Ben Sana Mecburum (“You Are Indispensable”)
by Attila Ilhan
translation/interpretation by Nurgül Yayman and Michael R. Burch

You are indispensable; how can you not know
that you’re like nails riveting my brain?
I see your eyes as ever-expanding dimensions.
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that I burn within, at the thought of you?

Trees prepare themselves for autumn;
can this city be our lost Istanbul?
Now clouds disintegrate in the darkness
as the street lights flicker
and the streets reek with rain.
You are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...

Love sometimes seems akin to terror:
a man tires suddenly at nightfall,
of living enslaved to the razor at his neck.
Sometimes he wrings his hands,
expunging other lives from his existence.
Sometimes whichever door he knocks
echoes back only heartache.

A screechy phonograph is playing in Fatih ...
a song about some Friday long ago.
I stop to listen from a vacant corner,
longing to bring you an untouched sky,
but time disintegrates in my hands.
Whatever I do, wherever I go,
you are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...

Are you the blue child of June?
Ah, no one knows you—no one knows!
Your deserted eyes are like distant freighters ...
perhaps you are boarding in Yesilköy?
Are you drenched there, shivering with the rain
that leaves you blind, beset, broken,
with wind-disheveled hair?

Whenever I think of life
seated at the wolves’ table,
shameless, yet without soiling our hands ...
Yes, whenever I think of life,
I begin with your name, defying the silence,
and your secret tides surge within me
making this voyage inevitable.
You are indispensable; how can you not know?

***

Original text:

Ben sana mecburum bilemezsin
Adini mih gibi aklimda tutuyorum
Büyüdükçe büyüyor gözlerin
Ben sana mecburum bilemezsin
Içimi seninle isitiyorum.
Agaçlar sonbahara hazirlaniyor
Bu sehir o eski Istanbul mudur
Karanlikta bulutlar parçalaniyor
Sokak lambalari birden yaniyor
Kaldirimlarda yagmur kokusu
Ben sana mecburum sen yoksun.

Sevmek kimi zaman rezilce korkuludur
Insan bir aksam üstü ansizin yorulur
Tutsak ustura agzinda yasamaktan
Kimi zaman ellerini kirar tutkusu
Bir kaç hayat çikarir yasamasindan
Hangi kapiyi çalsa kimi zaman
Arkasinda yalnizligin hinzir ugultusu

Fatih'te yoksul bir gramofon çaliyor
Eski zamanlardan bir cuma çaliyor
Durup köse basinda deliksiz dinlesem
Sana kullanilmamis bir gök getirsem
Haftalar ellerimde ufalaniyor
Ne yapsam  ne tutsam nereye gitsem
Ben sana mecburum sen yoksun.

Belki haziran  da mavi benekli çocuksun
Ah seni bilmiyor kimseler bilmiyor
Bir silep siziyor issiz gözlerinden
Belki Yesilköy'de uçaga biniyorsun
Bütün islanmissin tüylerin ürperiyor
Belki körsün kirilmissin telas içindesin
Kötü rüzgar saçlarini götürüyor

Ne vakit bir yasamak düsünsem
Bu kurtlar sofrasinda belki zor
Ayipsiz   fakat ellerimizi kirletmeden
Ne vakit bir yasamak düsünsem
Sus deyip adinla basliyorum
Içim sira kimildiyor gizli denizlerin
Hayir baska türlü olmayacak
Ben sana mecburum bilemezsin.

Keywords/Tags: Turkey, Turkish, Attila Ilhan, modern English translation

ve bu benim kanım, akşam yemeğim gelenlere ne mutlu.

i really tried my best in learning some Turkish
before our next meeting...
   and here is my blood,
                 happy are those who come to my supper...

well... i already wasted one bottle of wine on Jemminah:
i still have one left, probably the finest of the batch,
so i texted her at 3am in the morning:
i knew she would be up...
   the sun was teasing the sky by just about
raising a desert storm of colour below the ink blue
hue of night when she replied
to my text: are you available tomorrow?
i have a present for you, maybe you do, maybe you don't
but i'm bringing some of my homemade wine
over...

