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Thread: Thus spake m. Solzhenitsof!

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    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
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    Thanks to everybody who follow the new parts-over "Edit Post" editions-of The Infinite Novel by Prof. MES Solzhenitsof!
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 11-05-2014 at 05:55 PM.

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    Quote Originally Posted by mesolzhenitsy View Post
    thanks to everybody who follow the new parts-over "edit post" editions-of the infinite novel by solzhenitsof!
    yep! Tis would be the one and only way to read the new parts added to "the infinite novel!"
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    (In "to be continued" form / VOLUME II, CHAPTER IV From the page 14 of the thread)

    And I managed to discern The Urban World from Constantinople-the city occupied by the hordes from both Balkans and KHORASSAN of which religious symbol is currently being used by terrorists especially within the regions near to the innocent Kurdish Villagers. The KHORASAN and The Islamic State gangs on the border of Syria and Iraq would draw-maybe-the real face of radical Muslims who are throttling journalists-on live TV programs-as they sacrifice lambs in KURBAN FESTIVALS every year just 70 days after the Ramadan Festival. They are also being chosen as the alerts to inform Americans in the Autumn 2014 about the last-highly improved-terror-using homemade explosives especially in big blocks or towers like supra bloody WTC of 11th September, and in airplanes etc. Then I-the eternal student of Jesus Christ looked at me closely while merged entirely into four matters of my life, and was frightened by my memo. The first one of my present affairs would be the matter of dating, no doubt. The others should be following not successively but side by side, ye know, all of them existing together: the case of infringed rights of Byzantium the nurse and the little girl fled Turkey to Sofia, the contemporary people beheaded by the Mujahidin-the vilest prototype of all murderers- very bizarre for the third millennium. Occasionally I used to remember a queer happening not being linked to my recent affairs but stood ad hoc analyzing every kind of incident to be lived by humans. One early morning in the midst of the falling new hatched lights of the sun on the street, I in my pajamas rimmed with violet, scarlet and vinegar yellow squares as the designs of its texture with a cardigan on top, the towel-just used by me-around my neck! While I opened my eyes in deliberation a lad took my attention. At the steps of the gate of a midi-24 hours 7 days type- public library he seemed to me as if he had lost himself so deeply in thought god knows what had been. I remember now that at one point he took off his cap and rushed into the staircase. He has hardly cut fine to protect his nose flattened on the bronze like dusty yet still shining from its date of production. At last he seemed to reach the desk of service girl who has been in charge of borrowing books to the readers bound with some conditions and turned with a ballet step toward the reading room of the library where I have not lost a second to follow him until he took a certain place to sit down and began to turn the pages of the book of which back cover was towards and enough close to me from the point of the position I caught sitting somewhere near to him. As he opened the page of a victim's corpse-showing clearly the throat cut so much deep as opening the whole veins and arteries as well as the parts of adjacent organs' cartilages and bones under an ash tree in the years of the World's War I. Obviously it was a book of forensic medicine...Yes, in the reading room he saw his semi beheaded uncle of his grandfather photographed in a forensic medicine periodical , a clean-shaven man with a luminous face, facing the sky from his soil bed of death with empty eyes. I heard at that point mumbling “Finally,” while scrutinizing a lady- most probably a medic viz. a doctor medicine. and having scarcely set a point of any finger of his on the face of the sun like beautiful lady in the photo. "I’m waiting here for your great granddaughter who is a mere chip of your beautiful nose abiding at the door but the next to ours! I’m so furious with her that I can hardly keep under control. But she..." went on he, and only on speaking under his breath I noticed what he had been after: The great granddaugter of a forensic medic-maybe-the first one who reported the death of his grand father's uncle.
    To my deadly surprise I chanced to catch a much more interesting book than that he was looking at as mesmerized very deeply:


    "Ouch", I scarcely help shouting but to hiss and stood up, directing towards the entrance. I ordered myself "Be quiet since now up till the time you should see the face for more than hundred and hundred times for she had haunted already my dreams, and would be used to use the same way-as I had mentioned at the very beginning of this novel that could not be to be read or finished forever-on backing to home of which gate is that one but the next to ours, and should be sure that she might not be another one than the great-grand daughter of the lady medic. There is no place for any arguments her: obviously the lad in the public library is after her, As to me, methinks you understood it from the very beginning, I'm in love with her. Where could the nurse and the little girl with whom she fled her motherland viz. Turkey to Bulgaria be take place I cannot say anything proper or rather certain for the time being. Meanwhile I took my chair and dragged it closer to the young gentleman. And yet here happened a gross problem: if I were out of the place-after going out of its entrance- how could I managed to draw near to my one and only rival indoors. Won’t it be impossible to put up with the human's eternal love philosophy any more, say, to kill the other lover if he might be at least twice as crazy after falling in the most arduous sexual spirit head before shoulders-as I should be then?
    By the way an extra subject to be thought unto:There-in a dormitory in Bulgaria- could not be any people tasting an official laziness, wastefulness free from all duties so of the nurse in Sofia she ought to be pushing her old quality into the grave before the lady boss in charge of the administration under the roof of, say, sanctuary she and the child with her has taken refuge. Here my imagination fell silent, but moved towards the speculation asking if the lady boss were still speaking to refugees staring at their face with the same blue eyes similar strictly to the madam medic I have already seen on the page of the forensic medicine magazine.Probably the female members of her family have always been the highly most dreamy samples of the beauty, and they would be just so that they could show it on the outside-namely in a secretly watched W.C, the bath, on the pavement etc-no side, inside, off side and most inner side. I must be expected to be so much bitterly tasting only torment by their beautifulness that could rather torture my soul with or without sex induced-umpteen- points if there can be no way I might make my love a happy thing rather anything that may be related to happiness.. But just let me go much more far now within the situation I lived not before a little while but forever even before the time I have got acquaintance with their sunny faces , so that I cannot get my thoughts clearer when I should give a good definition ad hoc. my love affair. The cute readers of mine may at first paying close attention to it. What is it then? Falling in love of course if it is possible in an occupied city as Constantinople ! I understand that I had gone so far that one cannot endure it from the point of making a lot political speculations. I understand well that I sit down on the table’s edge in a public library instead of trying to stand somewhere from which spectrum would be richly open in giving me the cance to glance at the publication on the hand of my rival.


