Sci-fi Novel - The Dream Artist - Part 38
I was in a good mood because of the beauty of the night. In a restaurant dating back to the twentieth century, I was slowly brewed alone, paid off the account and started walking to reach the rendezvous point. Street lights barely illuminated the misty twilight of the night; neon, laser and holographic lights overflowing from store windows created a dream environment. From time to time the street was buzzed by capsule motorcycles, electric cars, and mini copters flying directly above the buildings lit up like fireflies. As I walked down the steep hill down the Istanbul Strait, I thought that these streets, which have remained unchanged for a long time, had the beauty of the old days. The cold wind blowing up the strait hit my face.
I entered the small park on the shores of the Bosphorus by crossing the coast road, which gave the impression of being abandoned. I saluted the trees in the park like an old friend. One of the most popular places of the last period, Plane-House was standing in front of me in all its glory.
Plane-House was a tree house built between the broad branches of a giant sycamore tree and it was a favorite meeting place for neo-naturalist intellectuals. It was claimed that the reservation was full for the next three years because it had limited space. The neo-naturalists liked the fact that the demand for the cabin was so high. They drew attention to the fact that natural things cannot be reproduced in a short period. Painter C. was very kind to invite us to the Plane-House, and it was almost impossible for those outside the intellectual tribe to step into the place. I thought the motivation behind the invitation was to breathe the same air with Peri, but that fact didn't diminish my gratitude.
I went up to the trunk of the giant tree with the wooden stairs. As I moved towards the table where Peri and C. were sitting, I touched the trunk of the tree, which stood like a massive column in the middle of the place. In the corner of the wooden house, consisting of one room, there was a stove of brass burning wood. There were amphoras on the other turn, which I thought were full of wine. The lizard figure on the amphoras seemed to wish to get inside.
C. greeted me with extreme enthusiasm. “You missed the first five minutes of our two-hour sitting session, my dear friend, and you should count yourself happy that you didn't turn into a pumpkin.”
I looked at my watch; it was five past twelve. We sat around our little round board table to form a triangle. C. called the waiter and ordered me red wine without asking me if I wanted.
Not only the main body but also the branches of the tree was passing through the place. I was happy to be among the branches of the tree. It was as if I could feel the energy that the tree radiated.
”We were talking about people getting stuck," said Peri.
“They call me crazy because I don't accept what's going on and I don't feel like them. The person who knows how to settle for his soul is called the artist. I'm not after anyone's support. Anyone can think what he wants. Nobody talks about the human being stuck in the gears of the order. To speak of this, it is not enough to have a free mind, but a spirit that is not afraid of the consequences of freedom. The people that were forced to adapt the speed of production line in the factories had rebelled and made the revolution. There are few workers on the production lines now, but now minds are destroyed trying to keep up with computers. Backed by the power of computers, the exuberant capitalist flood collapsed all the geographical bent and began to drag people in front of it. Now I ask you, who were the ones that established the capitalist order? Is order now working for us, or are we working for order? They purposely put a sense of helplessness in people's hearts. Will we consider mass unemployment a fate? Won't we object to the mental exhaustion that drives workers to pure misery, being robots of the capitalist machine? I will stand up and shout “No” if the exuberant capitalist even breaks out a daisy. They're afraid of neo-naturalism because it shrinks their markets. They raised generations of idiots who thought of nothing but production and consumption. They worship the proportional God they call economic growth. Do we have to run on computer-drawn spaces, computer-designed objects, and computer-generated targets? Why give up the beauty of the pure and natural? Why should we deprive ourselves of the taste of living without running? Tonight am I asking too much?” said C. with great vitality. An old waiter brought my wine in a wooden glass.
“You have a different perspective, I agree with what you say about capitalism, but in practice, the alternative could not be formed,” said Peri.
I took a few sips of my wine, and I lean back. "What do you think, my dear friend?" C. asked looking at me.
“It is enough for me to sit with you in the lap of a great tree. If neo-naturalism promises what we've been through this evening, I'm there." I said.