Welcome to my Basement...

Who Am I?

Hoii! This is my blog site. The name is Ömer and Currently, I’m 18 years old. I’ve used nicknames on the internet as such as: “Seraphine”, “Fetszy” Or “Jester Mouse”. You can wander around this site as much as you want! I’m open to writing commissions etc.!

Favourite Games:

-Deltarune and Undertale

-Minecraft 1.12.2

-Hitman: Blood & Money

-Super Mario 64

-Disco Elysium

Favourite Shows And Movies:

-Breaking Bad

-El Camino

-Better Call Saul

-Dexter

-House MD

-Behzat C.

Favourite Musics:

-All of “Pilli Bebek”s songs

-All of Toby Fox’s Songs

-All of Radiohead Songs

-All of Femtanyl Songs

-All of Tally Hall Songs

Select a season from the left menu, then click a title to open it here.

Essays are grouped by season. Use the left menu to navigate.

Poems are grouped by season. Use the left menu to navigate.

June 25, 2025

There’s no game left to play…

When we run out—when at least a sense of weariness finds us—words like these come to mind; don’t they? You look for a purpose and can’t find it; you want to write and you can’t; you want some work to appear, but everything around is so empty, so quiet, that it feels as if there’s nothing left to do. I assume it’s all a game. There’s none left, is there—neither a game to play nor a game to be played, not even the desire?

I’m hurt. I’m tired. Putting it into a single word feels insufficient most of the time. Not being understood is frightening—especially being misunderstood; that’s a whole different matter. Because of that, I often feel like I can’t explain myself.

Should there be a bond in things? Or is everything detached? Is life worth giving meaning to? Let’s say it is! Will we be able to live up to that value? What determines our value, then—others? If we’re alone, are we worthless?

I don’t understand. This feels like something separate from burnout. The disconnection is inside everything. Whether no one is beside me or everyone is; regardless of the situation, I don’t feel attached to anything. As if I’m completely empty inside. My energy isn’t even enough to write this—am I really that empty? I don’t feel my own existence. I can’t see that I exist, as if my existence has ended; like I’m living in a dream. I don’t know what’s real.

May 19, 2025

There wasn’t even a single photograph, actually. The memory that accompanies our mind is enough, I guess, isn’t it? We can’t forget anyway; the wholeness, the unity of the parts—eyebrow, eye, ear, mouth—what of whom could we ever forget? Everyone has left a trace and gone, hasn’t they? Who cares, of course; we will live this life with longing, with slow steps, tasting the melâmet. After a person’s fortitude is gone, what use are these steps?

It is such an affliction that it has no option other than living by getting used to it. Its only option is to resist: giving up everything, shooting oneself in the head. There are those who make you feel the absence, there are those who don’t care, there are those who don’t speak. Don’t they see us? They probably haven’t seen what love is; they don’t know their value through our value, they can’t notice. One must rule. To destroy. Sometimes such a rage comes that you want to drown everyone, to death, in a spoonful of water. Obsessions, obsessions; fixations, fixations; is it you who don’t think? Or is it we who think too much?
We can’t end this madness. You think it ends by leaving life, by breaking away from us or from someone, but this cycle goes on. The cycle of life.

They put on airs—do we envy? Maybe; we don’t know. If only we had tasted our childhood; the purity, that happiness that felt meaningless, the way we lived and played with pleasure—if only we had tasted it and kept tasting it. Isn’t that so?

We have to put what happened aside. To go on, and to carry the pain forward. We live like this every day, without knowing what will happen—without knowing what you will do, and what will be lived.

It isn’t easy, of course. You have to burn and spill everything, tearing and tearing, and bury it with its pieces. No excavation should be taken out.

May 15, 2025

One day you will meet a woman. Everything will be very beautiful. You will cry; it will rain. Your eyes will be full to the brim—innocent, like listening to your mother’s advice. You will cry.