    "I do believe there’s a lot of supernatural meaning in the similarity between you and your grandmother" just said the lady boss of the dormitory to her daughter-having been used to be in her mom's office every afternoon after the last lesson in the lyceum she would attend-who should be seen as a copy of the Madame Le Docteur whose photo placed in the page of the abovementioned forensic medicine looking with soft but seriously rigid feature, might prove the similarity worth to be remarked. "I’d sooner take it" she went on, "for foolishness. But in the end you’re my daughter, and you are so nice that you can make your husband-no matter he should be a rugby star or a champion wrestler-a patient of nocturnal enuresis or even a pitiful creature defecating in his boxer when he force his anal-too much strained because of being devoid of your love over your ugly caprices contrary to the beauty of yours-yes when forcing those goddamned muscles to fart! Come on now, it's the best time, we’ll have our five o'clock tea accompanied by sawyer biscuits, and you can tell me as you are used to do, any matter-because of mere opposition to me, to any professional misusing of mine for instance the red tape or barren rather dryly discipline of mine torturing the refugees then. That little pouring grievances to each other is all I need, I know that I should be thankful to my daughter's-pure, although dangerous-beauty from the bottom of my heart . But probably it isn’t plain to see in my eyes that I’m-thanks to the sense called conscience-entirely occupied with the serious matter of the nest you're naturally to make? "At the moment I don’t see anything to be worried with in this matter trying to foresee but that could also be my fault-you know, eh?-to have got a face that obviously capable of bewitching nearly all the male, and after all I’ve gotten used to looking down the male in a style of having a glance at them as if they all should be my subject to be seen only as forlorn, destitute or abominable. Meanwhile, as is my habit, I would strike regular blows against their faces as a reminder of their time of being underestimated coming" Actually perceiving her mother's reciprocal angry she added a little cadance to her recital: "Oh mom, it's all joke!"So they were to be talking on not related nor non linking to matters. And yet what matters is that they don’t have any little idea about the girl-the center of the lad's ardor and my sex potent love-whose family are the sanguine relatives of theirs any important point socially at all anymore. If anybody asks the social link's quality one might shout at them: "First the vaguely Islamic soldiers of the Ottoman Empire had committed with sexual courses with the remote loved girl then the Christian Armies-hungrily after Muslim females-has thrown the-relatively-beautiful-ones to the dark corners viz. straws rich -and flirting with orange ray light mostly-stables, beds, colorful-designed heavily green spots over blue abstract fond-carpets in deserted cottages and the like.One would be obligatorily perplexed when one should arrive at one of address of them in Constantinople one door but the next of mine-so much queer-in this case, shouldn’t one? Notwithstanding one must to do it arriving at the happy outcome from the point of searching for truth, only truth that it might improve one's life researches. As for to the lady boss of the dormitory in Sofia she may do it only for the thought of her beautiful, good daughter, who perhaps might feel no immediate sorrow over the the saliva secreted downward from the mouth of the male perplexed before her super nice face , but one is not to be on going to ruin from the effort of fending off the truth, since she should not imagine that that kind of misdeeds will occur out of the occupied beauty-Constantinople somehow.Nonetheless at the beginning of a sexual research the question focused on the oriental male's hunger for the female and vice versa in the occidental world- viz. taking a no small different position contrary to this-is something the lady boss already know quite well instead of her daughter's ignorance regarding to the matter. And for the sake of things experienced both on my backing to home and in the public library alone somebody would have reminded readers of it if this novel hadn’t provoked them with infinite promises.Scarcely had this words and mutual watch exchange-or rather chatting enriched with symbol induced gesture-changed its route when the daughter cried: "but mom!" and adding a bit of unhappiness to the cry "I wouldn’t have expected going too far about my face that might be impressing for everybody but me because I have got it and couldn't thing it as an impressive thing. Now let's ponder err courageously: If had been the surface of the lake of which Lamartine a miraculous mirror, say nothing of appreciating his relevant poet, could have the least idea, let’s say an idea about my beauty?" Obviously her speculations concerning directly her peculiarities have been being concealed some years in the depths of her heart and having been carried, highly probable, DE PROFUNDIS that just as happened in Constantinople the deepness of appreciation problems-those innocent self imposed turbidity enough vague to intimidate-and to allure at the same time-would have come out in a talk with mom for pouring their sensitivities to each other.
    Hearing a timid knock the mom and her daughter took their guard to introduce their feature meaninglessly happy, insolently tepid, soft but earnest. That is-ye know-an reflective attitude of well civilized Nordic people and of those ruling their social colonies as Australia, The USA and the like, to be seen as clean, earnest and meaningless-as if having been-behind a plain mask. Within the procedure of the unimportant debut, say, non- venerable sound the visitor has sent before the door of the lady administrator's office in the dormitory, one ought to listen to the order spoken as an accusation, Inasmuch as after a little while both the mom and her daughter replied that tiny voice at the door: "Come in!" Then the Nurse and the little girl from Turkey entered in the office obviously with the idea of waiting for harshly scolding. They should think that they would have been simply blown away and before having had to march off with some excuse. But now the nurse has been escorted with a male medic from the dormitory!Lady boss-immerged into a specific prejudice against the refugees welcome the Turkish nurse that has been being accompanied by the girl whose protection were to be expected on her shoulder-welcomed her in an intimidating voice tone "Everything you say me but helps my idea about the suspicious people like you, and my suspicion won’t cease, they get stronger filling my head. No doubt I’ll listen to you, because only in red tape rules can I build my response to you." The man-whom madam la director would prefer to call as knave-escorting nurse gulped at his breath in the cool office.He-as a Christian-used without hesitating his free thought and replied the lady director: "it could be a dirty idée fixe that you have in your head", and threw a dagger with wide open eyes added, "now I believe it has got hold of you." Lady director felt at this point to sooth the revolt of his soul: "I wish if something capable gets into you to correct your prejudice I'm sure you have got about me." He shook his head as if his neck were bit by an alligator : "let us to open our hearts to you as not only a director but a Bulgarian authority used to listen to the sobbing of Turks fled east Thrace and Anatolia. It’s most necessary how you should be drilling into this poor Turkish woman. The mere possibility that you might find in the depths of her gender trained traditionally not be able to show her natural affinity towards the Turkish male so make them unconsciously paralyzed in predicting the feelings of the female. Now I wove upon my future that I really shouldn’t tempt any citizen to disturb my careful deliberations concerning her life as a woman. Perhaps our past as Christian Bulgarians gives her the right not to trust me thoroughly, but I shouldn’t make this problem aggrandized!Lady boss interrupted his affinity to parley for a long time: "Why this-pointing the nurse-woman fled Turkey?" "You ought to see best how great her and the little Jewish girl she had helped would have been insecurity should be if they hadn't fled. (The reader must be reminded of the state terror and interstate horror at this point:

    The lady boss gnarled furiously again: "If the hard times they lived on the border of Turkey and Iran forces you to speak against me like this, I'm afraid you should be thought..."


    Nurse the refugee uttered with a hoarse voice simultaneously "Nothing forced me but the humanitarian instinct to rescue at least one Jewish girl whose kidneys are to be gouged out and sold in the bazaar of children organ trafficking run by Stalinist Turkish Generals and Iranian Mullahs", and sobbed. She even stepped much closer to the magnificent table of Madam La Director. Thereupon one could no longer tell to whom she belonged: to the queen like boss of the dormitory or to the Bulgarian gentleman. "What you did, you did in awe, and even neither from love for-pointing to the man with her bluish white, very attracting evoking a mixture of respectful, sexual adoration perfume spraying finger- this guy nor from any sort of humanist mission. You, as you’ll see later by means of living in civilization cradle-Europe after Turkey-joking or playing with words to laugh-to be fried! Seemingly all the greatest part of decisions comes out of being devoid of any considerations for you, the mankind and even for animals." Turning to the Bulgarian man she added "then I should have to thank to you," said lady boss, "since it’s highly unlikely that your Turkish sweat-heart and you may be able to do what you do wish at any appropriate moment from the point of regularities."Thank you madam la director", he replied with an exaggerated bowing, "let the future life be solely a tepid deal for me to cope with the inferiority complexion of a Turkish female, as it deserves after marriage. By the way we are going to make the wedding ceremony within the absurd details of Turkic tradition regarding to make a nest which the little girl shall be under protection till the end of a good education and an auspicious-by God pleasure-marriage. If you would wake early tomorrow we wish if only you should start the procedure fitting those life planning of ours as I have exposed to the attention of your highness!",
    The lady boss of the dormitory-having been in charge of the refugees' security-has hesitated uttering some vague words: "But that your identification should have been told us first! Though it’s not even meant that that I wanted to your profession, but someone ought only to announce the nationality of yours. And that at least, as you have to admit, I’ve got a beautiful girl who-trying to draw those present in the office to any non-matching laughter in the atmosphere there-might have been fall in love with you not saying of the same probability for me as I'm a lovely widow full of beauty, ardor, and need of being kissed from the hair to the thumb of mine." "Now only one thing is available-hah hah-here still that could be amazing me" said the man: "why I haven’t often come to visit you before sharing some nice things as today’s." The lady director burst suddenly then asking "who are you gentleman? Tell me if it fits your present mood well. Don't laugh I, in fact, am serious."
    "Alas" said the man, "my answer would have struck you milady instead of making you to listen to me. I work here as an engineering inspector for several years not to open my feature to your inspection or some joy as the refugees, ye know, a regime stricken Turkish Nurse and the poor Jewish girl whose verdict had been written as an awe fate before she has been born to go under the operation within the official network of the COT-children organ trafficking. But I can’t give away anything much more than this to you until my wedding is completely finished. Try hard as you would to berate my talk of good you shouldn't reach your weird intentions demanding explanations from me that might hinder the accomplishment of my new life." The man and two others with him went out.

