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Am 26.04.2022 ist Timur’s erster Roman dolor erschienen. Dieser ist bei allen Buchhändlern erhältlich. Bestellungen können auch direkt bei ihm gemacht werden. Das Buch ist momentan nur in Deutsch erhältlich. Hier der Buchbeschrieb:
Welcome to the official blog of Timur E. Simsek. On this page you will find all of his latest publications. You can find anything from short stories, poems, to updates on his current projects.
It’s worth checking in frequently!
If you want to get in touch with Timur personally to give feedback, share your opinion or have a talk about some of the things you read on here, you can send him a dm on Instagram @timur_simsek
On April 26th, 2022 Timur published his very first novel called dolor. It’s available at any store of your choice. You can also order it through him. Disclaimer: the novel is currently only available in German. Here’s the book description:
1946, New York
Tom ist ein gutaussehender, junger Mann, dem eine rasante Aufstiegskarriere bei der New Yorker Polizei bevorsteht. Auch in seinem Privatleben läuft alles wie am Schnürchen als er die hinreissende Emily an der Hochzeit seines besten Freundes kennenlernt und sie sich verlieben.
Mysteriöse, scheinbar unlösbare Mordfälle und die zunehmende Popularität einer Gang scheinen Toms glanzvollem Werdegang allerdings ein abruptes Ende zu bereiten. Der vermeintliche Verlust seiner Liebe des Lebens droht ihn an den Rand seines Verstandes zu bringen. Einen Ort an dem ihn nichts ausser Dunkelheit erwartet!
1946, New York
Tom is a handsome young man with a fast-paced career ahead of himself at the New York Police Department. His personal life is also going swell when he meets the dazzling Emily at his best friend's wedding where they fall in love.
Orell Füssli : https://www.orellfuessli.ch
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com
Hello. My name is… well… actually I don’t have a name. Most of you just know me as death. Pleasure to meet you. You know who I am, right? The skeleton with the black hood and seesaw? The poor creature who has to collect the souls of the old and unfortunate – no that sounds horrible, death thought to himself before throwing himself back onto the couch, frustration showing on his bones. Damnit all, he just wasn’t meant for writing. Life in hell was lonely. A wasteland, barely bearable. Sometimes he paid a visit to the opera or he would go to the park and listen to the lovely agonizing screams of all who were damned. It had improved slightly ever since Mac Miller got here. Death had been to a couple of his concerts already. He liked the dude. Real cool. At least better than this Mozart prick, the old puppy… yuh. Apart from that his life was miserable though. His boss was on his tail constantly, god wasn’t the nicest guy around either, and he didn’t like his job. You know all these old grannies and gramps just can’t accept, that it’s time to die. It’s not that big of a deal. Just recently, one of those old hags beat me up with her walking stick. Real mean. I don’t want to do my job anymore! Everyone thinks I’m the bad guy, but I’m not. I have a good heart. I’d rather just slack around here in hell, smoke some pot and throw it down with Hitle- “Are you complaining again?", the devil asked. “Of course not”, death lied. Ah, the devil. This woman was straight up horror. She’s the boss of the guy I talked about earlier. The devil’s name was Gertrud. Fitting, am I right? “Has Torsten left already?”, the devil asked. Death shrugged. You’re wondering who Torsten is? God. You guessed it! Torsten and Gertrud? Husband and wife. The epidemy of all toxic relationships. No one knows why they’re dating. They fight all the time, just to have make-up sex afterwards. I once walked in on them railing. Never seen such a sick sex position in my life. “Why are you just hanging out around here? Go, and be useful. A ten year old slipped on ice in London. Go and get me his soul!”, Gertrud ordered. “Yes, your highness”, death murmured before vanishing with a faint puff.