One day a woman will come, and you will look. You won’t be able to take your eyes off her. Everything will be very beautiful. She will be holding a book in her hand. She will want to put it on a shelf. You will step aside; she will choose a shelf. On that shelf she will pick two books. She will place it between those two books on that shelf, sit down across from you. You will say, “Would you like some tea?” She will. You will go to make tea. As you go, you will think: “How beautiful.” While you’re making the tea, you will think: “Her dress is so beautiful.” As you pour the tea, you will think: “Her eyes are so beautiful.” You will bend down to get a lemon. As you bend, you will think: “Her lips are so beautiful.” Then you will cut the lemon. Then you will take the tea and go back inside. As you walk toward where she’s sitting, you will think: “What am I gonna do!?” You will sit. You will look. She will look too. Maybe she will say something. But most likely she will say something like this: “It feels like my body doesn’t belong to me,” maybe. Then she will get up and leave, just the way she came.

You will look for that book, and you won’t be able to find it. While you’re looking for that book, you will think. Everything will grow tight—the room will grow tight, the bed will grow tight, the taste will go flat. Then one day you will see that the wind truly has come and carried everything away.

Then one day you will write something. One day you will say a line: “Thinking of you in songs doesn’t bring you to me.” And then you will become that kind of man, that’s it. There’s no other way.

—Kaan Caydamli

May 15, 2025

+What is winning, anyway? Imagine that when you’ve won the greatest victory you’re an Antonius; imagine you’ve come to Paris and you’re under that arch and all people are beneath you, and you’re at the very peak of your power… If, in that moment when you’re alone, you say, “So what happened, man—what’s gonna happen now?” then you’re the one who’s lost; you’ve lost. Meaning, right there—inside your greatest victory—you’ve lost…

…

-How wrong can an old Native American be?
+Sometimes he can be wrong.

Sometimes he stays silent.

Sometimes he wants to talk.

Sometimes he wants to listen.

Sometimes he wants to be alone.

Sometimes he wants a friend.

Sometimes he wants to go.

Sometimes he goes.

Sometimes he can’t go.

Sometimes he’s afraid of never being able to go at all.

Some are born into endless joy.

Some into endless night.

Sometimes you die.

Sometimes you can’t die.

Sometimes, even when all conditions are right, you still can’t die.

Sometimes a person wants to get away from themself.

Sometimes you go, just so you can come back.

Sometimes you cry—plainly.

Sometimes you can’t cry—really, truly.

Sometimes you drink; sometimes you want to drink so, so much… sometimes you’re already going out to drink.

Sometimes you get into a taxi from Acibadem and say “To Kadikoy.”

Sometimes he doesn’t even look at your face.

Sometimes a woman comes, sits across from you… and cries.

Women are always crying.

Sometimes a woman tells you, on her own behalf: “The thing I fear most is a woman’s tear.”

“If I loved too much,” she says… “If I loved too much…”

Yet she doesn’t know that loving, too, belongs to a… moment.

Everything begins with water.

November 26, 2025

Freeze

Everyone,

Either I see or not,

Either I Know or Not;

Everyone!

As If like they’re Freezing,

Such sweaters,

Such coats they wear,

I’m not able to see any of them.

Me, on the other hand!

Insides and outside is all ignited,

Throwing Flames wherever I go!

Everyone sees how my body turns into an ash!

I, Every day and Every Season, I, writhe!

When The summer comes,

My fire gets fanned;

When the winter arrives,

Everyone extinguishes me.

Why is that?

That, I’m not putting out this fire?

On the other hand, I’ve never felt any cold:

Either infrigidate or shivering!

What’s It like to feel cold?

Are their coldness against me?

If,

This shivering Is cold;

Let’s never feel It again,

Let’s warm ourselves up every second,

Shall We?

May 15, 2025

It Wasn’t worth It...

The ones were Made, The Leftovers;

This Heaven, Hell;

A cursed and cursed World;

This Corn Farm and Sun;

This moon And Twilight;

These Stars that show up sometimes;

Tables with Papers and Pens;

This decayed Lung, Mind;

This Broken Heart And Dried Eyes With Tears;

Dusted Windows and stinky rooms;

All of these mountains;

All of these places people inhabit in;

Cities, Countries;

Are any of these, Or Anything Else Is Our Sacrifice, For the better? 

Meaningless accross all,

Non were needed indeed.

Non were worth it indeed,

And wasn’t indeed.

Swimming towards the flow,

Paddling towards the flow,

Is it needed indeed?

When waking up,

The dried tear ducts in my cheek,

My numb body,

You wouldn’t leave me, would you?

Yet, how could we know?