    Outdoors the nurse asked him who could her native language in Turkish "quiet I don’t help but wishing to know a thing. But you must answer me very quickly: What did you meant while showing my alliance finger? I should be informed about what you meant since you and the other people were in a sinister guffaw ? "Drawing back to the gate of the orchard beyond the gloomy walls of the building he caught on the meaning of her panic when she pushed forward the innuendo linked to the marriage matter of theirs and obviously have had something very disturbing in mind that he couldn't have calmed a piece of artistry, and he replied her speedily: " I only remarked something inevitable in all family lives, ye know, the female capricious and frustrations following them in a querulous way.

    In this orchard surrounding the sullen cheek building some straws-in remote corners-hissing under the currant d'air introduce mild warmth enough for kissing a darling as the soil as the champagne rich in yellow bubbles at the brinks of a greenish goblet as would gnaw their withered, hair like body of theirs.

    After hearing the confession of her future spouse she as a Native Turkish female fall into sobbing, weeping, complaining etc... All the sadder for me than everything is your making such remarks about my poor existence" she said, "If you put up with my little joke longer I can even fold my hands to excuse you..." relied he. Altogether the Turkish nurse was feeling herself at least abased say nothing of negative psychology based self speculations over the relentless her fate and that of the girl she ought to protect from all sort of danger. "Now" she hurled "let it be enough with me." and added "The little girl entrusted to me by the cruelty from which we fled Turkey and came to Bulgaria are to back our dangerous and wild homeland downright!"

    While backing to the Room of Administration she was mumbling: " That certainly isn’t the who’s speaking this way..." In the office she has faced the horrible questions, and reiterate similar replies:
    -"What will you and the little girl in Turkey?
    -"They, namely the butchers of The Turkish Secret Soviet State, who had already drawn our fate, will lay their pounces on our necks to throttle us on the spot as Islamic State should do around Syrian Kurdish town viz. KOBANE or to put me in prison and send the little Jewish girl to the quasi hospital built on the Turkey-Iran border in order to make operations for the sake of Judeo-Christian Children.

    And after some red tape procedures have been completed The Nurse and the little girl has regained some official-passport like-papers to enter the customs gate to return Constantinople!


    After the Turkish refugees went back to Constantinople something has come over Alex-yes, Bulgarian gentleman answers to this name-since the afternoon he has met with the daughter of the lady boss of the dormitory wherein he has been giving his service as an engineer already. "I’m now understanding for the first time in that room" he mumbled "that I have fallen in love with Sonya before one big year when she was eighteen years old, and attending two a special course called SEFB namely Spoken English For Bulgarians. My real darling...Gosh...May God be with me...what an adventure for an engineer feeling himself getting older as every young engineers...yeah just so as all over the Europe..." Then Alex was silent a moment, with his half open mouth. He would surely have embraced the clouds lingering in their routine Journeys over the gardens of every Bulgarian big towns like Sofia full of apple trees rich in a color spectrum: yellowish red and scarlet yellows green spots on them that he would have called them the wool mixtures of fibers of his mother of which she could provide his cold feet with warm, handmade stocks. Afterwards he carried on with his pastel tone rebukes: "What has happened to me, tell me please the father my God and the God's son-Jesus, my teacher?"
    At that time-simultaneously-I have thought that I’d better understand and accept the truth: The girl living with her extremely new fashion linked yet conservative way of life in her family's home some fifty meters far from ours could be the one and only sweet heart in the near future for ever. Seemingly Alex and I’ll reach soon to the point of dating. According to my last analyses "I can’t stay away much longer from the cousin of Alex's self imposed darling. And my 'Blondie' might be feeling insulted over loved by me, and his must be finding everything insufficient to date with him. And Alex the comrade, whom I’m calling so now should not share the same style of suffering from love besides tasting the same bitterness. All of the us would better push our shoulders against the nature's easily moved door nevertheless all two doors of dating-both in Constantinople and in Sofia-are apt to be broken down for nothing at all.
    Having arrived at his apartment, at the coming of evening Alex bowed to everybody-including the janitor-with the same words: "I-the Engineer is go to dinner table to have his violet onion soup then to the bed sleeping Maybe my exaggeratedly detailed of my salutation means nothing, and yet if you see later that it is with no further regard for the women, who are moving uselessly back and forth in deciding on the path going to an innocent dating you shall open your brace to my extraordinary 'Hi!', and my sublimated mood which make me baselessly trembling, flying with joy as if angels touched my heart delicately But he couldn’t sustain his outdoors happiness in the room for the happiness should have to be fed over a little walk-in the street or at one's home. So quickly and with pleasure, went out the engineer after the dinner his mom has dressed with toasts made of thick Sofia loaf slices, bacon, mayonnaise and lettuce!From the door of his bedroom then that of drawing, but thoroughly within absent mindedness as he was not to heed through which he passed much more speedily, going for a walk after dinner, rigging his fancies with self imposed advice, and probably-even-missed some of it Alex has pursued the same behaviors having had a one minute interval in the overjoyed reflect compared with that of mine. Above all, musing no little dating, life and love projects must have occupied both his and my minds. Let nobody should forget it that life is not the most important in our fancies...Both Alex and I-one of us in Sofia and the other somewhere near to HAGIA SOPHIA- were in similar positions crying: "Helpless Disease needs helpless remedies". And yet he lad I've run into the public library should do what you had done before because he was-seemingly-enough avaricious in all dating affairs having been able utter big words like the well-known platitude: " Would you do me favor immediately for the sake of my heart more conspicuous than 'MOUNT ARARAT' getting up to eat The Female of our old earth, "No arguments. Please make my lust grabbed not as a scorpion but a newbie... He was not weak boy, and I wouldn't describe him so superciliously. Although he couldn't have got any virtue needed for being an intellectual gentleman. From the other point he has the virtue to be appreciated as a gentleman by The Female.

    (Am I raving, now? NOP! With all my respect to The Female of the world I am only claiming that they tend to take vagabonds who are able to give a good photo always as gentlemen without deigning to rub at their eyes with their nice fingers on which they could play with The Male to discern the gentlemen from the others-overacting haggard feature looking handsome-say The Idiot using a stale prototype that might reflect brilliant portraits over a synthetic identification .)

    In the history-I don't know-had the love hunting people ever had to live different love stories linked to each other organically as ours. Had the people fallen in love with any puzzle type females written down their stories before torn the papers-no matter made of paper or not-and preferred that not to be shared with other humans out of the eternal triangle one or many human on each corner. We should confess that that narrated here couldn't be compared to any triangle-eternal or not-from the very beginning of this novel. Could one say that If girls and lads-even elder men-were concerned in any event regarding the other sex? Then "who is the other sex?" should not be speculated if there would be girls and The Male. As for the three-from the point of self speculation ad hoc les affair de 'Coeur'- dating hunters--one of them I is-Alex whispered " I'm expected inevitably to be in right place and right time," and said I with a twisted face, "get a initiative for having good post and a plenty of money-if theft should be necessary stealing it from The State's Treasure officially just now." And yet the other one was not some idiot who’s woken his lust no reason. "Just as I don’t sleep devoid of that girl warmth for no reason I ought to be on alert" is his dirty but powerful parole.


