The Sound of the Full Moon

By Atemi Kayaky

We are faced with an industrialization phenomenon that makes itself felt in literature as well as in every other subject. The reshaping of literature according to the conditions of market capitalism turns literary products into simple consumables. Newly released literary novels, stories, poems, essays, etc. literary products no longer have an artistic quality, they are consumed quickly and resemble Hollywood movies…

 

Identical, fabricated books adorn the shelves of the bookstore. We are faced with books that appeal to the eye, not to the pleasure of reading. Every day, we are showered with novels whose content resembles a movie script, and the most popular ones are immediately adapted to the cinema. Their styles, plots and even the subjects themselves are extremely superficial, identical books are everywhere.

 

There are quite a few pages in such works, but it is possible to read and finish them in a short time. We would like to say that the reason for this is that it is written in a successful language. However, if we consider that the majority of the people who read these books find it boring and they find it boring, this is not the main reason. The main reason is that in such industrial novels, whether it is character analysis, description of environment and events, a very superficial work is done. Writers don't think about these things. Because – a group of authors should be excluded from this – what is important for authors now is the sales figures and the amounts they will earn, rather than the literary and aesthetic characteristics of their works.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atemi Kayaky
• Release date: Aug 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201512224

Book preview

*****one*****

Three Hundred Thirty Three - Berrin Yelkenbiçer - Kirpi Literature and Think Magazine

How hot. Air conditioners don't work either. I asked the attendant at the entrance, a tall, handsome boy. Black with mustaches. She looks like an artist but I couldn't figure out who. Unfortunately, faulty lady, he said. His deep voice suits his black mustache. There is a fan on the ceiling, but it spins with a rhythm. Three for for a standing, three pr pr is a standing. It is as if an invisible mehteran band is playing an anthem, and both the propeller and the young man's black mustache are waving to the march.

Sit down, I'm bored and my knees hurt. Propeller for two for a couple, I get up, I filled two. The propeller stopped, I sat down. A propeller per per couple, I get up, I wandered one. The propeller stopped, I sat down. The boy with the black mustache and the black eyebrows looked at me, not daring to say a word. If he looks up, he'll notice that I'm dancing with a propeller, but he's looking at my skirts, which I toss, and my chandelier earrings swaying from side to side. As the earrings touched my shoulders and the skirts touched my legs, I got even more excited.

Then my number burned. The prop continued to dance. Me and my skirts and earrings forced us to leave the dance. I took a little breather, took out my number slip that I had kept in my pocket while I was dancing. My hands are sweaty too, my number will be deleted. I grabbed the paper with my fingertips, and hurriedly approached the bank. There is no one. It was there before, now it is not. The desk clerk escaped before I took my number out of my purse. He went to the toilet. The weather is hot, of course, we drink water, we drink tea. I wait.

I'm waiting, no one is coming. I looked up and checked, so here's three hundred thirty-three, my number. I read it aloud again, puckering my lips like that. The prop is dancing, I'm waiting, I would have kept dancing if I knew. Then I noticed the pink coffee plate next to the computer, but no cup, no attendant. He probably intended fortunes and closed it so he went to wash the cup so he could keep it. I waited a little longer, then I waited again. The propeller blew and invites me to dance, but I'm waiting. My number is burned, please don't get burned.

Then I noticed the smiles. Procedural procedures are laughing. I saw that they were gathered around the table ahead, two women and a man. One of the women is holding a pink coffee cup, the cup on the saucer in front of me. All three of them have their necks stretched out into the cup, their heads will be banging together. The larger woman murmurs something, the other woman and the man listen attentively, and they exchange sweet glances from time to time.

Excuse me? I called. They didn't hear. I waited for the propeller to spin for one revolution. I called out again, raising my voice. Bakar mısınıııız ?

All three slowly turned their heads, their heads cleared of a collision.

-My number burned out, the propeller turned eighteen turns, I'm still waiting.

-Sorry?

-I say my number, three hundred thirty-three, it's my turn.

-What was yours?                                                                 

-Shall I say it from afar?

Reluctantly , he reluctantly sat down and put the cup on his plate. The other woman and the man took their places. As he sat down, he scratched his navel, then cast a coy side glance at the woman who would be doing my job.