Only the weak light of the street lanterns fought against the haunting darkness of the night. In a resisting manner, they kept on shining. The darkness seemed to even swallow sounds whole. Well, maybe not all of them. I can hear the snow giving away to my feet. Should’ve brought my shoes, got cold bones. Gosh, where was this boy? Death trotted down the street. After minutes of searching, he found the child. He sat on the sidewalk, a glimmering silhouette next to his own corpse. How do I start the conversation? How do young people talk these days? What’s hip? “What’s good?”, death asked the boy. “I’m not”, the kid replied. Well, that backfired. Good job, dude! “I’m here to take you with me”, death explained.
Feelings… why do I have them? Having strong feelings, and them getting shattered over and over again is like peanut butter and jelly, they go hand in hand. Is there a way to go numb? I keep on trying and trying but it doesn’t help. I don’t want who wants me, and the one I want doesn’t want me. It’s always been like that. Devil’s circle. Murphy’s law. Does that mean I’m doomed to be alone? Am I forced to settle for someone I don’t truly care about?
Hanging out with you is like being drunk. Getting intoxicated is fun, being drunk out of your brains is great, waking up the next day and sobering up, not so much. I always look forward to hanging out with you, then actually being with you is the absolute high of my life, and then once you’re gone and I sober up on all the things you told me, I regret ever having met you. I’m worse off afterwards. Why does it have to be that way? I’m losing my mind here!! The funny thing about this whole ordeal is, that in one years’ time, I will look back on this and smile; thinking to myself “why did I let that ruin my mood”? This does not have any significance to your life. Why did you let your life get ruined by that? Pathetic.
And yet, here I sit… alone in my room… emotions crashing in on my like waves… I know how to swim, but I’m tired… should I let go and drown? My head’s already under water so might as well.
I’ve come to a big realization. Where in life you live doesn’t matter. It’s about how you live it! Back home, I was depressed and upset, blaming country, girls and society for my unhappiness. I moved across the world to a city where I knew nobody. I fall in love, like many times, and end up in the same mental state as back home. So truly, where you live on this earth does not matter. You’ll always end up getting hurt. The question is how you deal with it. Personally, I don’t have the answer to that! Marc didn’t have an answer either. I guess that’s why he left. Should I leave too?
Am I weak for struggling so much? I just can’t seem to get things right! I literally met the perfect girl, the girl I’ve been waiting on for so long, just to lose her to another man. I can hear Nick say “she just wasn’t the right one” but why does she feel like it then? And if she truly isn’t, where the heck is mine at then? Or did I miss her then?
I’m longing for the good old days. I would sacrifice everything to go back. Adulthood consists of nothing but seeking love, getting your feeling hurt and struggling to make money. A life like that is boring… a life like that is not worth my time…
I made my peace, can I go home…
|I have a nightmare|
“I have a dream” but no one ever said “I have a nightmare”. What happens if you have one? How would you realize that you are in the midst of it? Well, I must be living one as I cannot recall the last time I felt happy. Maybe that’s just life though. Maybe that’s what adulthood means. Could also be the reason why all grown-ups pity the young ones, why they feel nostalgic and sad when they see an unbothered toddler’s smile. It was easier back then, wasn’t it? – they would say. Why is it more difficult to be a content human being at age 22 than it was ten years ago? Sometimes I wonder if Martin Luther King was living a nightmare as he was proclaiming to have a dream. A dream in which the world was alright, where everyone was equal. Equal in everything. As if all humans had been manufactured in some factory. His dream seemed simple enough. Frankly, humans aren’t simple. They are complex in their appearance, their attitude, their behavioral patterns and even on a physical level. Just look closely at the uvea of your eye and you’ll see how highly complex it is. Or take a look at your hands. The amount of detail that goes into it, the crinkles, the hair, the way fingers bend, the type of fingernail, the lines on the inside that create a fingerprint if we tip a thumb in ink and press it on a blank sheet of paper. Humans aren’t simple and that’s why Martin’s dream has difficulties being put into place. But that’s not why I live a nightmare. No, my nightmare looks way different.
- Letter of a man to his lover back home