Script for Video & Excerpt from Video “A Voluntary Movement”, 2023

A VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT, 2023, video with sound, 2’27”

a translation of my recent script – in progress

English Translation (needs to be reworked to synch with the flow of the video & to create a linguistic taste that is present in the Turkish version.)


To float in the air, to be lifted off, what is needed? To be lifted in air. Off into air. What is the need?


They stuck the simit in plastic wrapping under the bag. So that it does not fly away. Let it fly, fly – how could we be lifted in the air… Not how could we be lifted in air, but that feeling of being in air. Lifting from the ground, jumping, a flip in the air… I keep thinking about these things and my eyes happen upon the simit stuck under the bag. Everything is blown into air. There is a beautiful wind. 

To levitate things… What do we need… A strong wind. A storm. A cyclone. A strong wind, storm, cyclone. In a cyclone there could be a lift into the air. There could be a strong wind. In a strong wind, things are lifted. A balloon, an Explosion, (different voice tone), geiser. From under the ground, with pressure. Gas, liquid sprouting from under the ground… Into the air. 

No, not like that: You jump into the sea or rather from anywhere, from high up… down – themselves… but not them… During a fall, you are also in the air.  What we want is not a fall. An ascension. An ascension or rise. High. This word does not work now either. 

Lets say you lift off, where would you lift off from? If you are aired, where would you air to? 

I can feel that I am rising up and I am trying to come down. There are numerous trees that can be seen from above. If only… those trees are so lively in my mind… the tops of the trees… round and round… green. Such a LUSH green and so much, I am aired TOO MUCH. I am too high. I have gone up too much. I need to come down. I try to come down. 

If I could fly in my dreams, this would mean that I could actually fly. If you could fly in your dreams, you could fly. If winds fill my armpits, I could fly. The proof of my flight. Without planes. Without balloons. Without parachutes. Without anything. Naked. A naked flight. Gently. Air up. 

But I fly with effort. (I work hard for it.)

If I leave myself to the wind, whoop! But that would be a drag. If I leave myself to the wind, riding — the wind is like riding the wind. Ride the wind – like riding. But that’s drifting. That’s surfing. Mostly it would be surfing. Flying must be self-conscious and with free will. If you are going to fly, you will fly consciously, knowingly and willingly.


How does your brain change when you master flying? You fly, taking on the form of peach hairs and then you come back together into yourself again. You fall apart and come together again. Possibly, Could I be a stone? A gear lever? Another, completely different body? A lizard? Something that shines on the seabed and doesn’t have a name yet? Undefined. Veins? Nerves? Organs? Textures? Your DNA? Your RNA? Mitochondria. Everything.

Oxygen Carbon Nitrogen Calcium Phosphorus. Potassium. Sulfur. Chlorine. Sodium. Magnesium. Iodine. Iron. Zinc. Your commonalities with the stars.


At some point someone will take off. Someone? Something? Anything. Things. It could be a slipper, a shoe sole or a lace that airs. An earring that slowly peels off from where it is inserted into the ear hole and comes out of its own volition… A tassel. A pair of tassels attached to leather shoes. Why are they there anyway? Why are they there in the first place? Tassels swinging while walking. The tassels of the mottled brown leather shoes of the man reading a book along the road. The tassels will fly. The man will be so engrossed in the book that he will walk down, unaware that he no longer has tassles.


 In quotes: “Extenuating circumstances”; in quotes: “light Turkish pop music”; “light meals” in quotation marks; “light (easy) woman”, without quotes. a light touch

– If you could fly… Where

– I’m already flying

– Can you sleep while flying?

– Sometimes

– I notice that I crossed continents.

– I fell asleep in the branches of a tree.

– Which tree.

– Which tree.

– Stopover points for those who can fly.

– Have you been a guest in bird nests?

They were so light that they landed on the leaves of the tree. On the leaves at the very end of the tree’s branches. Do they fly in pieces? Do they fly by falling apart? They could fall apart. Shattered and just getting lighter? It just gets lighter. Their body is falling apart into tiny pieces. Can a body pollinate, fly and reunite? Even if their head flies off, the head is heavy. One eye flies, one ear, those are heavy too. Hammer, anvil, stirrup. Which one is lighter? An eyelash. A strand of hair. Short? LONG. Gliding like a long hair. A hair of the thinnest kind. Peach fuzz. That peach fuzz on your face that you could only see from a certain angle and in a certain distance and light. It flies in peach fuzz. How does the liver turn into peach fuzz? Just as a plant turns into oil. A star for bodies. Atom. Electrons. Electric. Someone says, “I am electricity.” They entered on their white horse. Rumor. Spread like a rumor. Taking off like a rumor. 


When you’re flying, no one can interfere. No way. It shouldn’t be. Each peach hair is aware of every other feather and everything else. It flies by maintaining a certain gap. Drift! Fly. Control?


Through the mountains and hills. From all the holes. Through the holes. Through wormholes, through shirt buttonholes. From pores? From pores. Just when you’re about to get the feeling of “Oh, how nice, I’m getting through everywhere, through all the gaps, I’m going through holes,” you think about manhole covers and bullet holes. There is a pause there.



Which one takes off more easily, the one with good footing or the one with little contact with the ground?

A table. A lot of paperwork on it. Transparent folders. Photocopies to be placed in folders. A terribly scattered mind. A sadness that lasted longer than necessary. A table, a chair. Office chair. One of those who can turn around themselves. A table, a chair, and a housefly. There is no sofa. There is no bed. That housefly that always accompanies them every time they sit at the table. They don’t like being dead. It’s like being dead has a pose. It got stuck in the crack of the table by its wing. Dead. It’s bone dry. Rigid.


Nothing is in its place. This includes themselves.


When you fly, when you fly with all your atoms…


Announcement: “If there is a doctor among you, could you make yourselves known to the cabin crew.”


They knows that anything can fly because they can blink and the eyelashes are still there.

Rhythm. Blink rhythm.

In case of emergency, a ventilation system should be activated.


They clean their eyes with their feet. Everything that filled into their eyes. Cleaning with their feet Every speck, tasting, sensing every particle of dust as they cleaned. Tasting with their feet. Specks large and small. All is dust. Everything is dust. Everything accumulates as dust in their eyes. 

Transformed into feather when lifted into air or into dust? For example a razor. Transformed into hair or into dust? razor? Dust. Specks of dust. A hesitating tick. recognized that speck by its heat. Which speck of dust? The sharp one. You also hesitate as you clean your eyes with your feet. A momentary hesitation. Like the hesitation of lab rats? A self-conscious, a brief pause. A moment of decision. How will your next move be? Will your attitude towards the specks of dust change? Touch. Stop. Make contact. Feel it out? Or just go for it, clean up. 

 Things are never aired out that sharply. Let’s pretend one of those things turned out stubborn. That they did not lose their sharpness; they bumped into you. At most they will just pass through you. Wow, you’ll say, how nicely it passed through. The sharpnesses, the hardnesses, all the solidity. Let go of those thoughts. Everything turns into something, some into other forms. The lightest of things. You forgot. Piece, piece, piece by piece lifting into air. All things turn into peach hair. And sometimes fine sand. Dust. Molecules? Atoms? (Question) Molecules. Atoms. (Affirming voice.) 


An ant or a housefly? Which one makes you itch more? Blackfly, stubborn. A specific itch to a light touch. Not a bite. It doesn’t have the mouth structure for it. No teeth. Do not confuse them with those on the shore. Do not confuse them with other flies. Housefly. An ordinary blackfly. Musca Domestica.

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