yep... she is... right... time to get ready...
i'm not leaving that brothel without having *******...

strange two days... for all the **** i've been
through since the age of 21 through to about 30...
life... oh it's come back: or rather... i've come back
to life...
    i'm already holding this ram by the horns
and wrestling with it...

    oh right... i came home at 2am... stayed up
until about 5am, woke up at around 11am...
where was i last night?

the times Wednesday June 1, 2022,
is this UK's final glimpse of Messi?
james gheerbrant -
in march 1960, evlis presley stopped over
at the US airbase in Prestwick and spent a
couple of hours mingling with the Ayrshire
locals, in what turned out to be the only
occasion he set foot on British soil.
when Lionel Messi captains Argentina
in the Finalissima against Italy at Wembley
tonight, it will be his 25th game in this
country, yet his appearances still have
the same sense of visiting royalty,
      a brush with something luminous,
a story for the grand-children, laced with
the possibility that this might be the last time...

oh right... that's where i was...
   **** me... by the end of it even through it
i started yawning...

not out of any disrespect for the genius that is Messi,
but... see... i've never seen Argentinian women
before... i probably have but you never truly know
unless they're wearing an Argentina football shirt...
and something hit me...
like it hit me when i was grooming my female
cat and she stuck her *** in my face from pleasure
and something grotesque was woken up
and had to be be immediately translated onto
a woman... or rather: hidden inside a woman...

took me about a whole night trying to find a new
brothel around London... i did... but the price
was too steep... and everything about Stratford
is shady... a whole night cycling towards central
London and back... in between shady places...
second night i was losing my libido
and went to the one i knew by heart near
Goodmayes train station...
     that's when i met Khedra... after a disappointing
hour spent with this timid little Romanian number...
who... no... she shouldn't be into prostitution...
for the love of god i tried to get a hard-on...
i blamed it on myself: maybe i drank too much?
but... i'm already on my second libido-booster:
the first i've already "ingested" - exercise...
cycling toward Upminster and back and around
Upminster towards Rainham...
exercise is an aphrodisiac... mix that with fresh
air... sunlight and nature...
boom... get the blood flowing...
                                the second aphrodisiac?
white wine... not rose, not red... white wine...

so i thought, maybe i drank too much?
   no... she was just a timid creature that...
    had zero skills... and she was "supposedly" a *******...
obviously younger than me...
so... i just lay there with her in my arms
and we exchanged words for body parts
in three languages...
   just leaving Khedra came in... boom!
thank god it's no longer something stupid as:
"love at first sight"... thank god it has become:
lust at thirst-sight
                       because: it's true... it's exactly that...
once you pass your 30s you get this
spectacular... hmm... "magic" of being able to
find compatibility in the right sort of place...
what better place than in a brothel?
    i mean... ha ha: are we there to talk about
Walter Sickert? are we here to talk about...
  geo-politics?! feminism?!
                we're at a butcher's shop and we're getting
some meat... and we're talking to the butcher...
ergo?

mind you: while cycling i really thought about it...
you can't really employ the ad hominem argument
against Marquis de Sade...
   i did read through his biography...
                   he really wasn't such bad of a man as
history lends itself for us to believe...
personally? i think he had some pretty ****** ideas...
but as a person, sure... his imagination was wicked...
but he was imprisoned for... what?
asking a ******* to use a crucifix as a *****?
and these days if you skim through some...
soft-core *******... you'll find what?
well... it's not exactly a crucifix... but Saint Sebastian of
Cucumberia is pretty popular with the nuns
of modern secularism...

     he was imprisoned more of the time than
he could have had the time to fulfill all those whims
of 120 days of *****...
among other works...
                        ****** is a different matter...
that's a stand-alone work that's his pinnacle...
it's a good thing i read him when
my own hormones were pulsating in my teens...
that kind of subdued matters, youthful frustrations...
if anything: his uncle was the real rascal!
because the argument that Slayer or any other
music for that matter incentives anger and
violence is BULL-*****...
                                it subdues it... if anything...
it reduces it to a fantasy land whim-whipped-day-dream

like marquis de sade and the idea of
regular ***...
    eh... turns out it's better to take decent breaks...
sort of live the life of a Konrad von Wallenrode...
after all... the Teutonic Knights
did have a brothel with the walls of their citadel
capital of Ordensburg Marienburg...
    so... let's not pretend what is... and what isn't
happening...
  