Everything was worthless,

And going down on a bottomless pit.

I wouldn’t know,

How long would It past,

It’s In My mind, STILL!

However much you forget!

Albeit how Innocent I was,

Wanted Nothing.

A mother, A father;

Siblings and friends;

My paper and pen

I’m asking you,

Could you make my loneliness fade away?

If you cried with me,

If you laughed with me, Wouldn’t It Be Nice

Cried when you were gone as all my pieces.

How foul Is this feeling, yearning?

Once I wanted to spill blood,

Fort he sake of vengeance;

Once I wanted to have peace,

For the sake of poverty.

Once I wanted to hug firmly

And remember how you smell,

For the sake of not to forget;

Once I wanted to taste pain,

Wanted to throw up blood,

Fort he sake of never remembering again.

Sometimes I erased My Dried face,

As sometimes I made it wet with crying;

Sometimes, I wanted to take away my eye balls

As sometimes I tried;

Once I wanted nothing,

Fort he sake of more space;

As once I “guess” I wanted a lot,

Fort he sake of Everything I had.

I lived every single day,

With sometimes and onces

As how i wanted to die with it;

Fort he sake of Everything...

May 15, 2025

If there is a God,

I have only one request.

Pull me out of reality,

And take me far away, if you must.

I have a wish.

Will it never come true?

Does it have to be like this?

Just one last time,

Because I wanted to hear your voice,

Why did this pain have to exist?

It's not in my hands.

Even though I didn't want it,

I wrapped myself in loneliness,

Unable to fall asleep.

Why did this pain have to exist, right?

But if I didn't do it, it wouldn't be me—that much is clear.

Even if I have no hope left,

I wanted it one last time.

Do wishes never come true?

If there is a God,

If He can hear me,

I have only one wish.

If He knows it...

May 14, 2025

Why This Sorrow—Do You Know?

What is the reason for this sorrow, do you know?
It is neither atonement nor regret.
Are you sure you know?
Dreams have flowed out of your mind.

My futile life,
All of it in vain.
You cut your arms,
You crushed hearts.

A curtain over your eyes,
Is your nose blocked?
How could you not catch this smell?
These hands, these eyes,
Trembling with you—
Did you never see anyone?

This head will not see the light of day.
You must have no anxieties left, I suppose.

You weren’t late, actually—
You came early.
I wouldn’t want you to see it like this.

Never,
Did you live with me,
Nor with anyone else.
How can you understand, then?
You couldn’t.
It wouldn’t hurt to try, but
You couldn’t,
You couldn’t…

A small touch?
If we burned together?
If we laughed together, looked at each other?
Without these, how did you understand?
You couldn’t, could you?
You couldn’t…

May 14, 2024

Couldn’t It?

They Couldn’t Know,

They Couldn’t See,

They Couldn’t Understand,

They Couldn’t Make,

They Couldn’t Hold My Hand,

The blood dripping accross my arm,

They Could not stop it.

They Could Not See The Burning Inside Of Me,

When Did it ignited,

When Will it get Extinguished;

They Would not make any thing,

They Wouldn’t,

It Would Always Get Dry;

The Tears Falling down from My Eyes.

May 14, 2024

When I get sad, when I think, ...

I stay silent.

I get tired, I lie down.

While I lie down, I don't sleep.

I watch.

I stare at the ceiling.

And I'm satisfied.

I try to be.

Because I don't have a choice.

Because I have to.

I endure—whether I like it or not.

I do.

And I'm satisfied.

I try to be.

I don't have a choice.

Because I have to.

I'm satisfied.

I try to be.

May 14, 2024

Is There No End?

Whar Do I Wait For,

For What?

Is thera a longing,

Is there a pasison?

Hours pass by infront of me,

These passages stare with fear,

To the man whose blood is drawn.

Even If, I get bored;

I sit and murder time,

kill, and comfort myself.

August 5, 2023

This journey has made you beautiful.

But know this,

Neither does the one who leaves come back,

Nor does the one who arrives go back.

April 22, 2023

O Reticent, Mourning-filled Lily;
This Fool is unmade;
It has neither beginning nor end;
This Fool can’t hold on.

From my shoulder to my arm,
The pain that stretches on—
Will you go away if I embrace,
This unbearable pain?

