Friday, August 31, 2007
"No. No. No!" I said.
Tetrapilotomos' reaction: brows forming a questionmark.
"It has neither to do anything with politics, nor with language and literature."
"It's part of Omnium", said Tetrapilotomos. "Isn't it politics that your 83-years-old mother-in-law is demonstrating to her neighbours - and thus to the world - that she is ready for another season?
And isn't it lovely to make a joke about her "unspeakables", and she would wholehearted laugh about her wicked son-in-law?"
Sometimes, I repeat: sometimes I do like my friend.
Therefore here, to be fair against Mr. Akyol, quasi with open visor an announcement.
But let's first read the final passage of his reply to Mr Bekdil:
This “theory of taqiyya,” which Mr. Bekdil repeatedly refers to, is an “unfalsifiable” idea, to use a term coined by political philosopher Karl Popper. What this means is that the person accused with “taqiyya” can never falsify that. The more he rejects the accusation that he is willing to destroy the secular republic, the more the ultra-secularists become convinced about the imagined conspiracy he supposedly cooks up. It is like believing that all top politicians are freemasons; the fact they deny this would only prove how effectively the secret brotherhood works. It is a pity that such an immature paranoia is shared not only by the superficial demagogues of secular fundamentalism, but also otherwise reasonable and sophisticated minds like Mr. Bekdil. I am sure he can do better than that.
Hope this was green enough, and everybody could read.
Now, there is (almost) no doubt that Mr Akyol is a talented writer. I should like to compare him with my friend Tetrapilotomos, a writer who would not write for reasons that I shall probably never understand.
Anyway, if I did so and came to the conclusion that ... that ... that Mr Akyol were more talented than Tetrapilotomos, (I suppose) according to Mr Akyol (who seems to have read Karl Popper) this would be unfalsifiable.
This said, I promise Mr. Akyol that next time he will raise his sword ... hm ... his feather (what a picture in these times!) to take up the cudgels for praising so-called intelligent design, he will be asked to falsify, that is: to prove or declare false.
The Peace of the Night.
Postscriptum: Apropos "mature paranoia", Mr Akyol. Do you think Mr Bekdil is psychotic? Language, Sir, language!
And be careful with your answer.
As Tetrapilotomos uses to say: I do always mean what I say, but I wouldn't say all I mean.
As announced rather than prognosticated three days ago today the first Flann O'Brien Prize Winner, TDN's master equilibrist Burak Bekdil put his pen to paper (ah, what a picture in these times!) , in order to reply to Mr. Akyol's reply on his, Mr Bekdil's, innocent article.
Easy to cut it short, especially as my closest friend Tetrapilotomos is just reflecting about singularity: Again, Mr Bekdil won what TDN's chief editor David Judson would call a "sparring-match".
Game, set and match to Mr. Bekdil.
Reading his reply you will know - all right: at least be able to imagine, why.
Mr Akyol 0 - Mr Bekdil 2.
Postscriptum for all supporters of Mr Akyol: A first Huysman-Wilde-Prize-Winner would not throw in the turban (turban, no headscarf!) ... eh ... hm ... towel, of course.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Big parties, of course, in Tehran, Isfahan and Ghom.
Thus, before going on, please celebrate reading more details here.
Yes, neither you nor Tetrapilotomos need to tell me that sarcasm has seldom helped solving a problem. For some people, though, irony and sarcasm (not cynism!!) is the shelter to which they flee when feeling close to getting overwhelmed by their sadness, their wrath, their helplessness. Irony, sarcasm for distracting purposes.
Bearing ironic or sarcastical thoughts in the maternity room of one's brain could, by the way, be a nice and most entertaining alternative (that moreover mostly would not produce long-term consquences) whenever feeling there is nothing else to do.
And now back to "Journalist's Day" in Iran.
The scissors in one's head may cut the road on which thoughts are travelling from the brain into the feather. But it would not be able to reach the realm of thinking. The thoughts remain free.
That is why - with a cheerful thanks to Colin at Adelaide's Green Porridge Cafe - I dedicate the following joke first of all to all journalists in Iran, but also to anybody living elsewhere and feeling/being persecuted, harrassed and incarcerated.
