الاثنين، 11 يوليو، 2011

turks

what is it about this Turkish girl, with the classical Royal Ottoman face? , and what the Hell is going on with all the Love Lines around us?

She probably stares at me, because "I have an interesting face...yes, I'm Greek Cypriot...I say that because it's souls. " she probably stares because I'm nerd, no need to describe things, but as the jewish boy said, "French women are (generally) haiier..."


The Turks created a genocide.

"When I was at school, they were always calling me German..."

"I like your husband, is he pretty?"

"What if me, and my boyfriend adopted a chinese boy and made him wear pink? And turned him into a poof"

SCREAM!!!!

Then a few months later:

"Why did I see you have me?"

I lay down to rest, and  I see her hair flowing around me, a brief very clear vision of her hair swaying and her head turning.

"What about horse willies..." it drives me screaming nuts.........always bad talk around me.

"Is this sick, you're in my bed?"

"Men would always look at me, because I had big boobies..."

"What if I'm a lesbian??" she disgusts me with a few months after meeting.

The teacher is flirting with the jewish boy, because I dare. "I dare you to flirt." this was supposed to be:

"Becud she vants your Love."

I've avoided that Love, since the marriage in the metro station in Paris...I just go nuts, and stare away from her, I go nuts because I hate all my work, and she picks the crap. "I reckon, I reckon...for a very long time, she sounded like she was weeping when she spoke. Because even though I'm on the other side of the room, she is mind-reading me for an opinion. And I reply in an angry manner, it was going that, I either stayed silent or I got too angry. And then I would lauugh.

"Yes, it's long and it goes all over..."

"I'm dead, dead. Why did you do that?"

Why did I see her again, in bed, wearing slightly see-through traditional turkish pyjama trousers. Hareem trousers.
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then she stares at me, whilst I'm consuming her home-made meat-balls.

We are walking down Brick Lane, I'm hopping beside her. She is talking about something I expect, burning gay-men, I found myself agreeing, and very elated that she agrees with me. I stay silent.

"Do you like Gay men, Lars?"

"No, I 'ate them..." ("NO, I ate em, I eat em, I  burn them.")

I'm abit high, being out and about, and I'm sure her Dad is Sultan. So I begin my silent chat.

("Its wonder! Blood of Sultan meets blood of an Anglo Saxon King!!")


We walk into the Beigel shop to pick up food for everyone...it's a shock, it's a filthy walled, place, a little cafe, grime all over the counter, run by a fat english man, and a short cockney blonde woman with thick arms..."Yes, I did find Noam Chomsky in your bedroom,

I cant remember why I was there...."

The fat woman starts laughing and pumping out her arms merrily, it reminds me of Mum drunk, with similar thick arms, kinda punching the air...so, I throw a joke;

"Agh hahha, found Noam Chomsky in your room we did!!" I get a tea, it's a special tea, 50p, with lots of sugar.

When we walk out, I spin round to look at her, I turn soul, I wave my arms in circles and do a little bow to the blood of Sultan, dressed in Islamic black, a black box hat on my head.

"Do you think it's Providence?"  I ask her?

She looks up at me briefly. ("You're keen....and you're pretty....") HASHEM! Found it!


"Maybe, I'm King Cnut blood, King C*(&*(! Grandad alright Grandad!! King Alfred!! King of England!!!" A week later I find out Grandad is very ill, gone blind, unable to swallow, with pains in his face, yet the entertainment for Grandad continues...He says: "Good Girl.."

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