You can’t set out, you can’t finish,
You can’t lend a hand.
Even if you see the branch, you can’t hold it—
You’re only a Fool.

Only in moments like these we remember
How human we are;
Sometimes only time shows the end—
We cry again.

O Reticent, Mourning-filled Lily;
This Fool is unmade;
It has neither beginning nor end;
This Fool can’t hold on.

May 10, 2025

Journey Between Death and Life: The Search for Happiness

Almost all authorities have their concept based on fear.. You can’t look at the face of the person in front of you; the only thing you see becomes those hands. When the order’s rhyme breaks, and when a person comes across something they don’t know and don’t understand, they can’t know what to do and they fall into fear. They want to be alone. However, in terms of maintaining balance, fear is more pronounced than other emotions. Because the autonomous movements in our monotonous life suddenly come to a stop with a reflex; fear is felt the moment it is felt, but an unhappy person is generally in a state where they can keep going with their work and their autonomous movements. Just like love, sorrow, etc., like many emotions, there are many different sides to being afraid. Fear, in my opinion, may be one of the most common reasons for suicide. Because the fear of tomorrow ruins a person; there is a guarantee that tomorrow will not die, and we have none, and we fear that. “Tomorrow? Again? Ah, if only these eyes did not open again,” is always said.

But what should actually be is to hope because “Tomorrow” will not die; how foolish a person is is already clear from here anyway—leaving behind someone who won’t die before even seeing them again. There is still hope to change everything; a lifetime does not pass by being afraid of tomorrow and regretting yesterday. Yes, years passed, but there is still hope—there is still a branch to hold on to. There is still time; after all, tomorrow isn’t running anywhere—when did tomorrow ever die and leave us?

Trying to be happy is the most meaningless forcing. When you look around at what makes a person happy, what you will come across are many things such as spending time with loved ones, raising one’s mood and making personal time, self-improvement, caring about health, gratitude, new experiences, helping, accepting and giving thanks, etc., especially things like human relationships. And most people think that, as the owner of their own development and of the meanings their own life loads onto material and spiritual concepts, they can reach something called “Eternal Happiness.” Yet one of the other things that makes a human, human, is that there is no such thing as “Eternal Happiness” inside a human; the reason for this is that the human is contrary and rebels against order—sometimes because of their selfishness, sometimes because they withdraw into loneliness, sometimes because of many other reasons. And every happiness has an end; the human sees this end late. Are we satisfied with this life?

Let me give my answer: I’m not sure. Even when there are so many things that are going well, I can still be unhappy. What truly gives a person happiness is values. Values, in general, take a person to happiness; sometimes some value can make us happy, full of hate, or sad. Of course, knowing these values matters too—each of people is a value, sharing does a person good. A person’s happiness depends on their meaningfulness and on knowing their ownership of values. And no matter what I do, for me, this life is meaningless, and values have become a concept that leads to madness.

Meaning is something a person sets up themselves, finds themselves, builds themselves; some, however, cannot find it, cannot set it up, cannot build it. This sometimes gives a life full of pain, and sometimes, a meaningless life that makes you say, “hurray.” At this point, a person takes refuge in their values, because values are the last thing that gives them meaning and remains. When satisfaction is not felt with these values, we enter the prison of unease. Now think again about the question I asked; it’s still not clear, is it? As Orhan Veli says in his poem “To Live”:

I know, it is not easy to live;

But, well

A dead person’s bed is still warm,

Someone’s watch is running on their wrist.

To live is not easy, brothers,

To die is not either;

It is not easy to leave this world

No matter how hard dying is, it is just as simple. Living, however, is a complicated concept. Living is full of chaos and storm. Happiness is like that too—were we happy when we were born? In the minutes before we die, will we be happy?

June 25, 2024

It’s something like shivering from the cold. But you can’t find your coat in winter. ...

Sometimes you take the road, but you can’t find your way, you get lost. Your mouth dries. ...

Or sometimes, you watch your loved ones do what you should have done by now; you call it “destiny” and stay silent. ...

August 4, 2023

You bend down and think… “What does it change to feel pain, to be sad? What is it that I deserve? What does it change to worry about there being no return?” In the shadow of these questions, you search for the meaning of life. Perhaps, in the chaos of life, like Sisyphus’ stone, you are trying to understand the meaning of constantly going up and falling down again.

