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Quote by Barış Bıçakçı

“...Yol kenarına kütüklerin istiflendiği ormanlık arazilerden geçtik. Üst üste duran kayaların, akla çocukça şeylerle uğraşan yapayalnız bir Tanrıyı getiren o göz alıcı manzarasını geniş kıvrımlarla yol alarak seyrettik...”

Quote by Barış Bıçakçı

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Bizim Büyük Çaresizliğimiz

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Barış Bıçakçı

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“There was a small commercial area a little further on, clustered around a crossroads where a huge latticework globe stood on a plinth of black baserock. Maps, some entire and others patchworked from islands or continents, none bigger than a child’s hand, were scattered thinly across its surface. The home map, Gea, was a squarish red tile close to the equator, smaller than most of the rest, and a silvery ball representing the Heartsun was spindled at the centre, and everything was spattered by the droppings of a fractious parliament of vivid green birds which had colonised the globe’s pole, chattering each to each and scolding passers-by.”

“Community, as I've come to understand it, only complements capitalism. The groups I took part in were formed with a narrow range of ages, backgrounds, experiences, identities, beliefs, and activities. Inclusion within them was based on strict boundaries that were internally and externally enforced. I recognize that the communities I experienced in my home region were not communities at all, but scenes.”

“O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain’d from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.”

“Feral beauty tangled up and over every surface. Enormous vines and flourishing blooms swathed the area creating a shadowy, organic cathedral. A faint whiff of perfume breezed to her, like jasmine, but sweeter, more delicate—if jasmine could be more delicate without losing its scent entirely. The buzzing of alien insects reminded her of the sticky, summer days of her childhood in the South, and cicadas filled her memory with their incessant mating calls. Here, however, the insects grew louder as it grew darker. It seemed even they understood the dangers of daylight.”