i'm an old Romantic at times, i never keep up with the modern
times: from time to time - or rather: pretty much
all the time...
         give me a quote by Aramis from the Three Musketeers
regarding a woman's hands...
how the best hands do not show any protruding veins
on them... or rather: as he described it using his own hands
he lifted them up... the veins disappeared...
the hands of a priest...
    or even the easily infatuated Julien Sorel from Stendhal's
the Scarlet and the Black...
      breaking himself over little signs of affection...
after all... what prompted me to try to start courting
   Jeminah? she rested her elbow on my leg after we were
driving back from a shift at Fulham...
that's all it took...
            can you imagine if a car full of sewage workers
were coming back from a shift and one of them
rested his elbow on the other guy's leg? a bit weird...
but that's the dynamic of men working with women...
there are perpetual love interests at hand...
it feels like being back in a high school playground
sometimes...
     over excited? moi... just saying...
                 great with friends... but when it comes to
colleagues... not so great...
i checked my other bank account today: phew...
so the money did come through...
     well... that's me seeing Khedra very soon...
she's getting impatient... even i can tell by the length
of my ***** hair: since i haven't shaved since the last time
i saw her... and i'll need to get that sorted...
she sent me two pictures of herself in daylight...
without make-up... she looks even more pretty au naturel,
fresher: less wax prone... like mineral water...
she looks: Turkish and not Persian...
     so... well... we're not going to be exchanging
taking selfies: i remember a time when there was a time
when people would take pictures of people...
gathered together, or just alone... it wouldn't descend
into this: i need to take a picture of myself...
so what did i send her... women love cats...
   some... doesn't matter... i donned the Maine ****
sleeping in my bed with a green beanie:
massive grin on its face... i sent her that...
i was trying to convey a sense of warmth...
    how animals trust me... the transfer is through...
once these shifts are over and i have a week's worth of
break i'll visit her... give myself a proper wash-up /
wash-down... trim my public hair... turn up a boy
of on par with glanz (the German pronunciation
of the Z... tss)
           but i'm not... like today...
we were going to Oxford... we pick up this girl:
my neighbour's daughter who got me this job...
she's late... she's sleepy... she asks whether she can rest
her head on my shoulder... she does... snoozes off
for about half an hour...
            we do our shift... *******...
the same girl that had my love interest fired... Jeminah...
you know how girls are...
scratching biting little ******* from time to time...
after all the drama Jeminah's friend Alisa quit...
apparently the hours worked were not worth the money
earned... but it all came down to Jeminah's
son being friend with Alisa's son and...
   i stepped in revealing two lies... maybe even three...
because it got to the point that the boys' friendship
would be dissolved because of their mothers' drama...
anyway... on our way back... all's good... alles güt...
    but my neighbour's daughter is sitting next to me...
she finally drops semi-dead... she cuddles up to me...
head starts resting on my shoulder...
after a while it completely falls onto my chest...
i was going to say... why not take a kip on my legs?!
and that's the thing... she's on me
  and... it only took Jeminah's resting elbow on my leg
for me to make moves...
home-made wine, banana loaf...
wanting her dog to lick the burn wounds off of my
knuckles until i bled... flowers on Valentine's day...
reading about her son's poem back to him...
blah blah...
but in this scenario... i felt nothing...
she's not exactly an unattractive girl but...
   when you don't feel anything... obviously it's all
a bunch of crap...
i'm the ******* joke of the whole team...
apart from the nickname Daddy...
   o.k.: o.k.: it's warm... we haven't started the shift yet...
i had three buttons on my shirt undone...
yeah... i have a hairy chest... and a hair torso in general...
Johnny ******* Bravo...
             i get it... but at the same time:
i want to be as much obvious to the dynamics of
women as possible...
like i once said: i love women...
   which doesn't translate into: i want to understand women...
but they're not unicorns... mythical creatures...
but i have worked in an exclusively male environment...
well... the construction industry has changed a little
since... the only women on site were the girls
working the canteen... but even then... mostly guys:
even in the canteen... because? men cook better...
at least i should ******* know since my grandmother's
Sunday roast chicken is a curse of chicken *******
coming out so dry i would always think:
chalk?! or cheese?!
             i introduced my mother to the Indian cuisine...
i perfected the curry... by any stretch of the imagination
of European standards of cooking this cuisine...
but in this sort of scenario...
    fine line... fine line...
               because as men aren't we so of expected...
we end being more care-givers and protectors than women...
a shoulder to cry on... or... like in this scenario:
to fall asleep on... i'm glad she sunk onto my chest
and didn't call further down the body...
i could hear her breathing heavily into my shirt...
well yeah... because when i put on cologne...
i pray my beard... my neck and my shirt...
and cologne is best accented when worn with
prolonged expose to air, sun and... a little bit of sweat...
oh no no... not when it's ******* in your face
like a whiff of ammonia!
and certain fabrics behave differently with regards
to how cologne is stored...
       again: i have no problem working with women...
but... there was bound to be some ******
tension on the ******* horizon...
    i love this word, i write it... but i know i'm going
to be eating some letters... surds...
inevitable... or... rather... not eating some letters...
changing the vowels around...
   IN-EH-V'EH-TABL'
                