    The library occupying boy Mr. Lob had the dusky air attempt last night throwing a two times fried nut to the panes of Mademoiselle Neighbor-Mss N., so I’ve just jumped in my midday sleep. I don't and cannot know how he dare to go so far... Oh, nonetheless how it irritated me, and plunged my whole existence to the eternal question regarding to impute behaviors: "How little consideration the vagabonds such as Mr. Lob take for manners. It hasn’t the first time I witnessed amoral people and their inexplicable misdemeanor-if not guilt- yet I have been feeling dizziness, ataxia, nausea etc . Naturally the readers are free in believing the rate of fragility we good students may exhibit above the sensibilities whatever great you like to make an assignment with.He was the son of a provincial -or rather-one of The Bosphorus periphery governor and everyone is not so lucky behave arbitrarily while stoning the window of a girl's bed room midnight. Answer the people for the God’s sake is it not true that he apparently have not had to be considerate.Of course he is my not any friend of mine, but he hasn’t taken in the consideration never the sleep of the neighbors I was to salute every morning nor that of mine because of his spoilt personality. Methinks he supposed to intimidate me by shaking the midnight serenity feeding my sleep. But mustn’t I have believed, from how he was challenging then? Maybe he warned me and my neighbors that we’ve slept more than enough. After musing in a pacifist but furious way I prayed if only Jesus Christ should shield me from his danger till I would have attain the social power over a good career and big salary as that of an ordinary Turkish PM, and went to sleep again...
    Meanwhile Alex has been looking at the manual of engineers as if he had no more time to do it at AM 01 hour in a mute tingeing till the night turn into blue. So what did he actually do so much different from what I used to do in Constantinople? Or better I would ask, why should anyone wake me even in the little hours of a day to be lived through a well concentrated job? Here you are the answer: Alex-the engineer, has tasting the advantages of Bulgaria namely a European Union member country.
    When I have woke up I found myself musing as yesterday night. What did I want from my dear mademoiselle N. inquired silently analyzing my mind, and introduced an exact reply fitting to my question.Not a little, nor average, I began to hope the greatest according to the mob occupying Constantinople: post, power, prestige, already I had been here from the streets within which dressings might vary from those kind of apparels-including veil and thin, black burkas of Jihadists to no mini shorts-no underwear inside-of their quasi modern alga stinkarm pits muffled with perfumes for you may get dressed in accordance to both Islamists-Green Stalinists- or Red Stalinists-Kemalists . If I want to suggest by this, dear readers, that even the newest absurdity while they were designing the future of Constantinople one could not find any little reason, then some Russians completely right when trespassing occasionally the regularities of the non regular hordes occupying the capital city of The Hidden Byzantium. That’s just main truth that could affect my dating program, then it will set my brainless and impudent rival on fire he had inflamed already to tease innocent people around the girl-my sweet heart Mademoiselle N.-on his own account, even without our citizenship rights getting involved.
    Briefly The Reader of this novel (The Infinite Novel by SOLZHENITSOF) could offer a succinct information about the episode of its. Obviously it would be becoming clearer and clear: The regime of any country should be identifying with the unseen power of the regime would be bound with giving the absolute "Definition of Dating", and we all might need to understand it clear information the novel should give the reader. And yet the reader ought to keep in mind that the ultimate output in reading it must have been reading instead to see the paint painted not with colors or shapes but of words, words, words as The Old Testament had done before. If some readers were perhaps looking for only meaning and teaching or traditional narration, they might be lying there on their armchair and might wait only to fall in sleep.

    "Thanks", I should say the unknown Bulgarian engineer down right here and begin to loosen his collar and tie my writing would depend on the relax over playing on them as playing on The David's Harp the novel had made everybody having got acquaintance with.


    I looked out of the window of my bed room. One of the passenger barges was nearing to any place belonging to nowhere off the Galatia Tower. A dense penetration of beams of the rising sun challenging to humans' eyes but would lie heavily upon the contaminated sea open to every kind of dirtiness, spits decorated with phlegm occasionally, pads soiled with feces, cycles' dark blood of homeless or mansion owner yet untrained women. Was there any wind that the long swells of the Bosporus were getting hire at times. The streets of the Constantinople around was brilliantly insecure and unreal in its anarchy induced calmness. When looking around in an urban place some figures are to seem familiar to me if they are outlined shadowy against the crowd rushing to and fro. Just so the people around the Galatia Tower influenced me in a way I used-greyly- to observe them. Two are walking close together on the pavement across my vision area, and regretfully one of them might be Mr. Lob-the lad deserved to be taught by me for the tumult he has made around block wherein my family's apartment took place. The other was a girl. Notwithstanding none of their faces can be distinguished. Work time for banks and for other official offices was just about to begin and as the noon nearing the vague silhouettes would be clear features in the bright daylight, and the none sampling Mr. Lob type vagabonds could be observed through the thickness of the crowd.Inasmuch as I briskly cried after that ghostly people namely Mr. Lob and the female he would be escorting then "Hey you! I would have spent all my night wishing daylight should come. I have been smelling from the very beginning abominable impressions regarding to your existence . How about you? Of course you are a prototype garbage having got the ability to accept the all sorts of waste The Female should throw into. And yet you should be the first to throw them away into the garbage you call your love itinerary of yours and The Female-accusing themselves about the reasons regarding their broken hearts-should solely miss you...Naturally I received no answer! Instead of the nasty silence I raised my voice. And because of the loneliness suddenly alive within me, I added a salutation to my hard words: "Hello! I hope you haven’t lost your way have you?"After a while I heard mom's voice-realistic and lucid- asking if I woke up, and having overwhelmed the melancholy I replied her: " I am just getting ready for my breakfast. She obviously not satisfied with my answer: " I thought you might have your morning siesta...! I did a while ago—eyes refused to stay open any longer—couldn’t imagine where I was when I woke up—had forgotten all about the damned wreck. "I'm fortunate to be able to sleep at any time I would prefer. I wish my future spouse could go to sleep because The Female might have got several negative memories to be forgotten immediately."Mom scolded me instantly: "Oh put your philosophy aside and come now! You mustn’t keep thinking about The Lady for there is nobody as The Lady. The Lady as a bare term won’t do any good." And I braced the most short route up to take my place at the dining table of ours! I'm sure everybody should be eager to get a colorful description of that table out of this mess all right. Wait then...I could figure it all out. It's made of darkening oak of Black Sea Forests, and it's ready always to make the loafer pursuing present gathered together at least three times a day to hear cracks even everything is dominated by the silence of ordinary flats. Well, the tables were being used in all the time as known by human, if any people don't remember in Constantinople any apparatus we call table maybe the officers told them not to remember the names of such things and it's so we wouldn't have lots of answers from another ones saying they are ready to help us. (Remember please some of them-I'm sure-might be poking fun of us.)
    "Oh your school time shall all go away" she murmured as soon as I took my place at my stool to have breakfast" if you should be lingering any more.. I’ve not had plenty breakfast without any complaints like it. At home everybody should be on alert connected to The female's routine complaints.
    On the school way, maybe not as garrulous as our household-the pedestrians were gentle but nearly as ear scratching, and when something unexpected came up they always either fell to silence or disappeared before that-happened suddenly-was over. While thinking on noise I asked myself: "Do you know what cannot be forgotten if it was uttered by The Female under the roof of one's house?" and I replied myself immediately: "The fear linked to the money affairs of which importance are only matter to be explained frankly by the other sex because The Male is to be created directly by the creator to challenge silently those affairs especially money problems but "the other sex" do recreate themselves after reaching maturity so they like to be near to the gold, credit cards, open banks etc. than being near to the home, the home that has got no cashier. I dare say weeping is the most common virtue shared by F. type religious gang's GULEN HODJA and a great majority of statesmen who used to usurp the budget , and innocent people's laugh is a bit troubled. By the way I must have confessed that I too used to hear a very much moaning companion through some windows' pane. I don't know why I don’ look through them there to have even a slight idea if the mournful voices would belong to the nurse and the little Jewish girl I'm sure should be under the official judiciary system-from 1924 up till now-say trial with ordeal. Inevitably the reader have got acquaintance with the nurse and the little Jewish girl over the previous chapters. After a pause a pause during which I was evidently thinking over what to them I-watching the horizon getting brighter every moment behind the ugly mansions having contaminated all horizons-I called Turkey a Soviet type state of no horizon.What did I say? Bank? Well, I might not be scared from the point of missing the ropes of role modeling in the future family of mine If I had got a great credibility in the bank of which credit card could be used by my wife. I have no intention of making my situation depending only on my money in the future. It seems irrational than it really is. Thinking of the girl of neighbors I have every hope that we-the girl I love and Mr. Lob tries to seduce impudently-will eventually be happy over my adoration her and her respect to me! But it goes saying that it’s better not to expect too much. I should not ignore the truth that it may make disappointment more bitter than it seems in the present time. I suppose I'm right pursuing some fancies but I be aware of being too much optimistic about the vague eulogy: "Home, My Sweet Home".Nonsense, rebukes...Let them be forgot who suffered such downcasts I was pushed into last night with that crash on the window's pane made by a vagabond. One must be sure the vagabond son of an important have thrown something indecently to waken up the noble girl midnight when all neighbors couldn't have failed to hear the sounds. Besides there was no shriek from the side of the noble girl angry of Mr. Lob's indecency. I understand now that noble and beautiful girls are bound to be seduced by such guys like Mr. Lob. Then one could foresee the fate of the girl with whom I fell in love: having been to fall the trap-or his bed-and to be thrown into the garbage where she obligatorily would find herself one and only side responsible of reaching to the end-from the point of The Male-and to suffer from an everlasting love, She is bound or liable-I'm sure-to be living the same things with the-anyhow- powerful, indecent even bad and temporary lovers. So let me don’t hope in this case too much although it should be my main task in my life span...


