Donatello is going down the field

I had a long dream tonight. Part of my dream was spent in a university, partly in a square similar to Taksim square, and the last part was spent on a floor of a large building like the university, on the elevator side.

At the beginning of the dream, I am a university student. I’m in a classroom, on the blackboard, and there’s a young male teacher who isn’t very good. He wrote a big 9-10 digit number on the board; while the teacher was sitting at his desk, he told me a three-to-five digit number and asked me to subtract that number from the number he had written on the board before. However, while I am doing this, he deliberately speaks in a low voice, I repeat it several times, but I am not sure which number he told me. I’m not sure if it says 16,000 or 1,600. I write 16,000 on the board. The teacher comes and deletes a zero from the end and corrects as 1.600. Because he did not have good intentions, at that time, while I was facing the board and without realizing it, he changed the rightmost zero number of the 9-10 digit number he had previously written on the board to 1. I realize this too late. Since I still know it as zero, I’ve already made a mistake even from the very beginning, while I’m starting to do the subtraction.

While I was in the classroom in the dream, it was 10:15 am. When tea breaks were made in businesses, the bell for recess rang at the university. This was the most extended recess outside of the lunch break. Those who want university students can have a bresnackst snack during these hours.

I stood back, “I can’t eat; it’s not long until lunch.” I said to myself, but then “I have something to eat with me too.” I decided to eat.

My desk mate had laid out their food before me and opened it. In the front row, someone else would open what could be called a mixed, dark meat soup, put it on a plate, and eat it. There were conversations, and that person said, “Donatello came, he passed through here, he was going down the field.” said.

I’m here too. “Did Donatello look like an intellectual leftist? Was he a tall man with dark hair and a ball of beard?” I said.

That person replied, “No.” Then the scene suddenly changed. I am in a place very similar to Taksim square. It wasn’t very crowded, but quite a few people were walking close together or standing and talking in groups of a few. There was an ambulance in the middle of the square and a military jeep right behind it. Two vehicles led by people who appeared to be left-wing terrorists suddenly entered that square. Those cars were also heavy, powerful vehicles. They were not light passenger-style vehicles, they were jeep-like vehicles. They hit the military vehicle, and that military vehicle also hit the ambulance. These skirmishes weren’t hard skirmishes, but even a little movement put those standing on the left side of the ambulance in danger. Again, he caused a young man in that group of university students to be under the ambulance. On the other hand, although I was on the right side of the ambulance, five or six steps away, I knew and understood what was happening on the other side, even though I could not see it with my eyes.

I guessed that the oppressed young man was not dead or seriously injured, and I was sure that the young female students around him would soon scream and make a noise in an ugly way. Then I immediately looked at the soldier in the driver’s part of the military vehicle. I also saw that there were no other soldiers in the vehicle. The soldier had no rank. His left arm has a red “guard/officer” bandage. The soldier looked mature, about 45 years old. His weight was just right, he wasn’t thin, and although he had no rank, he had a heavy/solemn stance. Surprised; there was nothing wrong with it. It could be read from her body language that she was so distressed as if to say, “How did this happen now?” Still, he was not overly agitated, he was able to control himself, to maintain his weight. Due to his military discipline/training, he didn’t even take his hands off the steering wheel, but his face was very tense.

I was turning rapidly and successively to everywhere in the square, looking, scanning, wanting to understand as soon as possible what was going on. After that military jeep, I immediately turned my eyes to the two terrorist vehicles that hit him. The terrorist in front of them was giving instructions, and I heard it. “Clear the field.” he was saying.

Until those moments, the young female students around the oppressed young man also started to wail. They did what they always did. They preferred to shout, react and make noise without understanding what was going on, trying to understand, thinking about the consequences, and wondering who was playing their game.

It was mixed in seconds. There were people who started to run away from the people in the square. It didn’t seem logical to me to start walking away from the square without understanding what was going on… I was looking all over the square faster, turning my head this way and that with a few seconds difference, scanning everywhere, trying to understand precisely what was happening. Meanwhile, I was wasting time and also assessing that this might put me in danger.

On the other hand, “Why didn’t this terrorist say -evacuate the square- he said -evacuate the field-?” I was thinking. I was thinking, “Do those who follow the Akademi Magazine live in a state where they can’t help it, or is it one of those who immerse themselves in the language and style of the Akademi Magazine?” As a result, I started running away from there before I could understand exactly what was happening in that square. In front of me, mostly young men were running unconsciously and in a state of panic.

There were other cars parked in the direction we were running. In those cars, bombs could be ready to explode with a very high destructive power or suicide bombers among the people running in the square. On the other hand, “I’m undecided, but I’m running, but this can be very dangerous.” I was angry with myself. But everything was happening quickly, and I had to make a decision in seconds.

While he was running, the scene suddenly changed. That turmoil, that chaos was left behind in an instant. Again, I found myself in a very quiet place, on one of the floors of a building, such as a university building or a large hotel building. More precisely, I was not there physically at that moment, as if I was an invisible camera, flying in the air, watching events and people in a way that no one could notice.

I was in front of the elevator door of the floor I was on, watching. A young man was waiting there in front of the elevator door. It was a large and luxurious elevator made of metal that was beautiful to the eye, the door of which slid open in the middle.

I scrutinized the young man in a straight coat made of a very hard material, standing with his right shoulder leaning where his right door met the wall. He also looked like a college student. His coat was long enough to almost reach his shoes. His coat was both wide and molded, and it was not possible for me to read the body codes of the young person in him, as well as his body language, and to make quick preliminary assessments about that young person.

I could see a little of the left side of his face and a little of his hair. Then all of a sudden he lifted his right hand between the wall and his body and brought it to the right side of his face, rubbing his face. At that moment, I could see a little of his fingers. I observed that the finger bones were prominent. I knew already that it was Donatello, that he was on the field, that I was watching him. When he saw his right hand, even if it was halfway, he said, “A person with such a hand and fingers cannot have a strong body and also a determined, strong mind and spirit. His hair wasn’t as black as I thought. It was light brown in color. It was tight and long stranded. He already has fine lines on his face. There must be a frail body in that coat, too,” I said.

Then, the elevator, which was descending from the upper floors to the lower floors, suddenly stopped at that floor. The door slid open to both sides. The first thing that caught his attention was a young girl who looked like a university student with a light brown complexion and thick black hair. He was standing in the middle of the vast, spacious, bright elevator. The floor inside the elevator was also different. It was as if it was made like a stage with good quality, good-looking, beautifully colored, soft rubber material. Several floors, each a few inches thick, rise with angular lines, form a circle at the very center, and there, as if the winner of the competition was standing, the young girl stood.

She knew Donatello. He also displayed a friendly attitude during the meeting. Donatello entered the elevator cabin, and the door closed. I found myself in the elevator cabin.

Donatello said a few nice sentences to the young girl and began to woo her. The girl was not bothered; she wanted it. Thanks to this, Donatello progressed very quickly. He was always smiling at the girl’s face, saying nice words and provoking her body with his hand, making her feel sexual pleasure.

This is the dream; in an instant, with a fait accompli, the girl was completely naked, Donatello’s hand was on the most intimate part of the girl, but the more interesting thing is that the girl was in the air without any means. His back was to the floor, his face and stomach to the ceiling, his feet to Donatello. At that moment, I woke up, the dream was over.

| Mehmet Fahri Sertkaya – Ezber bozan – Akademi Dergisi

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