TE16 Turkish Delight
Letters to Shefkati executioners. There are heads in display on a stone, neatly aligned, freshly cut. Croatian executioners are gathered around the fountain, cleaning their knives and daggers under the running water, blood drips on marble, then disappears. They are calm, each with a conscience as clean as their knives about to be.
I approach the stone, to see if my head is there. Because you know, I’m born guilty!
I finally snap out of it. I open my eyes to the papers before me; Bergson claims that our minds are in a constant flux. The more violent the flux, the more times we reset our minds, he says. (Which resets my mind for a second.) Remnants of our memories intertwine with the marks left by history and society and they make up a complex, tangle of teachings that leads to the constant flux in our minds.
You know what, I’m sorry my dear Shefkati, for this depressing letter. I’m done anyway.
Make sure that you respond.
My dear pickle-enthusiast sister!
You’ve asked whywe donated my poor Uncle Nejdet’s violin to the
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