    Exhibitions from The Wedding Ceremony of Sonia and Alex in Sofia:
    The backward garden opening to the ball-hall of the main building-a rarely found mansion used in the past by Bulgarian Princes- yes, a building made of grisly brunette stones having got a majestic air enlightened by the moon, and near planets if not by the star groups in some seasons after the PM (CET) 11 Hours. The leaves of several fruit trees sea are calm and the shadows on the richly watered are motionless.In the rear the bright outlines of the grand hall port are sharply discerned from the garden adjacent both to the moors and brunette walls. Against the distant horizons towards the Germanic strips of the oldest Europe, pink under the clouds illuminated by slight lights of the night's extraordinarily clear sky. In the hall every corned rigged by flowers, flowers, flowers from the guests, and melodies, melodies, melodies coming from the orchestra present there. In The Europe wedding ceremonies are to be fringed with petals from the point of a rosy nature and echoed musical notes based on the standards of science induced musicology. Of the contrary to such points of European tradition in wedding ceremonies the rumor, backbiting, disputes bound to be coming to fists, golden presents and fecal odors should be assigned to with the nasty occupation of hordes from nowhere!A pompous waltz-a hybrid composition of half Germanic and slightly more than a half Slavic, become both furious and romantic similar to the civilization style living in The USA began to avail over the soft humidity the garden's soil owned for centuries. There was also availing the classical murmur of European wedding ceremonies that consisted of different conversations shared by separate groups as Alex and Sonia went out of the grand hall and directed their route towards the protocol balcony. This would not be anything to be followed by silence over the hall in which the pompous orchestra continued to the waltz that could be heard far from the dark highway in the vicinity of the great mansion.

    Behind the thick yet neatly designed brink walls the grand balcony Sonia was the first to speak to her green horn husband:
    Sonia-You’re forgetting the fact that The Bride are supposed to embrace the second sex-instead of the second sex should have the same instinct to do it-there is no warmth one could feel over one's body. Nonetheless it is not any kind of obligation while staring at the stars that they can’t last forever upon the Dome of The Europe.
    Alex(cheerfully)- Perhaps we could not see the real and too much warm faces of those sun on account of distance. Then let me kiss your lips till those of mine turn into crimson because of your lipstick... (He began to suck even the inner parts of her mouth) Yum!
    Sonia(Giggling)-They call the cannibals as yum-yum.
    Let's imagine that on either side of the doorway there is another balcony and the girl I love and I are taking a fresh air-as Alex and his wife did- in an interval time of our wedding ceremony and I kiss my sweetheart. The first thing my wife utter would be scratching my ear as she warns me not to do it for one could see us. Now think please a bit about the irrational approach in a place near nowhere and could be seen from nowhere. What might be In the center of irrationalism? Occupying the capital city of the most ancient well civilized Empire, no doubt... Most of the citizens and refugees from Syria, Bosnia Herzegovina, Chechnya, Afghanistan are peremptorily-or natural-suspects in Constantinople. Any of the non Muslims cannot be leaning against their passports, even the inner part of their life could be defined as a new Lawrence-as called by the Turkish PM T. ERDOGAN- who should be detained in a cross questioning room. I know that Mademoiselle N., Mr. Lob and I are sharing our common adventure on the edge of an abyss dangling our legs over an obnoxious height, say, at least of some hundred meters. None of us smokes cigarettes but M . Lob whose soul is made of a lot of addictions including illegal lottery in internet. And yet such vagrants are apt to be seen as good by the majority of good girls living around The Bosporus. These are also some irrationalism induced paradigms of occupied Constantinople.

    As for Alex and his wife would be kissing having no shoe in their bare feet for they throw away not only shoes but socks, silk stockings etc. Huh!
    After restoring to their feature they started a free talk telling what would come to mind to each other but this free style of chattering shouldn't be apt to slide the venerable-was it the word?-identification of the Sonia's mom viz. VARVARA PAVLOVA madam la director of the state special dormitory:
    Alex-(after kissing her on girdle) I’ll admit I cannot be dismayed if I may not find any chance to embrace you before going to bed...Oh forgive me.... What a terrible thing happened... Err...To kiss you before nuptial...
    Sonia-I'm not a virgin honey (softly) I mean after the childhood the first thing was to go to the bed with an idiot I know from the schooldays, eh?
    Alex-( Not very much gloomily) You? As an aside I used to think that a woman would never confess anything related to hymen. Ugh! It's awful...He imitates as if he cries, and the fog, and not another sound anywhere.
    Sonia-O come on boy. You are too much old to cry. Geez... Loosing hymen was not the most horrible thing I have ever lived. I lost my underwear once when the dad took mom and me to a swimming pool. I could never have dreamed anything could be so full of tragedy. ( They lauhg together, Alex carries on with kissing his wife, and Sonia takes a role of The Female-as a prototype-from Comstantinople as if wouldn't liked to go further in a balcony love adventure!)
    They just directed towards the doorway that the girls powerful bureaucrat Madam PAVLOVA run into them, hissing "It is enough to give anyone tryst of missing you-the new married who has fascinated all guests supernaturally I'm sure. Besides my throat is dried awfully and I am longing to shout 'PROSIT' over some cup of ales cold and British thoroughly. All in all you can imagine how merry I shall have felt. (Chuckling) Not that I feel my mouth any dryer now but somehow I feel too much thirsty.Seemingly Lady VARVARA wouldn’t come to a halt. “Here, do you see?"... Se pointed to some sort of documents linking to her marriage red tape matters in torn pieces of paper, fastened together with elastic strips. "Do you see these materials made of photos, official permission, identity files of both new spouses? That's the beginning of a new life we all are going into without interesting-as they used to do in the occupied earthly heaven namely Constantinople-the past sexual experiences of The Male or The Female. Marriage is a productive association not any sort of consumption"! Alex scarcely heard her. He looked into her authoritative, productive face, and he was getting more and more respect induced a son in law of hers, and he could not force himself to listen to what his mother in law was telling him about the marriage because on the contrary of the prejudices nourished by untrained-especially from the point of sense and sensation- The Turkish bourgeois (Let’s remember that the villagers are to obey the ethics mandated by The Intelligent. He remembered to German modern proverb saying “If one is to complaint of Turkish illiterate and innumerate villagers one should not meet with the worst-Turkish Bourgeoisie. He saw that this association was a mere truth to save his marriage from self-contempt under the historical negativism insulting the moral values of The European Family!
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 10-25-2014 at 04:45 AM.