thank for that! for what? i just keep hearing these
nightmare stories on the internet...
Tinder this: swipe swipe left left left left...
Tinder that: swipe swipe right right right right...
once i met this guy who laughed about
people who joined Facebook... that got on me...
i was fooled! back in the day?
when Facebook was exclusively for university
students?! yeah... it made sense...
obvious blah blah some years later and it's
a boomer gimmick like e-harmony etc.,
                     but me?
   oh no... not another social media bullshitter
going to **** me in... my use of the internet?
i'm in... i'm out...
    i come here to gush out my thoughts slit the veins
of my imagination, drink... listen to music...
read someone else's suicide notes and *******
to bed...

i don't think i have ever commented on anything
that i otherwise must comment on to get a pass
for something... because...
yeah, right... you buy a book...
and you then what? scribble your opinion on the last
page of the inside of the cover and expect what?
a response?

and this whole, modern, fixation on dating apps?
hook-up apps? it was never my thing,
the whole dating "revolution" passed me by,
shoom! gone! bye bye...
            nothing is ever good when it's easy...
losing 20+kg was never going to be easy...
being falsely diagnosed as a schizophrenic was
never going to be easy...
but... i wriggled out of both of these "percularities"
(yes, i do you mingle the technique of
misnomerism with metaphors)
hence the air-quotes... ambiguity...
   everything for the imagination to unravel: revel in...

in alba vino volo (in white wine: desire)...

i even cut down on my smoking to get a better /
prolonged *******...
obviously i had to check...
   check over... jerking off to almost ****** and then...
o.k., everything's in working order...
now to write something, take a shower,
pamper myself and ******* with that bottle
of wine of mine to **** Khedra...

**** me... if i had to go through all the clumsy
dating advice, even clumsier dates...
eating food... ugh... who the hell wants to **** someone
on a full stomach?
mind you there also that: MAYBE...
because there's no guarantee...
**** first, talk later...

                            easy? easy? what's easy?
first you have to sit through the ante-chamber
interrogation room of about 12 prostitutes...
and they have eyes like the beak of the eagle
that's bound to eating Prometheus' liver, for ****'s sake!

sure... yesterday was fun... i had a chance
to perhaps see Lionel Messi for the last time in England...
but i also managed to see all those
Argentinian women... that was a breaking point
for me... south American women... mmm hmm...
yummy doesn't even cover it...

today? it had to be: i had to go all out...
i had to start the day off by eating two soft-boiled
eggs...
and then? ****** off to my Turkish barber to
get me beard trimmed...
i once remarked it (getting a beard trim)
was better than getting a blow-job...
i'd like to retract that statement:
a beard trim and a hair-cut done by the same barber
feels: just as good...
eh... a beard trim is a beard trim...
my mustache was overgrowing my lips:
drink and random food and snot was getting
stuck in it... how am i going to kiss her?

oh when Cedilla met Caron...
that's
                    when Çedilla
  (soft, although it ought to be hard)
                                 Čaron (there's no "soft" caron -
it's most certainly re-laid as
the Greek Xaron - Kharon - even though...
  chasing chiseled chalk and cheese)...

ah... the enthralling sensation of meeting someone
for some carnal debauchery...
one bottle of white done - check
visit to the barber shop - check
exercise prior - check
a decent amount of protein ingested - check
press-ups - check
pandering... ****... i need to trim my nails scrub
away all the dead skin off the soles of my feet,
wash myself thoroughly... use all the necessary
chemistry to give off whiffs of freshness...
   have i trimmed my "other" beard?
yes, yes i have...
    well then...

    eski kuzgunsaçlar (old raven-hair)...
   here i come!