Now might a joke about a President absolutely down under be not half as lovely when being told let's say in North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Libya, Syria, England, France, Germany, China, Russia or the U.S. of A., only to give some examples.
But look above. Thoughts are free! Just choose your favourite protagonist, and enjoy at least some seconds of liberating laughter.
Prime Minister John Howard was visiting a primary school and he visited one of the classes. They were in the middle of a discussion related to words and their meanings.
The teacher asked the Prime Minister if he would like to lead the discussion on the word "tragedy". So the illustrious leader asked the class for an example of a "tragedy".
One little boy stood up and offered: "If my best friend, who lives on a farm, is playing in the field and a tractor runs over him and kills him, that would be a 'tragedy'".
No," said Howard, "that would be an accident".
A little girl raised her hand: "If a school bus carrying fifty children drove over a cliff, killing everyone inside, that would be a tragedy."
"I'm afraid not," explained the Prime Minister "That's what we would call a great loss."
The room went silent. No other children volunteered.
John searched the room. "Isn't there someone here who can give me an example of tragedy?"
Finally, at the back of the room, a small boy raised his hand...In a quiet voice he said: "If the aeroplane carrying you and Mrs Howard was struck by a "friendly fire" missile and blown to smithereens, that would be a tragedy.
Fantastic!" exclaimed John Howard. "That's right. And can you tell me why that would be a tragedy?"
Well," says the boy "It has to be a tragedy, because it certainly wouldn't be a great loss and it probably wouldn't be a bloody accident either.
But while there is moonlight, and music, and love, and romance
Let's face the music and dance.
Irving Berlin, 1936
He who laughs has not yet heard the bad news.
Ah, if I were to live in Turkey, for sure I could not (easily) sleep tonight.
Therefore, for those visiting me a little more to read, maybe to think about and to reflect, perhaps even to laugh here and there.
Yes, those who have come to know me and my dearest friend - a writer who would not write for reasons I shall probably never understand -, a little better, and whose visits I do appreciate very much, will know that we do rather prefer to look on the bright side of life. And life is bright when we can celebrate our sense for humour, irony and well ... some sarcasm here and there.
Really happy Tetrapilotomos and I however are, when we can lean back.
Today could have become such a day. Burak Bekdil, this year's first Flann O'Brian Prize Winner, and Huysman-Wilde-Prize Winner Mustafa Akyol started a new competition.
The little difference: This time Mr. Bekdil started, Mr. Akyol replied; and, for sure, this time it will be Mr. Bekdil who will give a reply to this reply (if the circumstances will allow).
Allright, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy yourselves first here, then here.
* For those readers who unfortunately happened to miss the first competition it is highly recommended not to miss reading this and this.
Think they're above the people.
(Euripides, c. 426 B.C.E.)
Hm, I do admit that I was very very close to withold what immediately follows, as I am not sure about its level of wisdom.
But why should a wise man be not wrong at the end?
Here we go, then:
. . . Why they're nothing!
The citizen is infinitely wiser.
Hm, being honest has produced a tiny dilemma: How to get the act together?
You see, the first two lines were thought as a lovely entry for this joke.
For a joke that tells what this blog's name promises: Omnium.
It tells all, about what can easily happen to everybody, if young or old, if white or black, if dark- or blue-eyed, if so-called Kemalists, secularists or Islamists, if followers of this Ism or that ideology, and whatever she or he may believe in, or not.
Having said this, I invite you to read:
With a little money in their pockets, they [two blacks] are walking down the street and run into a shop with a sign hanging on its window, that reads, “We make blacks white, guaranteed. Only $100.” However, one has $110 and the other $90. They make a deal: The owner of the bigger amount will go first and test it out; if he really turns white, he will give the remaining $10 to his friend so he can do the same. The first black man goes into the shop and leaves it after a very short time as a completely white person. His friend waiting outside is flabbergasted and immediately asks for the $10. But the answer he gets is like a slap on the cheek: “Go away, you dirty negro!”
With thanks to M. Nedin Hazar who "told" this joke, which is rather a dark parable getting close to the essential inheritent interior essence which is hidden in the root of the kernel of everything.
Read his complete article here.
