We Live But For A Short Time,

Heaven Was The Place Where You Kept Alive The Dreams Of Your Memories.

Painting Taught Literature To Describe.

As Always After Drinking Too Much, I Felt Like My Own Ghost Trying To Take It's First Solo Walk Outside The Body.

I Think It's Horrible That We Turks Are Always Seen Under The Aspect Of Islam First. I Am Constantly Asked About Religion, And Almost Always With A Negative Undercurrent That Makes Me Furious.

Time Had Not Faded My Memories (as I Had Prayed To God It Might), Nor Had It Healed My Wounds As It Is Said Always To Do. I Began Each Day With The Hope That The Next Day Would Be Better, My Recollections A Little Less Pointed, But I Would Awake To The Same Pain, As If A Black Lamp Were Burning Eternally Inside Me, Radiating Darkness.