Hak'tan başka yok baki -
Bu gün ki zaman yeni,
Ve dün ki zaman eski.
Göremem yavaş etki,
Öyle geçer zaman ki.

Çok yavaş büyür fidan,
Geçersin karşısından,
Kalır öyle her zaman -
Baktın oldu gülistan!
Öyle geçer zaman ki.

başım çatlıyor birkaç gündür
sirayet ediyor yaşıma
kalp ağrısı diyor doktor
ağır yükler taşıma

biteviye tırlatmış olmalı
diye düşünmüş olsa gerek ki
bin miligram davul yazmış
bir de tokmak ruhuma
deng-i kalp vücut bulsun
sabah sertliğim
sakinleşsin diye

halbuki
bungee jumping
seviyorum ben
düzüşmek yükseklerde
ve
göze almak yere çakılmayı
meretin sekiz seviyesinde

yoksa corvet teyzenin
bir yıldır kullandığı
gergedan kokan süngerinden
ne farkı kalır geçen yılların
yazdığı reçeteyi
buruşturup attım çöpe

bronx’a gitmeliydim acil
uyurken zürefa cebimde
mary jane özlemiştir
diye düşündüm
eski
bir pigme masalı zihnimde

dışarısı soğuk ve uğulgan
karsa sokakta anadan üryan
bir taksi bile yoktu etrafta
o yüzden
daldım bir bara
göz gözü görmüyordu

kapıda birkaç kafayı bulan
adam ve kadınlar
bir ton lakırdı vardı
kadehlerden taşan

****** mary dedim
varsa en sert olanından
et yığını biriydi barmen
ceza yazan trafik polisine
bakar gibi bakıyordum ki
bacardim de var dedi
arzu ederseniz

****** dedim
ağır çekim
sigaramın dumanından

manhattan’dan mısın
diye sordu
kadehi uzatırken
mardin’liyim dedim
hani şu kapısı şen olan

anlamadım dedi
ben de
avukatım gelmeden
konuşmam

sustu hergele
penceredeydi gözüm oysa
ince ince yağıyordu kar
kırım kongo şeklinde
ve
ayaklarımdan ateş
hızla
yol alıyor beynime

işte o an
ölüm provamı düşledim
bir an
mary jane
defin kortejinde

ceviz kaplama gövdem
bu yıl değilse gelecek sene
diye geçti aklımdan

ve çene’deki
muhteşem temaşa
"işte böyle"...



Vaha

dağınık günler için
armut şarabı
iyi bir toparlayacı
iliklenmekten
imtina eden yıldızların
mozerella sohbeti altında
çileğin dudak çatlağına
iyi geldiğini anlatır
dalgakıran şarapçıları
nevi şahsına münhasır
eski aşklar
genç bir martının kanatlarında
süzülür plastik bardaklara

büyük kayalıkların
altında tur atan fümegillerin
dudakları uçuklar
iyi görünümlü, iğdiş edilmiş
aşk masalını solumaktan

her
aşkta devamlılığı olan
şeytan bir dişil
müdavim
ya da
eril bir iblis
hazır ve nazırdır
vuslatı hicranlamaya

filhakika
karşılar sabahı horoz
ses olur keşe

işte o anda
düetler ayeti giderayak
göğün kızları
aca-pella

ateş etme Joe, arabada köfte var...

rem yeri
mağduruyum uzun zamandır
imarlı ifrazlı
hatta
ifrazatlı uykularım var
geçer diyor mütehassıs
saatleri geçirme
bir poşet leblebi yazıyor rengarenk
otanı için depresif günlere
koridor...
dar ve loş
ne güzel de bakmış o yıllar
susçu cazibe
kreşondo çakıp durdu
yüzdü denizlerimde

su dalgası
perma
küt

hepsi içimde
kalıcı yaralar gibi
devşiriyor her defasında
yeni bir kesiğe
son geyşa da gitti
şeyla bakıyorum maziye
dün de
kalsa da dikiş izi
sırıtıp
tepemi attırıyor
makas unutuyor kimi
ölmezsem bir ümit sözde

