Half an hour after finishing act one, I came down with a fever. It stayed with me throughout the night, as I was lying in bed, half-awake and delirious. I was dreaming about a farmer who wants a wife and about Robert Lewandowski. He (the latter) was very angry with me for some reason. In the morning the fever was gone, but I took a day’s break, then returned to Şeküre – act two began.

The punchline of this second act, which is also the punchline of the entire piece, is not yet clear to me. At times it seems to me that I can almost see it and understand it, but then it disappears. In the previous act, like it had happened many times before, punchline would appear reliably, just like a starrise would, so I’m waiting. I’m reading "Persian Carpets" and epics about lovers. Yusuf and Zeliha, Layla and Majnun, Khorsow and Shirin. 

I see the big black dog more and more clearly. I dreamt about it in the past, and now he’s back.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)