         Johnny ******* Bravo... Daddy... cute...
   cute... but do i need it?
               i really hope these women don't find out
that i'm a night prowler... that i go to shady parts
of London and look for *** in brothels...
      because... oh hey... he looks like the boy next door...
shirts whiter than snow...
ironed... trousers ironed... pristine hygiene...
smelling good... well yeah...
   that's why i have exclusive rights to **** a Khedra
without a ******...
and there's no mention of possibly catching Syphilis...
even said: and i'd trust a ******* with my life:
hell... i'd entrust this one with taking it...
she said two things:
   (1) even if you ******* into me,
           i won't get pregnant... and...
(2) a ****** will not protect you against any STDs...
personal hygiene...
    well yeah... wash your hands regularly...
your body... if you have ******* pull it back
and wash the parts that will be exposed and engaged
in ***...
   it's that ******* simple...
               cleanliness ought to be considered
an 8th virtue...
   or perhaps even the 1st...
sorry...
  but... cleanliness?!
that's above: chastity, temperance, charity,
         diligence, kindness, patience and humility;
all those come after...
after you ensure you find yourself agreeable
with the sensibility of not being... repelling...
                a clean man is a chaste man,
he's also a temperate man...
              he actually can be charitable...
he is diligent... blah blah...
                       that's the cruelty of this world...
the affection and love you want to give to someone:
outright rejects it... the opposite of you who're attracted
to: call it mental health "issues"
call it self-sabotage... i'm was so willing to move
past my past mistakes...
   as a man i thought i'd be the one talking about
my past relationships... turns out... women talk
about them more...
what the **** am i? a steward and a psychologist
all bundled up into one?!
i know more stuff about the people i work
with than they know a month's worth of me...
like today... i was explaining to this dyslexic
coworker... is **** an offensive term?
what if you were to attach a hyphen to the word:
treating it like a prefix?
    English is sometimes lazy...
you say and write: couldn't instead of writing
and saying: could not... you don't say Afghanistani:
you say: an Afghan...
            i don't call Jews Jews:
Hebs: short for Hebrews
or Yids: short for Yiddish speaking folk...
  i followed up: why is everyone so ******* sensitive...
why are we walking on egg-shells?!
shh... shh... don't make a sound...
    ****** is supposedly offensive in H'america...
to be perfectly honest... if anything is to be deemed offensive:
Pole is... ****** is a term that those
spaghetti-monstrosities and pizza jugglers
of the American-Italian consortium can get
one foreign word: right... outside of the realm of:
cappuccino... paparazzi! ******* sing-along *******...
oh this guy spotted me...
when i mentioned the dynamics of English like
i wasn't an Englishman...

a bit like... on the Niger river i came across
a giggle... but the giggle's name started
with N and was strangled by vowel catcher of: err...

it's that ****** simple...
all the wars can happen... proxy... authentic or otherwise...
but this world is harsh... i wanted to love someone
whom i became: enthralled by...
REJECTED!
                   it's not like she was offering
anything more than a headache...
perhaps she figured out that she was sparing me...
but... this current approach?!
by my neighbour's daughter...
           falling asleep sniffing her dreams out
from my shirt...
slobbering on my chest...
         but... but... i can't return this affection...
that's what's so heartbreaking...
   not with Khedra "on the side"...
           i mean: Khedra is a bombshell by comparison...
she might be a *******...
but she's a ******* bombshell...
again: more Turkish than Persian when
she's not wearing any make-up...

             i'm always happiest when i leave
my coworkers behind...
again: are we working?
          today i tended to the disabled spectators...
the joke ran along the lines of:
my partner said this to X and he said it back
to me: oh yeah... all i have to worry about is...
them running onto the pitch...
                sometimes i just get tired of English humour...
it's funny... but it's hardly inventive...
it's sort of blatant... like sarcasm...
                     i find it painful to laugh...
then again: laughter is painful to begin with...
i find more relief in the blissful agony of tears...
when i hear a beautiful piece of music...
that's when i truly relax...
besides that: i'm either tense or paranoid or
both...
                  
   let's face it... between the religious crowd...
with their Bibles and their Qurans...
what's the secular crowd like?
   they too have their "bibles"... 1984...
        Brave New World...
two books... that ever, could ever come:
into existence... i'm sort of bored talking to these people:
these: adherents of... oh wow...
the pristine idea! let's follow up on with it...
aren't we? we wanted it to be true for so long
we didn't even require Soviet propagandists to
undermine western Western Civilization...
if it can be called: at best that...

i wish i wrote something in more interesting times...
mind you: she acts like sje isn't:
but she's a victim of ****...
i'm the shoulder, the chest...
she gets to fall back on...
                       life's is never truly written:
it's lived first... then... somehow,
down the line... shrapnel is echoing....
                      i've been waiting to take a ****
for about 5 hours... not i'm farting
like barking mad dog...
                             what violins for the fiddles
of that's this supposed life.