In one sense, according to Albert Camus’ philosophy, the meaning of life is questioned. Like Sisyphus, even as he pushes the stone up the hill, he knows that when he reaches the top, the stone will roll down again. Yet perhaps Sisyphus’ stone is only a metaphor. Perhaps meaning lies not in pushing the stone to the top, but in putting forth effort and will. Even while accepting the absurdity of life, Albert Camus emphasizes that meaning lies in our own efforts.

Here, Stoicism comes into play. Finding inner balance in the face of difficulties and yielding to the flow of life form the essence of Stoicism. Sisyphus’ struggle with the stone actually strengthens him and makes him free. When he finds inner peace and virtue, whether the stone reaches the top or not—no matter what happens—he will have achieved an inner victory.

The absurdity of life and Sisyphus’ stone are as real as life itself. When combined with Albert Camus’ philosophy and the teachings of Stoicism, the importance of striving with all our strength to find the meaning of life and of maintaining inner balance is understood. Every step, every effort, every emotion is filled with meaning and will.

Do not forget: life can sometimes look like Sisyphus’ stone, but your effort and your inner strength are what make carrying that stone to the top—or letting it roll down—meaningful. Grasping the meaning of life and the power of struggling in life opens the doors of a freedom intertwined with wisdom.

And perhaps, when you walk toward a new purpose every day—whether you push the stone to the top or not—you can see how meaningful life is. You, too, as you take each step for a purpose, as you cope with every difficulty and find inner balance, are philosophers who carry Sisyphus’ stone and search for the true meaning of life.

Staring at the ceiling and killing time… Tossing and turning in bed… Living… Making a scheme… Crying… Worrying… Sweating… Sticking… Clinging meaninglessly… Getting out of the pit… Falling into the pit… Sleeping… Lying down… Getting up… Not being able to get up… Convincing yourself that life has no purpose… Waiting until it changes… Finding a new purpose… Looking at what the whole of life consists of and trying to change it… Getting punched and falling to the ground and lying on the ground for years… Waiting to stand up… Waiting for the plans life will make against you… Waiting for the punch death will throw… Waiting for the desired feedback…
What does it change?

Seeing the truth on the road we move forward on makes our road harder. After all, both vanishing and not being able to be are a nightmare scenario. Shakespeare said the same thing: “To be, or not to be—that is the question.” We are actually the only thing that can give us hope on this road; we are alone on this road, no one will walk this road for us—whether for us, or for themselves, or for any other reason. You will either run, or walk, or crawl; this road will be taken.

Your questions may remain unanswered, the stone may fall while we are pushing it uphill; yet to struggle in life means to gain an inner victory with Albert Camus’ philosophy and teachings. And perhaps, when we face all of this—through all these inner journeys and transformations—we realize that, just as we are burdened with Sisyphus’ stone, we are carrying the meaning of life.

April 19, 2023

Every authority defines its position through fear. It ruins a person’s life to herd them with fear. You can’t look at the face of the one in front of you; all you see becomes those hands. When order—when the rhyme breaks—and when a person comes across something they don’t know and don’t understand, they can’t know what to do and they fall into fear. They want to be alone. However, in terms of maintaining balance, fear is more pronounced than other emotions. Because the autonomous movements in our monotonous life stop short with a sudden reflex; the moment fear is felt, but an unhappy person is generally in a state where they can keep going with their work and their autonomous movements. Just like love, sorrow, etc., like many emotions, being afraid has many different sides. Fear, in my opinion, may be one of the most common reasons for suicide. Because the fear of tomorrow ruins a person; there is a guarantee that tomorrow will not die, and we have none, and we fear that. “Tomorrow? Again? Ah, if only these eyes did not open again,” is always said.

But what should really be is to hope because “Tomorrow” will not die; how foolish a person is is already clear from here anyway—leaving behind someone who won’t die before even seeing them again. There is still hope to change everything; a lifetime does not pass by fearing tomorrow and regretting yesterday. Yes, years passed, but there is still hope—there is still a branch to hold on to. There is still time; after all, tomorrow isn’t running anywhere—when did tomorrow ever die and leave us?

Favori Eserlerim

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