  5. #215
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    Quote Originally Posted by mesolzhenitsy View Post
    thanks to everybody who follow the new parts-over "edit post" editions-of the infinite novel by solzhenitsof!
    let's go on to read the new lines added last above !
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 10-11-2014 at 04:06 AM.

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    Follow the new lines of the thread, please...

    And look at new patches of the infinite novel of which main body is to be enriched by them-added over edit-to it regularly!

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    Quote Originally Posted by mesolzhenitsy View Post
    and look at new patches of the infinite novel of which main body is to be enriched by them-added over edit-to it regularly!

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    Quote Originally Posted by mesolzhenitsy View Post

    (Go to the beginning of the novel please)
    Instant observations from the Turkish Soviet State's torture room near to Bosporus:
    Public Prosecutor- ( Turning to the little Jewish Girl) So you think the if the organ trafficking and in order to that service to make children under surgical operation is a terrible thing?
    The Little Jewish Girl-(in astonishment) You should shame while asking such questions beastly! Of course it is. Why? Don’t you think so?
    Public Prosecutor- (Impudently) No. Turkish AYATOLLAH F. GULEN did teach us that it's something to be tolerated because his Islamic regime shall be the unique one based on tolerance.
    In the case of the nurse who has lead to the path of salvation The Turkish Soviet State considered her protection to save the little Jewish Girl as a plot to usurp the tolerance induced democracy of Turkey, therefore, should take measure completely immoral. The commanding general prosecutor-Z. OZ would not want to reform anything in the classical procedure to get rid of non-Turkish humanists as they should do it to add the slain Armenian journalist to the list of slaughtered names. Inasmuch as protection The Turkish Soviet State should have been being what it had been. There the Mafioso namely the general prosecutor would claim the right of the state not to let the nurse survive, to murder her officially and to free the little Jewish Girl near to the bastions of TOPKAPI Bastions in the night where she, according to the highest possibility, should be raped and killed by anybody as an American woman had been done away with recently while she had been taking amateur photos there.
    A captain from The private security forces of security forces took the hand of the little Jewish girl and led her to TOPKAPI Bastions and lied her-as he used to lye every victim to be being gotten rid of-that she should wait there for her family members coming to rescue her from the cloak of intensifying navy blue of the awful night ready to precipice on the ominous region. The Girl tried to start a conversation to gain time:
    The little Jewish Girl-Well, no, I can't escape from the daggers of, famous murderer of The American Lady, LAZ ZIYA and the like...of course not!
    Captain-If they wouldn't come to help you, The Turkish Republic-he having called The Turkish Soviet State as his commanders tried to beguile her down right-could bring you back to the happy life at your home conditionally you should do so!
    The Girl-Why wouldn't you conscientiously drag me away from this dangerous place where some psycho servants of all cabinets of The Turkish-Soviet-State would stab at the Judeo-Christians to death? Is leaving me lonely in the night a joy you would give your second class regime or would you do it for him individually?
    The Turkish Captain-(doubtfully) From the point of our tolerance showing to the Judeo-Christians my reply ought to be "no". Looking at the question from that point you shall catch on the meaning of TOLERANCE uttered by both The Green Maoist F. GULEN and Red Maoists viz. the KEMALIST generals of -quasi/the note of the author-Peaceful Turkey.
    The Girl-There is no standpoint to prove your peace . As a Judeo-Christian child was diseased at birth, stricken with the fake tolerance of The Turkish-Soviet-State having been hereditary ill with that only the most vital ethnic minorities namely the peaceful Kurds are able to cope.
    The Turkish Captain-You mean?
    The girl- I mean I will let me myself to sleep on the bare soil and wait for a miracle, you know-the morning's first sun beams to lead me to the train station by which I can find the express bound to go to my city-Kayseri.
    So the little Jewish girl fell asleep amongst stones, disposed coca cans, phlegm contaminated chuckles, mini sheet hills belonging to no specimen of the biology etc.
    In her painful sleep she happened to listen a queer music in an unexpected dream. Here the link of that music played by the Author-I, played of the antic musical instrument called The David's Harp:

    The religious books say there is no word unspoken under the sky. And yet writers' lines may show us that there could be "de profundis" senses, unexplored thoughts waiting for The Word to be carried on with saying nothing of the extra paintings and sculptures of which highly most delicate could be presented to The Mankind! Thanks to the almighty no sneak creature visited The Little Jewish Girl except a lizard sliding on the soil shared with her. In the morning she has woken up. In an instant she took to her heels, and begun both to cry in a high loud shriek and to run. By means of some Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish Muslims she has provided with money after a good breakfast then lad to the Main Railway Station. Then someone has bought her train ticket and been waiting at the very side of her till the train bound to K...her mother land. In the train her rescuers found a lot of Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish people to save her during the journey and to lead her to the flat where her family has been living and waiting hopelessly her coming back. In the compartment she would travel, she foun herself in a warm chattering.
    First a little boy younger than her disturb her and spoke(amused)-Oh, that’s a child having got no family, eh? Well,
    The mom of the teasing boy startled-Oh no. But there are times when travel without being accompanied by anybody from our families.
    The Girl (seeking for a reconciliation between the boy and his mom))-I cannot turn a blind eye towards the torture, abasement, and the badness but at the same time I find the undesirable happenings of the life pretty good from the point of rigging dreary moments with struggles wherein one could find the help of God also....
    The boy's mom-Bravo! You have spoken like a successful as those who don't give up their hopes in the days of holocaust to make their butchers happy. I’m sure you are a successful student in your class, you know I mean that of y the primary you attend, are you not?
    The Girl (as if feeling to be buttered up) Yes, one might have call me so, before I was abducted.
    The boy-I guess you have been abducted and, let me tell you, you managed to escaped anyhow.
    The Girl-(musing) Anyhow is not the word but The Father Almighty.
    The mom- They said us you were a Jew. Instead you had some advantages, you might not be expected to use that very word-The Father Almighty, should you be not?
    The Girl-Education and a lovely home teach that common word of ours, and so forth...

