sometimes there's just that -
          a cold night,
            two days prior
    to travelling to the motherland,
and a haunting song -
  a glass of whiskey -
           and all the worthwhile
memory of seeing my turkish barber
who came from the city
     of gaziantep:
               it's not as bad as the media
portrays it,
          if the media wants to show
you heaven, they'll show you heaven
but if they want to show you hell,
hell is what you'll see...
       authentic journalists,
              or propagandists?
          a second visit to a barber in
well over 7 years, of growing my hair,
to then cut it to a monkish short...
       as ever, i pay the compliment
to the turkish art of the barber...
                 who know how to both
cut hair, and tend to beards...
         god, i love how they still practice
the art of finishing off the sculpture
with a brzytwa, i.e. a straight-razor...
the type that old-schooling barbers
used to sharpen on a leather belt...
mind you, in turkey you need not be
homosexually inclined to be
a respected barber...
                      even if it's not a heavily
inclined profession akin
to other manual labours...
              so how's business -
                  makes that 15 or so customers
per day, at roughly 20 quid a pop
for the whole deal...
               more on the weekends...
         the best barbers in europe,
on average, are the turks...
              they just have this knack at
keeping it short & sweet, simple...
                          i sit in that chair of
his, close my eyes, and relax...
               forgetting other, darker places
of seeking pleasure.