Let's talk about empty screens, about empty notebooks lying in from of us when we`re happy. It seems like happiness is the antidote to writing, just as love is the antidote to sex.

As you all know and felt, writing is just another way of releasing the pressure, the pain, the doubts, the disbelief, the beliefs.

No one ever wrote any novels about happiness, because it, the happiness, the big awaited, searched, wanted... IT is the prohibited land of art.

Every novel ends with "and they lived happily ever after".. Why can`t they write about that, too? They told us all the pain the characters went through to get up to the point where they find IT. What happens next?

Sure, I read about the feeling of happiness, but in the words of "it would make me very happy if... ". Happiness is the summit that leaves us speechless. We release it, we can write about it, but we don't create art. Why don't I see headlines all over bookstores spelling "Happiness revealed", "My happy little family", "Being happy", "Happy all over again"? Instead, pain sells thousands of books every year.

Someone once told me that all happy families are happy in the same way, but all unhappy families have different ways of being so. Using this judgement, I came to the conclusion that Good has only one face and Evil has thousands.

The most superficial idea that comes into my mind is that God must be quite boring. But no, if Good has just one face, that means Good (or God) is the ultimate truth. I used to say that truth changes with time, with societies, but still, love and happiness remain the same. Sure, we write about love, but never about fulfilled happiness. In opposition with Good, Evil must be just as... an ultimate truth as Good. So where is the truth in so many faces?