Guest: Yağmur Mavi Şen
Title of The Work: Bold Punto Equation
Original Title: Kalın Punto Denklemi
Genre: Prose Writing
Two days after I hit my head on the corner of the door I had just opened, I passed into the land of parallel selves with the pain I was in. I first found myself at the A entrance of an unfamiliar station of this city I was trying to know. Suddenly my eyes were attracted to the headlights of various brands and models, water droplets were added to my eyes one by one.
While looking at the city with misted eyes, I watched the crowd hiding in cars, buses, trams. I accompanied this congestion with my hair falling in front of me, my trembling body, my eyes resisting the rain. My eyes searched for people lost in the sheltered vehicles. I knew neither their names nor their stories. They neither knew my name nor my story. Today, my role in my parallel self is to be someone watching the city on the overpass. A few seconds ago, I caressed the head of a yellow street cat and passed through the cemeteries.
As I passed the cemetery, I saw that people trying to solve a vast unknown equation called life were stuck in different results of the age problem. The different results they reached were written in bold font on their heads.
How many processes were the procrastinatory attitudes subjected to?
In which process had the stray heads fallen into place?
…
Which body was able to breathe out the inhalation process called life from the soul without fail?
Without going to the neighbour’s, without picking up a tenner…
When we have become the instruments of those who breathe…
Will the places of those who breathe in this downpour be paradise?
-I don’t know. I read their names, not their stories.
…
The closer one gets to death, the more one visits cemeteries, the more death lights its signal. If you realise it, all the better. The courage to mould your life into the mould you want will come to you. You eat and drink more. You want to believe that you’ll reach the end of the endless consumption mob. You say what you have to say, you take your hands off (sadly if you love life). Regrets stick one by one. If only I had done that, if only I had done that, they attack your brain like lice.
While your thoughts are endless, what else has come. Your breath insidiously creates your anonymity.
It’s better if you don’t notice. Your breath ends unaware. Your time is spent recklessly.
They close your page with an intermittent meal where you don’t remember what you ate.
I check my pockets to see if a forgotten expression passes into my hands, turning my back on the crowd passing by as if it were devoid of people.