-Yes, what was yours?

-I will change the address on my water bill. I also moved.

-Give your old and new invoices.

-I don't have an old bill, I think I threw it away while moving. E new invoice did not come, you do not know my new house. I'm here to describe.

-I can't trade without your old invoice.

Is his voice a little louder?

-Can't you see from the computer? Here is where my invoices came from.

The woman quickly lifted her head. Although the head is raised, its jowl is doubled, swollen like a blowfish, one thorn is missing. He started shouting. How high is his voice, it's scratching my ears.

-Sister, did we say that we can't process without an invoice? Why don't you understand?

The man who is scratching his belly is looking at me sideways. That's when I went to the dark side.

Don't look like that. Everyone has a dark side inside them. Some pass, they always stay there. Some pass from time to time, then return again. Some go and go . Some come to the brink and hold back, stay in the light. Some are aware of that darkness, but it does not smudge at all, it shines brightly .

I? Me too, every now and then...

I shook my head quickly, nodding so that my earrings were jangling. I leaned my elbows on the counter, my bracelets slamming and falling back. I let my red hair fall to the left and right of my face. I squinted my eyes. Between you and me, I've worked this pose in the mirror. Sometimes that's what it takes. I made a gesture with my black nail polished index finger, meaning less approach to the woman. Surprised, he slowly approached.

Are you aware of my number?

She didn't understand. It still looks like a blowfish. I pointed to the digital sign above with the same finger.

Three hundred and thirty-three, I said, pursing my lips.                                                                      

The woman is still looking at the sign, her double jowl has fallen from two to one because she has lifted her head too much. I lowered my voice quite a bit.

-Three hundred thirty-three is half of six hundred and sixty- six . So what is six hundred and sixty-six? I whispered.

-The number of the devil.

The woman is no longer a puffer fish, but looks like stale sea bass on the fishmonger's stall with her mouth wide open.

-Hell is empty you know, because all the demons are here.

The woman's face turned paper white, the sea bass became stale. I lowered my head, resting my chin on my bracelets.

I don't know about the weapon, but the devil fills the person who waits too long.

The woman leaned back slightly in her seat.

-My sweet red hair dye number is six hundred and sixty-six, that can't be a coincidence, right?

I shut up a little bit, my eyes welling up. I waited for the woman to come to the hook.

-Give me that cup, I'm very good at fortune telling, I said in the same ominous voice.

The woman held out the cup as if hypnotized. I blacked out the whites and squinted my eyes.

Hm , I said, ohooo , I said, wow wow wow, I said, oh, I said. I put an obscene smile on my lips and looked at the man next to me. The man no longer scratches his navel. Sure, of course, I said, maybe it's okay, I said, but be very careful, I said. Let God get saved, I've finished fortunes, I handed the cup back.

The woman left her perch state and turned into a lobster boiled in hot water. He put the cup back on the plate. I jingled my bracelets and earrings and pushed my hair behind my ears. I balanced the white with the black of my eyes.

Now, before my number goes out, please take a look at my old address on that computer, I said cheerfully.

The woman didn't move at first, then made two clicks on the keyboard with shaky fingers. Yes, he said softly. Your old address appears here. Ha, I said. Look, I wrote my new address on this paper, you can record it now. Come on, hit three hundred thirty- four now . I handed Lobster's pen, which I had just thrown at the bottom of my bag, to three hundred and thirty- four , who was walking to the counter in a dazed and timid way , I said it might be necessary.

I looked at the propeller, tired of dancing because it stopped. If that's the case, I'll do my dance solo. I took my fan out of my bag. I just shook it to my face with the rhythm from before . Three für for , stop. Three pr pr , stop.

Before lobster in the bank, then the door Mehterbaþý the mustache, for for pr pr I salute age.

I stepped out into the warm light.

*****2nd*****

I Am Your Destiny - Gürhan Gürses - Kirpi Literature and Think Magazine

The hermit stood very majestic with his saddlebag on his back, his sandals on his feet, and his headdress. His heart ached as if a splinter had stabbed him, and his eyes were surprisingly large and black. It was as if he was drawn to rub it on his eyes with a natural