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Sci-fi Novel - The Dream Artist - Part 39

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muratkbesiroglu
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9 months agoBusy5 min read

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26
Part 27
Part 28
Part 29
Part 30
Part 31
Part 32
Part 33
Part 34
Part 35
Part 36
Part 37

Part 38

“Dear friends, I am not surprised that you can easily adapt my ideas because it is clear that the right and beautiful is obvious. If the truth is clear, then you may ask how the lies that are adorned with all the rhetorical words find believers. It's so sad that the human mind is so vulnerable to repeated lies. However, a more or less well-trained mind is not easily mistaken. People have common sense. The same false messages are being dumped on people through different channels. I'm proud to be called the painter of garbage. I would be fine if the hidden messages in my paintings are understood after I die. What can explain the capitalist order than a dump? We'll find out one day that we don't need all that crap. On that day our lives will be pure and peaceful; our minds will be clear.”

I said, " Let him tell what he wants to say, the questions can wait for some time."

But Peri did not intend to wait any longer. “You knew Sedef Özben, didn't you?” she asked.

C. suddenly became stagnant as if he wasn't the one who spoke with enthusiasm a while ago. The wine he drank probably started to take effect. A strong wind blew out, the leaves of the tree on top of us rustled sweetly as if whispering something to our ears, the plane-house shook slightly. C. looked at the chalice in his hand and said: “Sedef was completely different.”

“Were you close?" Peri asked.

“We were very close, but I didn't know how the financial problems upset her. She was an elegant woman who adorned our miserable lives with joy and excitement. If I had known, I would have easily solved the problem, let alone asking for help, even if she implied a little bit of the difficulty” he said in a dramatic tone.

I said, “I raise my glass for the memory of Sedef and Selim Özben.”

“As a matter of fact, Selim and I could not agree well, but when I saw the expression of his mother in his eyes, I thought he was his mother's trust. It annoys me that Selim has not yet been found; we have neither been able to take care of Sedef nor Selim. There are a lot of people in the streets, but those who have such superior qualities leave us, what a pain, Peri, my artistic feelings tell me Selim Özben is somewhere between death and life. We artists are alone by nature and only follow the truth. And the difference between normal people and us is that we can't resist reality. A real artist can never fool himself, and he keeps scorching in the fire of bitter truths. On the one hand, I feel that Selim Özben is dead and on the other hand, I feel that Selim Özben is spreading the peaceful energy like the plane tree we are sitting in. It's like a soul stuck in limbo between life and death. Dear friends, I beg you. Find him. You would have lost your lives in this quest. We will never turn into soulless robots, flawless machines that the capitalists want. As long as we are here and above the earth, they will not be able to do so.”

C. more than I jumped up, and shouted: “Please listen to me, everyone."

The customers at the other tables were curious. They saw his preparing to appeal with his wooden glasses and redface. C. took a sip of his wine, cleared his throat, and erected the posture of his chunky body. The customers have begun to wait for what he would say eagerly.

"Dear friends, dear plane-house regulars, let me introduce myself to those who do not know me. I am a painter. I mix dreams with emotions and turn them into colors, and I transfer them to the canvas. I wanted to share with you my emotions that came to the point of overflow. Emotions, my friends, cannot be kept under lock. We're not the ones who put chips in their brains. They suppress their feelings and turn themselves into a volunteer slave. We will teach the capitalists who are in line with the machines who we are. They need to learn to live. What good is it to be successful if you don't feel the pleasure of a summer wind hitting you in the face? We'il remind people to feel it. My friends, a natural and straightforward life suitable for our nature will be sprouted again in these stinking cities. I raise my glass to neo-naturalism, to plane-house regulars and my dear friends Peri and Ruhi. My friends Ruhi and Peri gave the good news that they were going to find Selim Özben, the dream artist who enriched our dream world and opened new doors for us. I believe that we can accomplish. Our souls, my friends, are strong enough to open the steel jars of wild capitalists who combine their power with Artificial Machines, mother nature and the spirit of the universe is with us. I wish you to spend hours of peace and meaning under the loving cover of the night, my dear friends, and stay in the air.”

Plane-House residents seemed pleased with the end of C.'s speech. In some faces, there was the expression of admiration mixed with astonishment, and in others, there was the cynical gaze. I heard a guy saying, "Don Quixote never dies."

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