    "So forth" is the most convenient couple of words to describe the travel details-over omitting the useless details of course-of the little Jewish girl that has managed to escaped from the Islamist green ideology induced gang branch of the Turkish Soviet State. After some idle days of mine I learned through the internet Mass Media that the girl has arrived her home and embraced by her family members in a lovely atmosphere of happiness... And I have ringed up the mobile number of my teacher whom had been introduced through the beginning lines of the novel. For I have the encouraging voice of his the dialogue over that interesting case could be realized in a way much more interesting than the matter on which we spoke.
    I-Hi sir...
    Ex-Teacher-Hullo dear.
    I-I go to high school and of course have got some the other things I should do as I've mentioned you in the cafe.
    Ex teacher- You're not poor in tasks to finish then.
    I- But they are not anything certainly to make a lad rich.
    Ex teacher- (very gently) Okay! What do you ask me to do for you?
    I-I think you would satisfy me with a light from the point of what to do with life occupied Constantinople full of handicaps like those which that little Jewish Girl would have had to contend with if she should survive in Turkey.
    Ex teacher-(impatiently) Oh, I cannot say anything about that matter! What’s the use of talking about what we might not do with? We cannot responsible for the way wherein The Turkish Soviet State.
    I-But supposing you are responsible of my marriage plans?
    Ex teacher-What?
    I-Yes I fell in love with a girl whose home neighboring to ours. Instead she is a relative with the girl of Bulgarian VIP Lady-VARVARA PAVLOVA my sweet heart has got-I'm sure-something like hymen obsession though she is opan to the tricks of hymen hunters like Mr. Lob.
    Ex Teacher-I mean supposing we-successful citizens of Constantinople-are not responsible for the non-justice state you call The Turkish Soviet.
    I-Gosh. May God forgive me. I must do something because of my shameful cowardice in Love Affairs, and I know that The Soviet here taught us how to be a coward lover on the contrary to Soviet Russia had been inoculation of being easy all over the Russia-if not free-while speaking to other sex... But here, err, we see misery in relationship with The Female we can find lovely imitating as if we do not care a bit about them.
    Ex Teacher-We can do nothing to give a last touch to it. Are the people not then, in part at least, responsible for every Soviet type regime? You have had to think of that already.
    I-( feeling annoyance) No, for I have been obliged then to start in thinking about both of them at the same time: dating and regime matters in my agenda.
    Ex teacher-(quietly) I see. It’s a case of what disturbed you showing you The Face of The Female in Constantinople drawn as Balkanized features: smooth and ruthless. Besides after the second sex of Anatolian rich-or beastly keen at richness- people were added to them that should draw you mad!
    I-(blankly) Mad? Oh, you ought to mean The Hero . And yet one could not decide what to be in Constantinople: A hero hating the Soviet type regime or the opposition of Soviet stock! You might not accuse me Sire of keeping any hostility here for trying to like any the female is a very hard task while falling in love is a natural reflex in The USA-The Civilization of European and African Stock.
    Ex Teacher-I never felt so sorry for you in the school years of yours. All in all I actually understand why I am weeping myself at one time I felt so sorry for my students that-seemingly-gained the virtue of observation of which ulterior output could be detesting every creature observed . By the way, she-the girl you both observed and find lovely hasn’t made a sound...

    Since it used to be dusky in the evenings following deep thoughts about The Female shared through phone calls I should remember her face not in its true lines but anything perceived without any shape based element by the lover candidate, shouldn't I? "You’re nearer to her" I mumbled "than you were ever before." and directed to the library where I had met Mr. Lob first.
    The air was becoming clearer although the industry and traffic pollution is as thick as ever. The features of the people at the gate of the public library could be distinguished as obligatorily meaningless matching to the social classes as they would be. One shapeless and baselessly jovial because of being coolly clean-shaven; the other round with big, obscure Mongol eyes and a tobacco stained mustache. The Islamic head sampling to be wrapped tightly figure-the nearest one-is clearly that of a woman. Then I asked myself if I was in need of any sort of camouflage- right arm flung over my face concealing it and the left to aid the right, clutched orange clothes and white papers over my head god knows for which purpose. Simultaneously the eyes of a man who is seated on the pavement near to the corner whereof the woman seemed trying to depart towards somewhere but the public library have been turning round and peering in her direction. She looked to go on with standing still. She might be a sleep walking. I hoped so and whistled," poor woman!" Methinks a little awareness will do The Turkish Female a world of good but-crying out loud-they wouldn't like being fully awake. And lemme confess that Mr. Lob is much more successful than the people like me to usurp the sleep of The Sleeping Beauty!


    From the moment when the spirit of dating, having accepted the concept of every friendship-with other man- of the sweet heart is not permitted in Turkey and every girl has got the right to say "one or other one" should aim at constructing different lives of love in order to assert the divinity of the house of a man, and from the moment when I caught on the meaning of looking for the most convenient dating that might extend itself from local ethics to social values of a modern society!
    I've run into the precious information about the girl with whom Alex have married with recently and the girl whom I put in my dating agenda... Yep, I was planning to date with this extraordinary female who was a relative of Alex's wife. The three fourth of their family were living in the Europe-in Bulgaria, Germany and Russia-and the mom in love of Alex-VARVARA PAVLOVA was the grand great daughter of the famous Russian Count ALEXEY GONCHAROV-what a sheer coincidence they still holds in the name of the youngest bride groom of the family namely our good Alex- and the body of their child close to Alex's young wife's breast were to be placed in the young mother's womb-let The Father Almighty sacrifice it-to the highest probaility I believe in statistics.

    Then I returned to my former position-being at seas-facing two relatives as beautiful as each other but each one reflecting her traditional attitude while having been loved. I suppose I cannot exaggerate the difference between them: Seriously one-who lives here-puts tradition before ration the other does vice-versa! My informing you may be too much eloquent but have you noticed how easy it’s to be being understood, sensed, an lived? To live? What and where. Sexual intercourse in the moors or in the bed-no matter-say nothing of the bitter reality that that difference did strike me awfully... Accordingly I am to choose one of them a darling either from poor, occupied Constantinople or the cloned one-actually the sanguinely relative one of the first-from Sofia. One in Bulgaria and the other, here, in Turkey! Ha ha.

    Actually absobed in full philosopy I would have liked to plunge into the dating speculations furthermore... And yet until I turned towards the main reading hall of the public library I just happened to see the headline of some Turkish newspapers on the mass media stand on the right side of its door. I could read there clearly that after the little Jewish girl has been took captive-plainly plainly by Iranian soldiers and Turkish green Islamic or red KEMALIST fundamentalists around a week ago I could tell whether she would be under an surgical operation for one of her kidneys or be killed immediately for both of them.( No matter she-as a Kurdish child-should be blond or brunette. Now that she would only carried to the Heathen Children Hospital as called by The Hun she was going to be fed as a lamp then she should give in her organs demanded for to be sold in children organ trafficking that had been started by the most secret and most terrible Islamic terrorist F.GULEN abiding in Pennsylvania for nearly two decades . It was this: to wait and see the fate of the little, non-volunteer donor little girl second to that Jewish child who had managed to escape from The Hun HANE hospital as the reader could remember. In that kind of state based terror one might find my observations to much optimistic. And yet methinks mine is to be justified in a way unbiased.. . Obviously I-the writer, am able to estimate what could make the reader started to expect more details about the incident I have informed them before a while? I, of course, am carrying on with giving actual information that I ought to be supposed not to tell anything that had never seen in through the Turkish mass media organs. So anything more than I've uttered already regarding to the no mercy children organ trade her? No, nothing. I am, too, longing for having got more information about it but I have only one way to get more information: The Turkish Mass Media. I promise everybody that every new news I would obtain-especially through the pages of daily news papers and internet media-should be shared with the reader immediately...

