Istanbul, my foster mother, the woman who had me cradle in her generous bosom: the bosom of Abraham, the bosom of Turkey, the bosom of Istanbul.

It hasn't always been warm and cozy, a place of peace and comfort; she hasn't always hummed sweet songs to lull me to sleep. She has rather done the contray: in a constant wake, with her songs, she had me live.

She is famous for deceiting her lovers and the people that were born to her, believed in her: her very sons and daughters. She is kinder to foreigners than to her own people: the relentless Mother that she is. But I've known her true nature from the very beginning, and I have never been taken in by the glittering gold on the arms she beacons at the strangers with. My ears had listened to the beat of her heathen heart, like distant drums in the Hittite Anatolya, long before I set eyes on her land; my heart beat in unison with her mystery when, as a child, I was reading about Aeneas and his journey out of Troy, heading for Catharge and Sicily. I have never taken her hospitality for generosity, her offered cornucopia as an invitaion to a life in idle wealth: i knew that her feasts are always given to celebrate the sacrifice, so I was ready.

My stay here has been under the signs of Venus, Cupid and Hades; I've had to learn my lessons about love, about being human and creative, about the sweet-bitter taste of farewells and disentanglements, but most of all, I had to learn how to come to terms with my own soul. It is here that I've come to realize, on one hand that I am not perfect, and on the other hand that my imperfections, my devil, the darkness, are the source of all my creativity.

The people I've met here, all of them, were the bridges I needed to lay between myself and the world. With each encounter, I learned new things about myself, love, and death.

The mystery has always been around the corner here, and I came to see it either in the people I chanced upon, or in little signs and happenings we usually fail to notice.

She's never let my mind and heart rest, she's had me work hard with myself, she's lured me with her riches, but then had me find these riches within myself. Many times I have failed, but many more times I made it on this winding road leading to my very heart and soul.

What I love here is the colors, the blue-green of the water, the sun, the children play, the unsanitized, tumultuous, unabated life of her streets.

Writing this on my new computer; a sony vaio with good memory and OK graphics card. Upon reading the information about it, i learned it was made in China. Had I known this, I wouldn't have bought it. I think it is my duty as a citizen of this world to oppose not only consumerism, but also the vanishing of the jobs from first world countries to second, or developing countries where people are paid peanuts. I am also bored of this lack of variety in the make of products: everything is made in China, xcept probably for some textiles, which are produced in Nepal, India, you name it.

Was thinking that if every single person on this planet stopped buying 1 dollar, 1 euro, 1 lira products, then someting would change.

This was inspired by a radio show broadcasting the eviction of an American lady after she had paid off her house. She had lost her job too and probably used her savings to pay off the mortgage. Not sure I understood how this can happen, but it is apparently related to having being duped into signing fraudulent contracts at a time when the law doesn't favour individual property anymore, but contracts. Now, the eerie thing is, the sheriff performed the evacuation: the sheriff is a person elected to protect people's rights, or at least look into the legality of these procedures, perform an investigation on the behalf of both sides, and not follow the orders blindly. Who is he working for? The people? Corporations? Fot the latter, as it turns out. But, since the banks have been bailed out with people's money, shouldn't the tax payer decide what is foreclosed and what isn't?

I love being in an airport, ready to go some place for a short holiday; i also love coming back home when home is a city like Istanbul. Will see how i feel about Montreal soon.

Photo : Warren, my camera adjustments, me modeling.