The . . . other (flash-) news:
MILITARY SAYS SECULARISM UNDER ATTACK BY “CENTERS OF EVIL” --The staunchly secular Turkish military said Monday that secularism is under attack by “centers of evil” in a strong warning one day ahead of the expected election to the presidency of a candidate with a background in political Islam. Gen. Yaşar Büyükanıt, chief of the military, said in a note on the military Web site that “our nation has been watching the behavior of those separatists who cannot embrace unitary nature of Turkey and (behavior of) centers of evil who systematically try to corrode the secular nature of the Turkish Republic.”
[source: Turkish Daily News]
It seems, while Greece is burning (has been set on fire?), the Turkish people are sitting on a powder-keg . . . and . . . somebody else is sitting at the other end of the fuse.
Good night, everybody in Turkey. And good luck!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Today’s most important story . . . for hamam owners.
And for most readers: A banal story.
So how to attract reader’s interest?
A kingdom for a headline!
- Campaign promotes traditional Hamam
Hm, that’s it, actually. But …
- Traditional Hamams: We are the Stars
A little more entertaining, but . . .
Ah!!! Heureka!!! . . . No. That’s Greek. . . . er ... I got it!!!!!!
Hamam owners declare war on five-star hotels
Do not blame the writer, rather his teacher(s)!
There has, yet, not been any reply.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Obviously filled with deep indignation, in a "direct" response - via TV - (future Ex-) Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan (RTE) said: "If he is not your president, then renounce your citizenship of this country."
As one of the politest blogger on this planet one might only say: Sic tacuisses . . .
However, can anybody imagine RTE being a philosopher?
Rather there will be a prosecutor putting his eminent magnificence on trial under article 301 for insulting the Turkishness of 53,41 per cent of all Turkish voters who did not vote for his (sic!) party.
Impossible? Cave Cihan, would-be padişah! Not in Turkey.
Thus, let's wait and . . . meanwhile read comments penned by two most respectable Turkish columnists: Yusuf Kanli and Murat Yetkin.
Having read this and this and this you might murmur like Tetrapilotomos:
"I did not see one single tiny hair, one could cut into four pieces."
Good to have somebody to cut the problem in pieces . . .
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Die Zeiten waren finster
Sondern: Warum haben ihre Dichter geschwiegen?
However one will not say:
Those times were dark
But: Why did their poets keep quiet?
Replacing poets by bloggers, it's easy to know what to do after having read the following:
Turkish bloggers are being banned from access to wordpress.com!
There does not exist any official statement, yet, nor did Turkish
newspapers like TDN and Today's Zaman mention the fact.
For the beginning, a little more information here and here and here.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Right now, before setting the link,
by reading this article
for the third time since Monday,
suddenly I felt what ought to be done:
Cancelling all I had written.
Each word an empty one.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Your turn, Mr. Bekdil!
The Peace of the Night.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The man pointed at the opposite wall and asked: "If this wall spoke and affirmed I am a prophet, would you believe me, then?"
By Allah, then we shall believe you", they shouted.
The man turned to the wall, put forth one hand and commanded: "Speak, oh wall!"
And the wall began to speak: "This man is no prophet. He's fooling you. He is no prophet."
As to my knowledge there does not exist an English version of Zülfü Livaneli's "Engereğingözüdeki kamaşma", published 1996 by Can Yayinlari Ltd. Sti, Istanbul,
I tried to translate the perhaps most amazing and sophisticated beginning of all novels I came to read within the past couple of years.
The author may consider my humble attempt a kind of hommage.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
When writing his "Diary of a Madman", Gogol did neither think of any future Ex-leader of the CHP who's tongue would be as swift as six arrows as long as its not about responsible politics, nor of any future Ex-Prime Minister who would call people complaining about having no water for eleven days, exaggerating; nor any future Ex-Mayor of Ankara who would rather ask those still believing in a God to pray for rain instead of retiring and henceforth humbly living in his water-tanker; nor any prosecutor keen to always - or at least ONCE - find his way in the limelight; nor . . .
[ ah, what a pity the English language does not know the word Profilneurotiker!]
Having written this, you may leave this site to learn a little more about the Turkish art of self-irony in general and in particular, here.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
By surfing around, at Dr. Dawg I got attracted by this headline: "Meanwhile in the Land of the Free". Clicking the title, I was invited to read this.
Don't get irritated.
