cant control the tin head

i dance even my head s an empty pot with iron beads inside, cause maybe i can catch the rhytm, be a part of this song, an instrument in it. i want to be just one thing, and one thing only. i wanna be the cymbal, since the shiniest it is. am i grasping it.
is this something.

song of the day: hava(si) kapali sicak gunde 'on an island in the sun' by weezer.

korku kalbi yavaslatirken

it's like a vampire story. not a one-to-one simile, though. it's at night, looking over the city lights. that part looks and feels alike.

i can't produce my own blood cells anymore, let's say. and i need others blood to run in my veins, either one person to keep me alive, or otherwise i need to collect from their remains, what they leave on their art, writings, songs. 24 hour music, cinema and
architecture is where i scavenge. 7/24 i need other's stuff running through my nerves to keep me humane. to keep me from drying out and needing to 'birbirine yapisip kalan sinirlerin arasindan, gercegi ve kendimi -bir nevi masumiyeti- ayaklayip bulmak, her defasinda'.

frying and needing. scarcity of emotions. scarycity of this. all that.