ama geçti bor’un festivali
woodstock gündem’de
eski kayıtlara bakıyorum
jimmy esrarla sahnede
ama tırmalamıyor kulağı
üflüyor sadece
kim anıyor beni bilmem
belki hapın etkisinde
yürüyorum

yollar buz
başım kel
gözüm perde

ne zaman kliniğe gelsem
kayıp oluyorum bu evrende
akşam soğuk bir odam var
bir mum, biraz meze
bir de şarap olur mutlaka
gülümser plaktan zeki
göçerim hayallere

yakışıklı ölümdür tek arzum
şişmeden kafa, gövde

uzatırlar bir şarkıya kefeni
usulca girerim içine...

arz-ı podyum
etmeyi özledim dudak kıvrımında Emma

volta atmayı
aşağı yukarı
sağdan sola, soldan gerdana

gergedan burcuna aitmiş gibi
dolaşmayı zodyak kıyısında

sallanmayı mesela terazide bi süre
düşsem de kovaya yüksünmem
düşünselliğin asil dükalığında

Yorkshire sembolik olsa da
boyunbağı sıkınca nefes alamıyor
rengarenk ölüyor insan
iki yaka arasında

Westside değil şüphesiz
Bestside şüpheliyim tren garında

oysa
eşleşmiyor mor yüzler
yanımdan gelip geçerken

mütemadiyen ümitliyim yine de
elevermek istemiyorum kendimi

o yüzden elimde eski bir mecmua
karanfil klasik olur düşüncesi işte
afili bir mendil yakamda

ama neden gelmez bu trend
zaman bozduruyor müstakbel raylara

yeni değil
kendimi kandırmak farkındayım

fakat olağan şüpheli olduğum kesin

işte bu veçhile
tüm kompartıman rehine ağzımda

ya da
bir meczubum aşktan muzdarip
delilik trend garında..

veremsel
yazı yığınlarını ayinleştiren
vajinal tapınaktaki zavallının
toksik atıkları

II
fragmandan
mütevellit eski bir hikaye
ve yeni versiyon düşlerin
geceleri aydınlatan kristalize
sanal cazibesi

III
geveze
kuşla balinanın
okyanus dansı ve ahengi bozan
geyşada illegal kasık keyfi

IV
aşkı
aldatmaya yönelik hareket
gargat ağacından "bana ne" tavrı
anadan üryan, uluorta rezalet...

V
üniter
kalp süikastı sonrası
hareme monte edilmiş
federe yapının çöküşü

VI
illüzyonun
metruk hüznü
iki şehir arası hardallı ayrılık
peygamber devesinin
hazin sonu

VII
ve
kızlarağasının
****’itik doygunluğu
tarafımdan...

bugün değilse, birgün mutlaka...

eski bir plağın a) kısmı
gözlerinde dönen
bu yüzden sürekli
o tarafı dinlemen
oysa
b) kısmı ayrılıktan bahsediyor
dansı bırakalım istersen

