from SUNDAY diary (1)

PLATFORM, METRO, SHAPES, PASSENGERS, VIBRATOR, FUNK SHOES

now at Nilufer station -- wind cleansing the platform, the new snow covers the mountains, the swish of cars on the wet highways on either side of me -- the green Bursaray slides away and I'm waiting for the roar of another. the screech and squeal of brakes and beeps and electric robot sounds; bump and bling tone of the female intercom; and the train dives in and out of the ground into the tunnels like a dolphin -- passing through triangles of hills, blocks of homes, snowy spikes and domes of mosques -- Uludag mountain lost in the morning mist.

people on the metro are framed in the yellow handle bars -- men with strong faces, rock hard and a steady gaze with a thick blanket of whiskers and burly moustache. strong-faced girls, but attractive.. and i imagine these people ruling the world like they once did. they're dressed in browns, greys, greens, blacks. dark dreary coats.

swiftly past the pharmacies, splitting through the highway, an ax through a hair; banks, restaurants, Tuborg signs, Efes signs, mechanics, pet stores. good bye Nilufer station, Acemler, Pasa Ciftili, Kultur Park, Osmangazi. wave after wave of homes crawling up the mountain, like a race of real estate to the top -- then down into the dark tunnel again, my ears are thawing out but my head still stings because I forgot my hat. my leg is sensitive to my phone. sometimes my brain thinks my leg feels the vibration, but it's not. my shoes are blue; ever since I began listening to Jamiroquai I understand the importance of wearing funk shoes because they can literally lift you over the melancholic drudgery of the rat race into more of a soul-satisfying stratosphere.