**** it...
   when was the last time i managed
my hair and my beard?
god almighty...
    it has been since... no way...
late March!  
    that's what?
    April, May, June, July...
     something had to be done -
for the past 3 weeks (if not longer)
i've been walking around
the town, looking like some demented
old testament prophet...
untidy hair -
     a beard so long that you
couldn't see my neck...
             final straw, with this heat...
and in all my life -
   i've only been satisfied with one
barber...
   well... to be honest, he was my first,
i've been to queer hairdressers -
but then hairdressers know
jackshit about a man's needs when
it comes to ****** hair...
     you could say that i lost my
        virginity to Cemil Uston...
my third time today...
    god... you sit in the chair, eyes closed,
chilling, feeling a tingling sensation
on the back of your neck
  when he finishes off the hair
with a straight razor, electric shivers
translated from the metal, running
from the neck to your feet...
      i'd take that to a ******* any day
of the week...
     and to my surprise, my Turkish barber
moved up in the world...
    from a ****** cubicle with only
two chairs, to a much larger studio...
   no television - given that he already
employed an understudy -
    and the wall lined with those artsy
bricks you see in renovated industrial estate
condos...
     i had to congratulate him...
   and i did...
                  because there are no better
barbers in the world, other than the Turks...
and when he finished,
   i smiled and said: no comment -
   it's perfect... i feel human again,
            unlike some ravenous animal...
gave him 20 quid and thought about
all those schmucks paying in the excess of
£100 for some west london hairdresser...
notably women: who always seem to leave
such places: unsatisfied -
   mostly, getting home, crying,
   and then wanting to shave their heads,
because... an atypical high street in London
is not a Parisian catwalk...
          sometimes i love being a man,
just a bit too much...
        but only because of Turkish barbers...
no one beats them:
   ******* have this no nonsense
anti-machismo attitude toward their trade,
a man is no more a man
with a pair of boxing gloves,
   if he doesn't know a good barber...

but of course the second part of
the day was waiting for me...
   a confrontation with my neighbor -
   he says that i should have informed
him about making a barbeque -
because he was drying his washing...
   immediately i started shaking...
- WHAT?!
      WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
- you should inform me whether you're
going to be making a barbeque,
because of my washing, the smoke
   would get in them...
- OH YOU ******, NO!
         NEXT TIME YOU'LL BE WANTING
TO KNOW WHETHER IT'S OK
FOR ME TO TAKE A ****,
   GIVEN THAT YOU'RE TELLING
WHEN I CAN EAT!
                  *******!
YOU'RE A MADMAN!
- i'm the madman? you're the one
howling through the window at night...
- touche, m'ah fwend.

     some people... just don't get it...
writing poetry and sometimes breaking
into a spontaneous howling in the night
is one thing... sure... it's mad...
but... telling someone when they can
do a barbeque - because of someone's
drying their clothes?
              i'm mad?
                 - because you can't really make
an argument...
    when the barbeque stove is
about 10 meters away from the washing line...
i really live next to some ******
neighbors...
   he's in his 50s, she's in her late 40s...
both are overweight...
     and they had a baby about a year
ago...
    the kid doesn't walk... for starters...
cries in pain for most of the night,
and the day...
      the man has lost his senses!
             if he were 30 / 20 younger -
maybe his sanity would be intact...
   but how can you, suddenly turn,
and dictate when your neighbor decides
to cook meat on a barbeque
in his own garden?
                   first it was:
i shouldn't smoke outside my own
window...
   now it's: you should inform us
when you're going to cook food...

     i sometimes wish, pieces of human
excrement like that, could on be shut up
with silence and a *******...
    but pieces of human excrement
sometimes can and will break your cool...
there's no other expression
other than to tell them to *******.