Before some months, sitting with some empty chairs, I watched movies without popcorn during the German film festival. Not interested to give review for those movies. This visual literature made a mass changes in my personal days. As a literary book, I can read a movie; its character murmuring the flow of realm in its own way. It’s filled up with candid forms of our shaking minds. Most of the intellectual movies are got introduced to me in the age when I hooked up my private part unconsciously in my pants zip. The frames are obviously helped to realize my tears too. After watching every piece, I felt that I lived with the characters. It’s difficult to pull me from them. Cinema’s e=mc2 spreads all over the veins to show the unexplained lines of hidden theories of life. I started to love the celluloid characters more than real life (real life?!). Why should I? Because me too a fancied figure in this world like everybody else. Sometimes the shadow of mine made me panic without reasons. Not a surreal maniac really, but an ambiguity folds of insane imaginations. Most frames ends up with questions which hold me always and insist me to see the diabolical expressions.

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