Muhammet Aldemir

Yayınlar

Yazmak, bazen hayata tutunma biçimidir

Yazmak zorundaydım. Herkes dışarıdayken ben içerideydim. Yalnızdım. Konuşmayı bilmediğim için bir zaman sustum, anlam veremediğim ne varsa kaplamıştı beni. Sonra onlar acılarımla yıkandı ve berraklaştı. Sözcüklere büründüklerindeyse gözyaşlarımla kelimelere döktüm onları. Kimsenin hikaye aramadığı zamanda hikayeler aradım, şiirleri safsata gördükleri vakitler ben şiirlere taptım. Yalnızdım. Dünya korkunç bir yerdi benim için. Her kelime şefkatle dokunuyordu yüreğime. Böylelikle avutabildim yüreğimdeki çocuğu. 19 Şubat 2026. Muhammet Aldemir.

Başla
A weathered dark-wood writing desk bearing a single, open linen-textured notebook filled with tight, ink-blue handwriting in Turkish. A heavy black metal fountain pen rests diagonally across the page, its nib glinting. The desk stands near an old sash window in a quiet study; outside, blurred silhouettes of bare winter trees hint at a city beyond. Late-afternoon light filters in, cool and soft, casting elongated, contemplative shadows across the paper. Photographic realism, eye-level composition with shallow depth of field keeps the notebook crisp while the room fades into gentle bokeh. The mood is introspective, sophisticated, and slightly melancholic, echoing the idea of writing as a way of surviving.

Yazılar

Öyküler ve şiirler kendilerini var etti

Bizler de bu anlatının gözlemcileri olacağız, bu karalamalarda düşün dünyamızda herkes kendi yolculuğunu yapacak.

A neat stack of slim, matte-covered literary magazines in muted tones of charcoal, sepia, and deep burgundy, their Turkish titles barely legible at the edge of the frame. They rest on a concrete windowsill beside a small, overwatered pothos plant whose leaves spill languidly. Beyond the glass, city lights glow out of focus like scattered thoughts at dusk. Warm, low interior lamp light mingles with the cool blue of evening, creating subtle reflections on the window. Photographic realism, shot from a slightly elevated angle using the rule of thirds, with a soft, cinematic depth of field. The mood is quiet, urbane, and reflective, evoking late-night reading sessions filled with poetry, short stories, and fragments of ideas.
An antique black typewriter with round, cream-colored keys sits centered on a scarred oak table, a single sheet of crisp white paper rolled into the carriage. On the page, the first line in Turkish has been typed, then abruptly interrupted, leaving a blank expanse. A chipped porcelain cup of cold, untouched Turkish coffee rests nearby, its dark surface mirror-like. Overhead, a cone of warm, focused pendant light carves the typewriter out of surrounding shadow, emphasizing texture: metal sheen, worn keycaps, stains in the wood. Photographic realism, low-angle close-up with shallow depth of field, drawing the eye to the incomplete sentence. The atmosphere is tense, literary, and sophisticated, capturing the fragile moment between silence and story.
A small, dimly lit bookshelf built into a rough plaster wall, filled with clothbound books in muted earth tones, their spines titled in Turkish and French. Between the volumes, thin handwritten notebooks and loose sheets peek out like hidden drafts. A single beeswax candle in a brass holder burns on the lower shelf, its flame reflected in the metal and casting trembling light across the book spines. Photographic realism, side-lit composition with deep shadows creating dramatic contrast and a chiaroscuro effect. Shot at eye level with a medium depth of field, keeping the front row of books in sharp focus while the back recedes into darkness. The mood is intimate, secretive, and steeped in literary reverie, as if each book hides an unwritten story.

Yeni Karalamalar Geldiğinde Haberdar Ol!

Karalamalar hakkında fikir belirtmek istersen…

muhammetaldemirr@gmail.com

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