Putting the dawn to sleep

 

“Putting the dawn to sleep.”

I misheard what he said. Until I looked up the title of the song, I thought that was the title. And I loved the title I mistook. I would very much like to put the dawn to sleep. Holding off the rising sun. Inviting the dreams back.

But I found that I loved the actual song with the correct title more than any other song in the world. It sang to me. Me, a dog with a broken leg. The correct title was

“Putting the dog to sleep.”

Just introducing that song to me did make my day, my year, or several years. That was the song which I would like to hear when I die. And until I die. Over and over. And over and over. And over and over.

All the lyrics go like this.

Prove to me
I’m not gonna die alone
Put your arm’ round my collar bone
And open the door

Don’t lie to me
If you’re putting the dog to sleep
That pet you just couldn’t keep
And couldn’t afford

Well, prove to me
I’m not gonna die alone
Unstitch that shit I’ve sewn
To close up the hole, that tore through my skin

Well my trust in you
Is a dog with a broken leg
Tendons too torn to beg
For you let me back in

You said I can’t prove to you
You’re not gonna die alone
But trust me take you home
To clean up that blood all over your paws

You can’t keep running out
Kicking yourself off the bed
Kicking yourself in the head
Because you’re kicking me too

Put your trust in me
I’m not gonna die alone
Put your trust in me
I’m not gonna die alone
I don’t think so

So, after I put my dawn to sleep, I will go back to this music as I see each line of the lyric inscribed in the back of my eyelids, in my bed, wherever, whenever; and forever… feeling my heart squeezed with warm hands.

<October 3rd, 2017, written upon the spark “the inscription of the bedroom ceiling”> 

Sanctuary

Sanctuary

a cafe in HongKong

a cold beer, a long slender glass

the name remains

I wonder if it is still there.

 

The Crumbs

in the midtown Manhattan

SPACE FOR RENT

the sign will be gone soon

the memories will be washed out with it.

 

Woodstock

a music cafe on the ground floor

I heard Lenard Cohen’s voice for the first time there

Bonnie and Clyde poster on the wall

long gone, that time of my life.

 

dots,

steps,

memory works in funny way,

and I want to look at

yours.

 

My heart hardens sometimes…

my tightly sewn neck

didn’t allow turning my head

that was the moment

my mind gave in

and I sat there,

cried.

 

from time to time

my memory flew back to that parking lot

that morning

I was devastated

losing my power in control

which enabled me holding myself together for several months against that battle.

 

life is totally personal,

totally alone; we can expereince only ourselves

but sometimes,

the dread of the aloneness I felt that morning

sneaks into my body

and hardens my heart.

 

I knew that I was the one

didn’t ask anything to anyone

dying must be easier than confessing my weakness,

my sadness,

for me at that time,

maybe for me now too.

 

the old habits are hard to get rid of

I put on those without noticing,

even with all those self-development shits I’ve done,

I reach to that thick heavy coat in haste,

smelling like sorrow, giving more chills than warmth,

and bury my head deep under the worn familiar threads; shivering…

 

My moon

evading

failed

waves

don’t want to ride this time

sigh…

 

read some lines I wrote before the summer

you made my life sparkle in the mud.

 

shine

not taking anything from anyone

just shine, that is okay

well,

thanks for telling me that.

 

what I have pursued in my life might not be the right one for me

maybe I am losing the world and I am losing the people

maybe I am losing the valuable things that I am supposed to keep

maybe I released my grip too hastily to reach for nothing; the unworthy

but this is me; sad and stupid me. I couldn’t dissolve me into the timid water, called “supposed to”.

 

the moon every night different; ever changing but never evolving.

close or far,

you are there

gazing at my presence

with your calm luminance; in the dark.

 

A day

jungle…

loved Kusadasi,

met J’s dad by chance, really by chance?

suddenly people are too close,

need some breathing room.

 

Hrabal…

does it matter?

hopes for hope

people forget

the wonderful stupidity that makes people alive.

 

desire…

like the moon

only full for a moment

then,

wanes.

 

you still there?

take me home

put me to sleep

the ultimate surrender

on your lap.

 

the warmth…

to my journey into the night,

curling up,

dessicating my existence

like those petals on your bookshelf.

 

The birds ate my crumbs

eagle

my dog snores nowadays.

he is right behind my chair sleeping; I can’t move.

hook

the moon was beautiful last night.

I wonder if I ever snore.

grip

I want some sweets.

still sitting.

Hansel and Gretel

the birds ate my crumbs.

I lost the thread.

nails

the oven door is broken

it rained all day.

imprint

I changed my scent.

the disguised animal instinct; with fragrance.

fall

did I fly?

I drove my son to Buffalo Wild Wings.

soar

….

up to the pink clouds

look at me, look at me.

sing

the soaked words

I love them too much.

checkpoint

soon the season of boots

up to ankles, up to knees, up to nose

lies

the swarm of bees

honey is too sweet not to be stolen

soul

nobody buys

even devil isn’t interested in any more.

spin

the world, the days, the spoon

we should eat somehow

snore

the sun down, no moon tonight.

sweet dreams that can never be taken.

Freud

what are you saying?

don’t put the psycho-chopsticks into the sacred.

sink

deep into the night.

the bed, the warmth, the memory.

timeless

the windows that poured the light in.

I lost the world in that space.

solid

get back to my Ashley.

I’ll write again and again until she truly dies.

trivial

those things grab my heart.

I treasure them.

undiscernible

driving in the fog

to the bottomless mumbles.

morning

surely it will come.

will it?

 

<Septmeber 5th, 2017>