You may - of course? - be curious to learn "Why Hillary Clinton Has Always Been a Republican",
When scrolling just a tiny bit you'll find the story about "some traditon [that] never die":
Black Nooses Hanging from the "White" Tree by New Orleans-based law professorBill Quigley, published one day before "Independance Day" in "Fidel Puritans Own Country".
P.S. Actually, I got extraordinarily surprised when - to be on the safe side - I tried to find fidel in my various English-dictionaries.
Strange or characteristic (?): There does (obviously) no antonym exist for infidel.
Ah, well, when there are no fidel Puritans, who would need such a word?
Go on then, and read the whole article . . . if you can . . .
Sunday, August 12, 2007
And for sure I had not spent quite a few hours of this weekend with Byron, Keats and Shelley. And I had not suddenly jumped up, grabbed at the Book of Irish Verse to get drown in these verse by Tadhg Dall O'Huiginn (d. 1591).
A Vision of a Queen of Fairyland
My soul to ravish came to me last night, :
And never lady at my side did stand
To my undoing so unearthly bright.
Last night she came, a bright and lovely ghost,
And rose before me, while I seemed to sleep,
And of that slumber where my soul was lost
My tongue shall tell while I my memory keep.
Fair was as her face, her cheeks outblushed the rose;
There might you see the floods of crimson rise,
And dark unfaltering brows above disclose
The hyacinthine petals of her eyes.
Her pretty mouth more sweet than honeycomb
Would with red lips the budding rose excel,
And each soft whisper that from thence did come
Would charm the sick and make the dying well.
Between her lips like fallen rain of pearl
On scarlet cushions twain her teeth reposed;
How bright they shone, how sweetly spoke the girl;
Each languid word new loveliness disclosed.
Between her arms that taper to the hand
Are set twin glories, beautiful to see.
Two snowy mountains in her bosom stand,
Mid golden thickets of embroidery.
Gold-bordered slippers on her gentle feet
Do guard her steps wherever she may move;
You'd swear that maid so radiantly sweet
Had them a present from the God of Love.
Her purple mantle fringed with satin round,
Her golden shift with scarlet borders gay,
Her gilded bodice o'er her bosom bound
Did all her fairy loveliness display ...
'I came to seek you: come away with me!'
Thus spake the lady, and her voice was low,
And in my ear she murmured secretly,
As softest notes from sweetest organs flow.
'I will not go.' I answered like a fool,
For love had brought me to distraction,
And as I spake that vision beautiful
Had vanished in the darkness and was gone.
And now my soul and body part in pain.
The queen with blushing check and brown-lashed eyes
Leaves me to pine and cometh not again,
Tho' she was kind and beautiful and wise ...
The mound of Midhir with its rampart fair,
The fort of Sanbh, Abhartach's magic hill,
No lady in their castles can compare
With this sweet maid for whom I languish still.
Not in Emania of the apple-trees,
Nor halls of Aonghus of the golden sword,
The fairy dwells that hath such charms as these,
So soft a beauty or so kind a word.
But she is gone, and I would follow fast’
To lands unknown, who languish in despair.
Would it were possible to find at last
That country and to dwell for ever there!
The ebb must follow ever on the flow –
The vision fled, the joy of love grew weak,
My spirit sank and I was left to woe.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Then when my grasp of her was strongest and I was at the pitch of ecstasy (. . . her dark hair tumbling on her forehead ...) the edge of the restless veil of dawn appeared ... O God! There was the morning light.
"Get up!" cried Gwen, veiled in loveliness herself, "And hide yourself", and quickly embracing me, "What a bitter tear your love is! Go now in God . . . see there is the daylight!"
"Neither is true my lovely creature: the moon that God gave us is shining and the stars are in their courses still: I tell you this light is supposition, this day is your imagination."
"Then why is there a crow croaking high in the air?"
"Her fleas are biting her, annoying her, killing her."
"The dogs are barking and fighting below in the village."
"They can have caught the scent of a fox, and dogs are always disturbing the night."
"Stop your excuses now, my poet: 'A fool's wisdom brings great trouble.' For Christ's sake now get up quietly and open the heavy door outside and run to the wood with your longest strides, for the dogs are savage when they're roused."
"O we're not so far from the wood, and I can run faster than a dog. If there's no cunning spy watching, I'll not be caught this time by God's grace."
