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(Extramücadele’nin bir 30 masum yılanı bir de Gül Bahçesi [Gülistan] var.) Aklındakileri harmanlamış, yoğurmuş, fazlalıklarını ayıklamış, dizmiş, şöyle bir bakmış, bitirmiş. Yapılan bitince konu (subject, süje, yani teba) olmaktan çıkıyor.
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The work is complete; the author has finished his job for all to see. (Extrastruggle has 30 snakes, and a Rose Garden [Gülistan]; so he, too, has finished his job.) He has whipped together his ideas, kneaded them, separated the wheat from the chaff, lined everything up, taken a good look at it, and finished the work off. Once the work is done, the subject matter goes beyond being merely that (subject, or, subjects, the group of people ruled over by another, an authority). It’s no longer in the hands of the maker. The object, sitting there as it is, however many dimensions it may have, whether intangible, or even invisible, becomes incarnate. It emerges from the inside to the outside. Sometimes it dazzles, makes your head spin. But let’s not dwell on that. What we really need to dwell on and contemplate is those who destroy and burn what they make. Those who somehow never – can - manage to get along with the fact that what comes out of them is, after all, an object. Or, the true auteurs, who act as if what they make does not exist, and had never existed in the first place.
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