There is a Turkish writer... couldnt remember his name... who was a writer and living smtn like 70-80 years ago. He was a writer for 30 or more years and one day he thought that he had been writing for a long time and wrote about anything in the world. He thought that there is no thing that he hasnt been wite about... so he decided to write about the feel when a person dies... He cut his wrists with a knife and started writing what he was feeling. He was bleeding while he was writing. Hours past and he wrote and wrote about life and his feelings and as he bled. Normally he begun to feel weaker and powerless and after a lot of hours he died because of lack of blood.
So he died for the art. He gave his life for his love to his art.
And if you look to the original writing paper he wrote on, you see blood on it and you see that the writing is getting thinner and thinner because of he is gettin weaker. And the lines are uneven and at the end of the writing theres no ink in the pen due to hours long writing so there are only scratchs on the paper. I think this is beyond everything. Its not stupidity or crazyness. I dont know what it is but its something. Its the ultimate passion i guess.
So he died for the art. He gave his life for his love to his art.
And if you look to the original writing paper he wrote on, you see blood on it and you see that the writing is getting thinner and thinner because of he is gettin weaker. And the lines are uneven and at the end of the writing theres no ink in the pen due to hours long writing so there are only scratchs on the paper. I think this is beyond everything. Its not stupidity or crazyness. I dont know what it is but its something. Its the ultimate passion i guess.