title: workout
body: roundabout dot, dough 2.   502 bypass

i only woke up at 2pm, even though i had snippets
of consciousness by 10am...
11am... i was in and out of sleep: my dream was yesterday,
i slouched home at 3am...
finished the shift at Fulham at the exact timing
of 10:15pm... all my coworkers stood me up...
apparently i didn't follow instructions
but in the back of my mind was the motto:
safety, security, service... if two elder gentlemen
came up to me with concerns over why one
of the gates in the park was closed...
that there might be a stampede when people
were leaving... what was i going to do or rather
not do? not stand by the gates and not direct
people? luckily all went smoothly...
so what if the supervisor had to wait ten minutes
more so that i might return my walky-talky
and my accreditation... people's safety is the priority...
some *******... but your other lesser supervisor
messaged you... no they didn't... only the upper supervisor
did when asking if there were any radios still
not returned to him... i have a witness...
this 19 year old Romanian kid i was working with...
the one who was sitting in a Turkish akimbo
on the bench next to me when we were taking
a break... the one i managed to sort out with a free
cheeseburger that would otherwise set him back
6 squid... anyways... i was getting paid to work until
10:15... so i don't see any issue...
grumpy old men and their: "leave ten minutes early"...
England... a nation of alcoholics and workaholics...
life's too short... i already promised myself this:
the money i earn will go to prostitutes...
i was tired but... i arrived at Goodmayes...
bought myself 35cl of brandy and a bottle of coca cola...
circled the brothel several times trying to relax...
hype myself up... finally walked in...
that's what i promised myself... i'll spend the money
i earn on prostitutes...
                        what else am i going to spend it on?
vinyl? there's only so much vinyl a man can own...
shoes? clothes? drugs?
well... brandy doesn't count...
                  sort of like buying water... for me at least...
10 quid at the entrance... but i asked the madam:
is she here? Khedira, Khadijah?
the Turkish girl? is she here?
    how many girls are there? two?
o.k. - what an impression i made in my work clothes...
long coat... she later touched it: oh, so soft...
almost like a mink...
                  tall, dark brown handsome devil...
she was there... how relieved i was to see her face...
when you're ready? right now...
i took the other girls hand and kissed in...
into the bedroom... mirrors... mirrors...
in her own tongue... which was constantly waggling
like a primitive life-form of its on volition
eagerly seeking light or in this case...
the phallus and my own tongue and lips...
look into the mirror as i **** you off:
the best sort of *****...
  ooh... murderer eyes...
                          güzel adam: her own words...
          we started off with her sitting in my lap...
after i took a shower to clean myself up...
took off her bra and her underwear...
    she was mine... for an hour she was mine...
at 35 i thought it odd that i would be trying
******* for the first time, i snorted a little
and told her: it has no affect on me...
  i prefer marijuana... i used to smoke a while...
what effect did it have on me?
a second became a minute and a minute became
an hour and an hour became a day...
tiredness... a sneaky symptom of a slightly limp
****... but what i wanted... she also wanted...
me standing on the edge of the bed
performing the doggy *** position...
  she didn't even mind me slapping her ***...
she even responded positively... pinching her...
biting her... of course i didn't ******...
but at the same time: she noted my care for hygiene...
she put a ****** on... later noticing my discomfort
she took it off: live dangerously she said...
yeah: unprotected *** with a *******...
seems like i have special privileges with her...
if i can have unprotected *** with her...
it's not like i was going to ******* into her...
oh... but such a body in my arms...
  i could throw pearls to pigs...
            i could sink a thousand ships containing
Mayan gold into the sea...
but this body in my arms...
                  i knelt in between our *******...
kneeling my head was aligned with her collar bone...
petite tender creature...
ol' raven haired Turkic countess...
              and such ****** contortions as i rammed her
changing pace from doggy
to her on her back with her feet on my shoulders...
tongue waggling: eagerly seeking a kiss...
so i ****** her tongue in between slobs of
the oysters and the clams of lips pursuing each other...
today i woke up... dazed... no confused...
just... relaxed... even though i didn't ******,
i told her... that's not important to me...
i like the mere act... the ****** doesn't bother me...
i can but i don't have to... look... i'm tired...
i just wanted to be with you...
i'm not going to wash myself after this hour...
i want to have your scent on my skin...
you married? no... well that's good...
i want to keep you for a while longer...
          then she proved the pinnacle of my success...
can i have your number?
sure... so you call me when you want to come...
and i'll tell you if i'm available...
so what's your actual name? Khedra...
inshallah...