"Tell me, my dear poet, if God's willing will you come again . . .?"
"My lady, I am your nightingale, and when the night comes I shall come."
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
It's a shame
would dare to blame
such genial master
who earns fame
for all his words.
It really hurts.
My closest friend's spontaneous reaction after I had told him about Colin Campbell's touching plea to give William Topaz McGonagall, the master of all rhymers, late gratification.
There does exist a demand for justice.
You read the notorious Mr. Kanli’s masterpiece of self pity as recommended in Piece three?
Well, according to my closest friend’s absolutely honest and trustworthy source who had been invited to take a shower in Mr. Erdoğan’s humble home, despite “being disgusted by being quoted out of the context”, Turkey’s future Ex-Prime Minister would not insist on prosecuting Mr. Kanli.
”But, of course, the Turkish justice is independent. Therefore, I can not anticipate any prosecutor's reaction when coming to know all those fiercely insults against the padişah – er – the Prime Minister.”
And here is what Mr. Kanli withhold his readers:
The nice, pretty, cute Mr. Gökçek according to my closest friend’s source assured while they (Mr. Gökçek, Mr. Mr. Erdoğan and Tetrapilotomos’ source) had a tea – prepared, by the way, with impeccable clean water - in the future Ex-mayor’s humble home: “I did never ever say people should leave Ankara for a holiday. I invited them to enjoy holiday in my home.”
And thus the trialogue went on:
The future Ex-Prime Minister: “That’s what our cute mayor said.”
Question: But the water shortage? Imagine only 500.000 people taking a shower in your convivial home?
The cute Mr. Gökçek: “Well, no problem.”
The future Ex-Prime Minister: “Indeed. As said, we have no water problem in our house. We have a water tanker. The people – and it makes me really sad that Mr. Kanli would not mention this in his column – are invited to have their showers in my humble home. I do only ask everybody to turn water off, while lathering and while brushing the teeth.”
Despite of this really wonderful report about an altruistic future Ex-Prime Minister and a future Ex-mayor, our source ends with a thought provoking postscriptum:
What will happen when all citizens come to know of these generous invitations? Will there come the moment when the padişah – ehem – the future Ex-Prime Minister will be quoted by the notorious Mr. Kanli saying: “Now the people have been absolutely exaggerating. My water tanker's empty.”?
We have no water problem in our house. We have a water tanker. I think the water problem is considerably exaggerated, says Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan
These are the key-sentences, TDN-editor Yussuf Kanli chose for his Monday-column, in which he complains about a short period of three days he has been short of water.
But read and judge yourself.
Well, and herewith we enter the world of very very bad journalism.
Before leading you to the essential inheritent interior essence which is hidden in the root of the kernel of quoting Prime Ministers out of the context, let’s have a tiny Turkish lesson.
Today’s curriculum: Help yourself, create your (n)omen.
Gökçek contains of
a) gök = sky/heaven ; skyblue; cyan; unripe;
b) çek = chequeAnd here some additional translation aids:
gökgözlü = blue-eyed which in turn in German is also metaphorically for “in good faith”.
gökkandil = dead drunk
Knowing I’d interrupt her digging for water, I asked a friend in Ankara – by the way, without ANY explaining context - if Melih means the same as does melik (king).
Dictionary says: nice, pretty, cute.
His parents couldn’t guess how tricky & dishonest he would be.
All right then.
To start with the beginning.
Here are some so-called facts for all those still tending to rely on science-based expertise.
Being published on Bloom’s Day, it is, of course, infidel stuff for all those claiming to know that water-shortage in Turkey has been intelligently designed approximately 10.000 years ago.
Spent all blogging time at Crushed by Ingsoc.
But tomorrow night.
Ah, it will be a tiny little story.
Ah, well, about . . .
a) water and no water,
b) a mayor who is a prime-example for that in some countries no career would fail due to incompetence,
c) a prime minister who does not like people exaggerating
d) about people who might soon ask their prime minister the same ... :)
Monday, August 06, 2007
According to our absolutely honest and trustworthy source, for approximately 80 per cent of the Turkish people Deniz the Magnificent is the outstanding thinker and theoretican who has fully mastered Atatürk's revolutionary ideas; he is the sagacious leader of his Party and people who is possessed of brilliant wisdom, unusual insight and refined art of leadership; and he is the real leader of the people who has unboundedly lofty virtues.
