed to death again,
The gate of evil does not close.
My heart is as dark as a black cloud,
Perhaps one day I will no longer wake up,
I will vanish into eternity.

Sandcastles,
Collapsing like our dreams.
At the end of the night,
We feel the chill of dawn.

Draw a silent fish,
With water gathered in its mouth.
Victims of our surroundings,
We follow the earth,
Cracked like it.

In the sand of mistakes,
A mother brews Turkish coffee.

Eternity ends for us when our time runs out,
when love dies with us.
We either turn to soil or to ashes,
yet somewhere, we will still exist
we cannot erase our trace.

Newton was the name of the garden where I sat,
My knees were tired,
My hands rested on my tired knees.
After much walking, I wandered into this quiet garden.
I can think of nothing but fatigue,
With two kilometers left to reach home.
A breeze blows,
I almost want to lie beneath the trees and sleep,
Even if an unholy dream comes to me,
I probably can’t risk sleeping here,
I simply don’t want to lose my credit card again.
I count and feel every step that leads me home,
Fatigue turns us into people
Stuck in crisis, in dead ends.

Rosehips remain on the bushes,
someone sings about God aging.
In the cold winter, I craved ice cream
a mix of strawberry and vanilla.

I’ve weathered crises,
my brain’s convolutions feel heavy.
I can feel the flow of my blood.
An old man sits on a car, dying.

I’m afraid of cars,
afraid of collisions, of accidents.
I drop ice cubes into lemonade;
even in winter, I love cold drinks and food.

My grandmother knits socks for me.
I’m afraid she’s grown old,
afraid of losing her.

The sunset heralds the coming night
in winter, darkness falls quickly.