                            at one point she did use that
phrase: already a scheme in her mind...
            güzel adam - inshallah...
                          my thoughts exactly... there might as well
be a third branch of Islam...
not the one associated with the Arabs the Sunnis
or the Persians - the ****'ahs...
but one more... associated with the Turks exclusively...
i'd love to see a third branch of Islam emerge...
it has to splinter further...
if it truly was the one true religion:
there would be no schism... oddly enough the schism
arrived so early... maybe a second schism would
do the religion some good... the Turks could take
charge of this second schism...
really charge it along the lines of
                                  Sufism *** Gnosticism...
at 2am after i left around 1am she sent me her picture...
honestly? she looks better in real life...
much younger... animated...
some people are just not photogenic...
they need to be contort prone...
they are not supposed to be frozen... in a photograph...
being *** starved, intimacy starved...
no wonder i feel so relaxed today...
then again: if i had this sort of intimacy somewhat
permanently, i'd take it for granted...
i like the idea that i have periods of the cold dark...
of inanimate objects growing ears and eyes...
whenever i come across another living creature
and interact with them sexually...
certain chemicals blah blah are produced and i relax...
again... the act itself... how beautiful two bodies look
so entwined in the act... esp. if she tells you:
look in the mirror... look at us...
**** me... unprotected *** with a *******...
*******... just tells you how bad things are
on the dating market in the West...
prostitutes have better barometers when it comes
to STDs than most women in the West...
then again: she is Turkish...
                      Khedra... no... **** dating... i tried that...
Jeminah burned me...
i had stomach cramps i thought was out of love...
no... just a premonition... this is going to go nowhere...
she's going to ******* up...
what, a, *******, waste, of, time: and good wine...
and a banana loaf...
no can do... i'd rather pay up front for intimacy than
weave some ******* courtship past-time of
going on dates, for dinner...
i'd rather cough up £120 upfront and get what i want
than ******* enter some sexless limbo land
of ginger goats and blue sheep... count count...
n'ah ah... fall asleep?
        i'm not even going to bother thinking about
Western women... **** that...
Oriental? nope... Asiatic "proper" i.e. Indian or Pakistani
or Arab? nope...
Turkish... we come from the same womb of
the Caucasian sort... we're steppe people...
formerly known as... why, *******, bother?
i don't need a headache... i want an *** to slap... a neck
to bite...
    oh she burned me... sure... she might have had
hundreds of "customers"... but i hardly think any of them
looked into her eyes with such passion...
i told her: ******* has had no effect on me...
i'm here for you and you alone...
now i have her number... maybe we can get at it
outside the brothel...
well i must be doing something right, right?
all the women at work are school-girls... stunted
psychological growth... they're petty gremlins...
ugly souls... ****-able after a few drinks and if they
tarted themselves a bit more...
but... ugly... bog souls...
                    petty critters... backstabbing ghoulish
soap-opera drama queens...
i had to learn the tactic of veneer...
acting... politeness... superficiality... it's brain-dead-numbing...
but if that's what's supposed to be...
so be it...
as the zeitgeist narrative of the West goes
in terms of ****** dynamics: white women hating
themselves for a past that has endowed them with...
all that interracial *******...
breeding out a neu-Bra-tsil... well...
hmm... i have an idea of my own... i'm not going down
the narrative... chances of me meeting a girl of
my own ethnic synonym: "missing"...
better with prostitutes than with girls who are
merely looking for a meal-ticket...
Heidegger: ponderings XI - aphorism  50...
"westliche demokratien"... written circa 1939...
resounds more true than anything i have yet
to read... reed...
my god... what intimacy can do to a man...
but better i don't get used to it...
when i'm starved of it and i encounter it...
i can throw my entire weight about...
i can go overboard... full: utterly full charm offensive...
mirrors *******... slapping the ***...
biting... pinching... kneeling before the altar
of a woman's body...
doo-doo eyed the next day, relaxed...
not taking anything for granted...
now i have her number...  eski kuzgun saçlar...
old raven hair... tatlı kiraz...
benim aşk...
                                    if that's how it's going to
go... i'm sure of it...
the Turks could branch off from the already
established Islam... they could revise it...
have their own version... become the bridging
positive force... of all the Islamic people...
the Turks i respect the most...

- tesekiur ederim qeanam...
- benim güzel kuzgun-saçlar

      welll... unlike the diacritical markers in French...
the cedilla in French: garçon... thatr's
a "secretive" version of the Greek sigma:
στιγμας...
  the variation between Turkish and Czech
is that the cedilla... is equivalent to the caron...
ergo?

                      Ç = Č ≠ S...