TDN's Yusuf Kanli seems not able to accept Mr. Baykal's victory. Mr. Kanli is even mocking about Deniz the Magnificent.
But we know better.
Mr. Baykal and his (sic!) CHP won.
Not enough to drive Mr. Erdogan to Kars, where he could work as extra at the revolutionary local theatre, when it is next time snowing.
But - and nobody could deny: Only about 30 per cent more, and Mr. Baykal and his (sic!) Party would even have won the absolute majority.
Now, why did / COULD this not happen?
Officially one could hear all those arguments Mr. Kanli is mocking about.
One should not blame him, though. He does not know better. He CAN not know better.
Fortunately we can and DO.
According to my closest friend's either omnipresent and absolutely honest and trustworthy source, who's deep throat knows the büyükbaba - not to muddle up with Büyükanit - thus again: who knows the grandfather whose cousin's grandson's aunt knows the sister of a very very influential editor of Cumhurriyet, Deniz the Magnificent has told this extraordinary influential beacon of independant and unbribable Turkish journalism - sub rosa and off the records - the ultimate reason why him and his (sic!) Party would not get - at least - 98,9 per cent of the votes: "The stupid people did not vote for us. But at the next election WE shall turn the table. WE elect a new people."
The very very influential editor has not been seen, since. Influenza, it says.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
It's somehow a pars pro toto for the daily secrets being published.
Ah, and - perhaps - it is about the time you are to be introduced to one of my closest friend's "ceterum censeos":
Banquo knew before
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s
In deepest consequence.
In German it sounds even more impressive (and not only because "Death is a master from Germany")
Oft, uns in Elend zu verlocken
Erzählen Wahrheit uns des Dunkels Schergen,
Gewinnen uns durch ehrlich Spiel im Kleinen,
Um uns in größten Dingen zu verraten.
Shakespeare, McBeth 1.,3
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Some ignorant people might not really understand that "loneliness is a very serious thing, and the life of a MP can be a very hard life."
My closest friend immediately took a plane to Rome.
- After all, Signor Mele lives closer to God and his wife than the intelligently designed Republican primate who recently received forgiveness from God and his wife. My old friend Ratze will give this victim of loneliness a private audience and afterwards Signor Mele's reputation will be as immaculate as . . .
. . . hm, . . . as snow from the Aetna. . . . You are worse than the worst chaperone.
- Ah, General Büyükanit remembering his people of what party is de facto ruling Turkey?
- General Büyükanit is doing nothing but his duty.
- Which is – according to George Bernard Shaw – what a stupid man always declares when doing something he is ashamed of.
- Let’s be serious, Tetrapilotomos. There have 46,59 per cent been voting for the AKP.
- Thus 53,41 per cent voted for a putsch. Which is, by the way, bigger a margin than George Bush once could let his little brother organise in Florida.
- What are you going to tell, then?
- Nomen est omen, would you agree?
- Nomina sunt omina?
- Yes, yes , ...
- So let's look at Büyükanit.
- Oh, please, Tetrapilotomos, no jokes with names.
- I am just trying to inform those of your readers who unlike you are fluent in spoken and written English, but like you do not speak Turkish.
- We shall speak about this later on; without any emotional blockade and off the records. Go on then.
- All right, to cut it short: büyük means great; anit means memorial; thus, Büyükanit means Great memorial.
- Ah, isn’t it nice to have - even being - one’s own memorial in one’s lifetime?!
- I have not finished, yet. Would you agree that language is magic?
- I do, for the first time after a long interval.
- Now, a Turkish native speaker would perhaps know better. But, one can read General Greatmemorial’s name Büyük-anit and/or Büyü-kanit.
- Interesting. And what does this teach my readers?
- büyü means sorcery / witchcraft / witchery / wizardry; kanit means evidence / proof / argument; thus, Büyükanit means f.e. Evidence of Wizardry.
- And what is the essential inheritent interior essence which is hidden in the root of the kernel of everything, and thus in your words?
- Depending on what spell General Büyükanit will be casting when it’s coming to presidential election, once the Turkish people might build him a memorial – perhaps even in their collective memory.