Celal, as muddy as usual, last spotted in Dalyan - 07/08.

Special thanks to

Celal ERCIYES,

for the art direction of the photographs and the casting below.

"Do not be puzzled with descriptive adjectives, let me warn you right from the start. Just to avoid the term "treacherous", I am not the kind of guy who would attempt to stab a person facing him not from the back at the expense of his own project's success. Apart from this technical reality, you would hardly call what I did “heroic”, considering the direction or the method of stabbing, even if I successfully stabbed. Classifying the murders by adjectives like “abject” or “felonious”, reminds me of categories like “heroic murders” or “virtuous murders” which is at least as contradictory by definition as the term “living dead”.

Meet RIZA.

- I want to dance tonight.

SEHNAZ, a tipsy and wonderful creature! Despite her, I was unable to stand that cursed thing called dancing, I would stop this stupidity by any means.

We were around that table once more. True, actually I was fond of her but FERHAT has already locked on the target. I was dreaming while the guy was working. To describe his manners, I should say he is a sincere believer of his own sincerity show-offs. He really perceives himself as a perfect hero, as a prince with a white horse. Although he lacks a white horse or a prince’s certificate, he knows how to make the others think he has them. FERHAT and SEHNAZ managed to find seats next to each other, using every trick possible. They accomplished this very easily: the moment we entered the ballroom, FERHAT chose a chair and SEHNAZ chose another, right next to him. (The term “Every trick” here, refers to my intelligently-developed-but-failed plans to attain the very same purpose.) I would watch those who would be seated first. After having pretended to sit somewhere else in order not to attract suspicious looks, I would slide next to SEHNAZ the moment she would sit, to make room for another friend. Darn!

SEHNAZ did not waste a single instant before starting to smile continuously at FERHAT’s meaningless and boring jokes. Something should be done to change the mood and I chanced my arm:

- Is one kilo of cotton harder or one kilo of iron?

- Ouf! You’re terribly annoying RIZA!

This shot kicked back. I was hoping to influence her by some scientific subject matters. (One more error. Not every woman is Madame Curie.) FERHAT, the good guy, intervened:

- SEHNAZ don’t say that for RIZA, he’s joking. What did you say RIZA, you’re ironing the cotton fabrics?

SEHNAZ gave a sexy laughter and the good guy beat the bad guy again. “Such a disgusting night!”

- You can have your tequila, my boy.

I swear to you, that way the waiter addressed me, made my mind up for FERHAT’s execution. It was no one but him who transformed me into a Turkish bath catamite and the waiter was helping him. His self confident glances which even do not condescend to be contemptuous, his high spirit who helps a poor loser... I would make him experience the scene he loves best: The heroic DEATH of a hero.

Let me introduce SEHNAZ the CAUSE to you.

I jumped up screaming “Auww, my arm has been warped,” and began a series of disabled gestures. While the singer was braying the refrain “I shall thrust a stick into fate’s wheel,” I was amplifying my lame movements. Twisting one arm as lame, I was rotating on one foot, from left to right and from right to left, as if drilling the floor. I then got bored of this, suddenly I squatted as if shitting in a pan closet, while waving my arm back and forth. I had already rolled up my pants rhythmically, with the other arm waving upwards and down, I was mimicking the user of a reservoir.

The last figure was more authentic: while washing my ass with one hand, I was blowing the other arm’s wrist to imitate the sound of farting. Never losing the rhythm of the song, I was continuing to dance by transforming my weight from one foot to the other. Having realised that I started to be the target of some hostile glances and even my biological existence might be endangered, decided to retreat once more. Only men were laughing at this joke!  

Surname: BASKURT

Name: Y.

Place of Birth: ANKARA

Date of Birth: 01/04/1978

Previous positions held:

• Street vendor

• Waiter at the tearoom of Ankara Chess Club

• Door-to-door pan salesman

• Charity collection envelopes distributer for Turkish Air Forces

• Assistant to wedding photographer

(He did not mention in this CV that he worked at Sengul Hammam.)

Y., at your humble service.

Surname:ON FILE

Name: SUKRIYE

Occupation: SECRETARY

Place of Birth: ON FILE

Date of Birth: ON FILE

Previous positions held:

• None

Her generous mini-skirt and the glass table were cooperatively contributing to the scene rather than obscuring the essence. Even the phone diary Y. displaced while joyously saying "good morning mam," to the secratary, was no longer an obstacle.

MR TAHSIN LEAVES FOR ECUADOR

TAHSİN BEY EKVADOR'DA

"I ceaselessly hit the edge of the racket on that same bald region of his head. When a crack appeared, I concentrated on its further opening. Wherever the head escaped the racket reached. As the crack turned into a valley and as the head blossomed like a daisy, the racket accelerated. How ardent was the racket during its pursuit of the frantically navigating head! The arms of the head were accompanying the kissing racket with flutters. The fox was creeping like a serpent now: head stuck to the ground, he finally rolled up like a pill-bug. Thanks to the recent lower position of the low-down, I managed the hand of a quivering arm annoyingly trying to shelter the head, by stepping onto it. When the head's other arm's hand weakly attempted for the last time to intervene, I gently put it aside by my free hand and the racket kept on digging the valley."

KORKUT

- You know what? I have yet to see a donkey be promoted to a horse in return for working. You can get a mule out of a donkey at the very best but that also is not related to an appreciated carrier in the office.

Her laughter was more attractive than her speech anyway.

To win SERAP - overlooking you from above the pingpong table - is to lose yourself.

"When they arrived, the floor around his body was bleeding while my laughter was playing ping-pong wall to wall."

Headdoctors do not play ping-pong with their patients anymore after that unexpected incident of Dr TAHSIN's tragic loss.

You took the school for canteen, the canteen for paradise, and those you screwed in the canteen for angels.

Your soul dedicated to market securities has never been satisfied, your lustful life passes without a penny.

After the night you suffocated your only friend CEM, came desolate years and non-stop drinks. Regretting for each moment spent away from whores.

At least don’t say “love” please, what can be worse than your love? And “conscience, amity, etc.” ah? Your life is but cocaine.

You are still reported to be around as a jackal taking a recess, do you take Istanbul for canteen?

Your late friend CEM is here on the web now, this is not a nightmare!

YOU were surprisingly quick to get adapted to the foreign tongue when that of TATYANA's penetrated into your mouth.

They would be too busy with the foot job to pay attention to you even when you approached them as an inauspicous silhouette.

A few moments before that fatal pitch-darkness.