TE16 Turkish Delight
Selim Ileri Artistswhowe presume to bedrowning in all sorts of painactually have the highest of spirits. They get off on the turmoil they put on paper, or wherever. Yes, have no doubt that each of them has a growing fire in them that feeds on their pain, and they love it. They don’t put it out in the open, you see, they always have the “blues”, they are always in distress…Do you think Schumann, who allegedly dealt with some sort of aberration, never fooled around with his sweetheart after a lustful fantasy tickled his brain? The only option for people like us; the care-free, is to take shelter in imaginary seasons of our dreamland. The palace is at walking distance from the printing house, I sometimes imagine it in its flamboyant days of monarchic glory: Exquisitely old oaks raise to the clouds above, inside the gates the road is neatly designated with cypresses on both sides, and a preview of the gardens in front; rosewoods, hollyhocks, silk trees; dahlias, hyacinths, wild daffodils, mock-oranges, cloves and jasmines and tulips in giant flower beds. Roe deer and jamnapari hopping around, sniffing the hands of royals. Peacocks afar, stretch out their glamorous tales… I can’t keep this frame together, something scares the deer off, dahlias and tulips shiver and peacocks screech and alarm the others, the green of the cypresses turns dark, so dark that I’m left in a void.
The curtain reopens, this time I’m by the fountain of the
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