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Why I don't trust the media media anymore.


 


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Points made in the video:


Media has a "sacred duty": keeping the citizens informed and holding the elected officials accountable


We all have doubts but in certain cases it's very obvious that the media is not doing its job


There were nationwide protests in Turkey in 2013 and the government responded in a horrendous way (detailed video I made in 2013 is in the resources)


There was human rights violations and police brutality but when you turned on the TV you'd see penguin documentaries 


The media wasn't doing its job -- so we, the people, became the media.


We used twitter, facebook etc. 


I believe ultimately this is a bad thing. When you can't even trust the media, how can you trust a random stranger? 


There was an unbelievable number of false information and you know how social media is -- information travels fast. Everyone has to be super-careful to only share what is accurate. This is a lot of responsibilty for a regular person. 


This is why it's important for the media to do its job.


--


Also a couple of things I didn't say in the video. Surprisingly there were no bans in 2013 during Gezi. However, for the past couple of months YouTube has been blocked. Twitter was blocked for a while. This is because there was a corruption scandal in the government (not surprised) and because media wasn't showing any of these, people were using YouTube and twitter. This is another case of the media not doing its job. If requested, I can do an additional video on this or even rerecord this one. 


 


PS: Of course, I can access all these blocked sites just fine. Welcome to 21st century!


 


 

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Mindatpeace-1540471

İstanbul, Turkey

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Sugary Road


 

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[My favorite Things]

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The grass was greener on the other side
So he moved.
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This is "İstiklal Avenue", the most popular street in Turkey. Millions of people walk down this road every day. It's a car-free zone but there is a historic tram for transportation. When you walk up this road you'll find yourself in Taksim Square. If you go back, you'll reach Tünel(The Tunnel-1875), world's second oldest subway.

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I was passing by this neighborhood while on vacation and saw this beautifully irrelevant couch

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One by one I place my fingers where your fingerprints mark the glass, marked the glass, will mark it. You have yet to arrive. I sit on the chair you have just vacated. We are seated by the window with our backs sharing the same cushion. Suddenly, you are here, as if you have never left.


"Remember that time when we forgot?” you started as if you’d been sitting there for ages.


"I forget. What time?” I replied.


"I don't remember either.”


It was one of those conversations where we had no idea what we were saying, because we both knew it hadn’t happened yet.


We were emotionally bankrupt, you and I. I owed you more than I could pay, and you owed someone else the same. Yet I think I might've shortchanged you.


"Tell me a story first," I replied - knowing you said nothing I could reply to but it didn’t matter.


You nod but you don’t know what I’m talking about. There was an elephant in the room none of us were speaking about but that was because it was irrelevant at the time. It didn’t matter that it was in the room. Even we weren’t in the room. There was no room.


If I tried to psychoanalyse you in order to put you in a box -I know I couldn’t have done that. You defied science, truth and reality - which I liked. You weren’t a glass half-empty or half-full kind of guy. You were more of a “fuck the glass, give me the entire damn bottle!” kind of guy. That is what pulled me in to this surreal relationship. Space-time was irrelevant. Laws of nature were irrelevant. Pretty much everything, was irrelevant. Yet I never thought one day I would be irrelevant as well.


I walk towards you to face you but find myself walking back into place. I train my eyes on the back of your head and try again until the door I came through is in front of me. All I see the entire time is your back. I feel my hair raise and my skin prickle. We fall out of love only to fall back a moment later.


We share the same glass I dropped, you shattered, I got, you returned. I press my lips to the rim and feel the warmth of your breath, taste the coldness of old coffee. I look out the window and into the star-filled black-blue of void and remember you, forget you, never met you, will see you soon.


You have forgotten. You have left. You have never been here. When you come here I will have vanished and I don't know where I will have gone. I need you to find me but the bigger problem isn't where or even when. I have forgotten to tie the knot and I let you escape.


—- Dear Mignonne!


Here is my gift to you! Sorry it took me so long. You’re a very talented writer and I was captivated by some of your stories. They are surreal and they really leave space to the reader to imagine. I noticed the word “glass” as a recurring object in your writing and I particularly enjoyed reading the short dialogues. So, as you might’ve realised I remixed some of your RECords and united them in one story. I tried to make this a layered story with only two characters but they sort of exist on top of each other. One second they’re talking about something, the next they don’t know each other yet they are connected with this inexplicable cord. Still, whatever they have between each other starts falling apart and there is nothing that can be done about it. They’re in a loop.


I hope you liked your gift dear. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!


 


 

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This isn't home. This couch. I can't even sit on it without worrying about a stain. This expensive carpet, this coffee table. I feel guilty when I put my feet up. The expensive flat screen is all I have but I can't even enjoy it because the unbelievably comfortable couch makes me sleepy. Let me give you a tour of our humble abode...


The bedroom. The sheets are so silky I fear I'll slide off in my sleep. Also can someone please tell me what we will do with so many pillows? One is enough for one person. Two is luxury. I can't find words for 8. Not to mention the closet that is bigger than the entire house. There are clothes -sorry- valuable investments from 1988 that she knows she will find some use in the future. It's not a closet- it's a time machine.


Moving on to the bathroom... It's the worst. No matter how much time I spend in the shower I feel dirty just standing in there. It smells like vanilla and cherry- every time I step in I wonder where the tree is!


Kitchen looks - I don't even know. It's so bright and white. I can't stare for too long. The best I can do is keeping it clean. Are we really supposed to cook in there? No way.


We paid hard-earned money for things we're not allowed to use. We have different towels and carpets in the bathroom for guests. Sounds like a visit to grandma's house but I wake up and realize it wasn't a nightmare.


Our rooms have themes. Rooms don't have themes! The kitchen is "funtastic". It has a pun. Yes. Unfortunately we paid for it. Our living room is modern but it has subtle splashes of classic items.


I should feel comfortable and at home. Instead it feels like the time I was a guest at my rich friend's house and everyone was trying to make me feel welcomed but uncomfortable was probably a better word to describe my feelings. Sometimes I say "what did I get myself into?". It has nothing to do with me, this house and this life. It's not my wife either. There is no way the love of my life likes cheesy puns and paying for things we aren't allowed to use. I knew I should've fired the designer the moment he said he was a professional lifestyle designer. Now we're left with a portal to his world.

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I bought this from Guggenheim last year and didn't know what to do with it until yesterday.

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Grandma 


Location: Ankara. Turkey


Date: Late 70s


 


<3 1932-2012

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I’m almost an adult now, but I still have the soul of a child. When I lie down in the bed late at night, my imagination carelessly dancing on the rope of reality, I almost fall into the heaven of dreams. Soles of my feet almost lose contact with the rope for good and I feel like my head almost hits the ceiling of the world. I can almost feel the adrenaline in my blood, and I count on the safety net of morning to catch me… just in case


When warm daylight shines through my window, coldness of reality wakes me up. Oh, how I wish the life I lived in my dreams did count! But in life, almost is never good enough.

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