Or, as Paul Auster said about another city, "These are the last things . . . When you live in the city, you learn to take nothing for granted. Close your eyes for a moment, turn around to look at something else, and the thing that was before you is suddenly gone. Nothing lasts, you see, not even the thoughts inside you . . . The essential thing is not to become inured. For habits are deadly. Even if it is for the hundredth time, you must encounter each thing as if you have never known it before. No matter how many times, it must always be the first time" . . .
İstanbul is the city of last things . . . a dying city . . . a disappearing city where yesterday's monuments are today's business opportunities and progess always obliterates any opposition . . . İstanbul is the city of last things . . . Look carefully, tomorrow she won't be here anymore . . . İstanbul is a dying city . . .
For now, as long as I am here, I will be documenting its decay . . . I will be keeping track of its dissolution . . . I will be posting what I see and record. Hope springs eternal, too bad there is no hope, there never is any hope.