    Turning to the main individual problem of mine I am sure the books worth to be read was hidden on the shelves-umpteen in number-of the reading hall playing bridge most of the time. I’m not much of a researcher and don’t care much about the genealogy. I have visited nearly all European capitals from Paris to Moscow because the dating-to be ended with a holy marriage-yes dating obsession insisted without any intervals. I was bored to death of being obliged to invent an excuse to go out of home-no matter in little hours of the morning, midday or midnight-as soon as I could. (As an aside, I've just been informed by the police chief speaking on A TV that the little Kurdish girl namely the new children organ trafficking that kidnapped-I'm sure by-Fundamentalist TURCO Islamic militants, KEMALIST soldiers, and Iranian commanders couldn't be found still 06. 11. 2014 Thursday (Today).
    Alas The Turkish Soviet State, can’t teach an old dog new tricks as I'm and besides giving information of State Crimes here to the East and West Europe. I’m a realist novel writer pure and simple and yet well experienced enough in rigging my novel with colorful paraphrases the farther I get away from the World's Classics for much more dissatisfied I am with my and that of-if not the modern-the contemporary pens' realistic platitudes. I’ve built this style up from nothing-for I'm from the Y...MAH/Erzurum where Pushkin had left sufficient power of muse pissing our lane and the like and it’s sort of like to give a soul richly sought to a child like me. It gives me pleasure to confess that watching over my masterpiece here could teach what might be accepted twice miraculous as Arabic Recital Book coping with the rich English of any of Semitic language after a poor tongue taught in Turkish schools as it I would use without feeling uneasy. Even thinking worldwide I don’t like to leave this style in strange hands. As for going on with writing my Infinite Novel, little old Turkish Soviet State should be good enough for me in marching towards the page of THE FIN jovially. I wouldn't pauses slightly or impressively, waiting for some word of approval for its award in money or racist eulogy. I wouldn't be a darkened brain or self imposed silent humanist as those of the Soviet type intellectuals of the Turkish Soviet State-deep and secret-while they should choose the way of life they used to live continuing dishonestly! But if you would have asked me whether I had seen any advantages of being a village-man of Alexander Solzhenitsyn I should have reminded you of the very name-Nikolayev Tolstoy whose name the world have heard after Lev Tolstoy had died . I don’t think I could deign to call myself as Count Comrade so never think it advantageous. I know some of the first class literary detectives did it about what I might be after. Obviously at the first sight my nickname might be seen a s a filthy sort of negativity, isn’t it? Then let it be so...and yet don't forget the European Female's choice in dating. First of all a good Judeo-Christian name which would be used by Muslim intellectuals... For instance Solomon or Suleiman. There are so good Judeo-Christian names from Russia to Aberdeen, Dublin, London, Berlin of the annexes Washington, Sydney and the like to prove that the families of The European Stock are more durable from the point of social Stochastic-at least till managing good educational process for their children-. for which I spent quite a good deal of my time. I call bigotry victim people of The Orient: don't chuckle please, will you...In your queer and self imposed role of moral value measuring you continued to do it impudently, didn't you? YEP! Simply because you found the people in good manners coward, cynical, naive, less interesting till you have been given a good trash from Balkan the Balkan warriors fond of ballet-you describe as immoral-and able to knock down you.

    Anything adding to the correlation between the social philosophy and my starting pointless obsession viz. dating! Dating for love or love for dating? No reply at all...To talk on the of the names and brief peculiarities of my darling candidates:
    Natalia in Sofia: If I had smile a salute she would have return it with much more smiling without thinking sexuality more than the number of my home.
    DAMLA (as in Dam-la in European Esperanto) living in occupied Constantinople. Overt enemy of all smiling males and perceiving The Male -smiling or not-solely within the conception of sex!

    Why does one tell this kind of dating tales to the passengers randomly passing by. Is this a reform? Yes we all are the reformers writing in internet medium at least on a non-profit based or non-amateur professionals. Do you mind my ecstasy in particular line you are not concerned in least? No! And yet I am a writer not similar to my idol Pushkin and you are the readers different thoroughly his readers. I thought it-writing and reading a novel over internet- was not anything of any kind of paper induced authors. I knew you wouldn’t too much busy when you should hear those speculations of mine on philosophy and dating not similar those of yours at all. No let me confess condescendingly beautiful findings which might be found as practical but not like a dream. Then we can go on with the new episode concerning more deeply the little girls kidnapped by state terrorists, and two young ladies who I'd like to abduct me...ha ha!





    Varvara Pavlova: A VIP lady in Sofia-Bulgaria
    The Newly wedded Girl of Varvara Pavlova
    Alex: Madam Pavlova's son of law
    Nathalie: The beautiful nephew of Lady Pavlova
    My Ex-Teacher in Lyceum
    The Household of My Family living near to Pera
    Damla-The girl living in my family's neighborhood (Also a relative of Nathalie)
    Our Neighbors
    Passengers in Pera Street/Constantinople
    The Officers and Officials
    The Jewish Girl-kidnapped by semi official mafia dealing children organ trade
    The Slain Nurse (Rescued the little Jewish girl and was murdered in Turkey
    The Iranian and Turkish Islamic clerks dealing with Hun Hane administration (Hun Hane: The Secret Hospital for Children organ trafficking)
    The Bureaucrats, The Surgeons, Other Medics etc. of The Ministry of Health
    Little Kurdish Girl: Kidnapped and carried to the Hun Hane Hospital
    The slain American tourist-A lady killed while photographing TOPKAPI Palace


    I’m just a humanist, that is all. So I have never take place in TAKSIM protests. For what particular kind of reminder do I make here? Of course-because of having been the writer of this novel-I do write something a propos some novelties that has elicited recently.

    Towards-approximately-ten hours yesterday night somebody has rang me up and said (in a tone indicating that in his mind some sort of NGO based missions and harmless) "Oh I see our association is lucky in calling for good people interested in The Social Medicine observations for I reached to you instantly". I replied him in a form of question and having treated him with regards "Well, there’s not much virtue useful or rather usable in this case, is there?" . Seemingly he got amiss and cried: "No!" You are the lad we had been after from the very beginning, and added the firs request of his, "We'd like to meet with you in flesh". I promised (after a long pause) him that I might visit the HQ of their non- governmental organization as soon as I can then but confessed him that I don’t the address of their center from where he telephoned." He was much more furious then, and reproached me "What? Don't you but I’m beginning to feel embarrassed then. Is the address note-book near you? (I reached in it on the little stool on which it used to be placed with the phone and try and write the name of district where their center were to be known as one of the most important places could be found there.)The voice on the phone spelled every syllables and I wrote. Before going out of home took a handful biscuits to munch on the way to the NGO center. I never thought Turkish biscuits could taste so good. Couldn’t my readers to be going to have any? What could be the answer? No. Alright then I'd rather spell them around for I'm not hungry. The thought of that poor person who has called me has taken all my late evening-two good hours after the dinner-hunger away. I ought to confess that I used to gobble something in the late evening times exceeding the nights' darkness playing with shadows navy blue clouds dead already. Nearing to the bridge over Bosporus I think I have breathed something smelling as jonquils. Besides as I the reader a confident people I ought to accept the truth: I have never seen any jonquil in my life. And yet only when I was a child I ever had this flower's name alongside with those of many like obelisk. Is obelisk a plant, I'm not sure. I also couldn't be sure the names might have taking any significant role in dating. For instance after the first embracing a certain Violet would probably take place in memo as Elisabeth...Huh , the look on The Female's face was to be so wonderfully tender as she bent over your...err what part of yours. May I be losing-God shield us- my reason. What will our lives shared over these lines if I be so then?
    Now it's the time to turn back to The Female generally! All females must learn this: only death can rob their overacting to see as a female. Of the only recompense for their ugly times there would be the process I mentioned before a little while: changing names. Eh? It seems such needless tort while talking, for instance, madam Bovary... And yet was she not taken from her throne for being fickle while nearly all females could be crowned in this way instead of the moral boasting available in our occupied Constantinople. May I let the cat out of bag? There can be less chance to create new Bovary prototypes amongst The European Stock people's family. I, who have no wife, and am afraid of being ducked by The Female here in occupied Constantinople. Maybe my mouth full of biscuit chips just I have been eating. But everybody should take things to heart: Loyalty is not anything with which Judeo Christian mothers are to be being proud of because they are making the greatest majority of wives compared with those of The Islamic State-L'EI in the border of Iraq and Syria. The Caliph of L'EI is just like a poet lying in a colorful stanzas which describe Judeo-Christian ladies as impudent to dare wearing very little shorts matching to show based on their inguinal attractiveness if not beauties. While I was pondering in order to reach some findings about the second sex the reader might be reminded of The Sonata for The Female played by me on the David's Harp:

    Now that I call you in Russian: VINIMANYE viz. Attention! You’ll never forget all about Semitic-Gulf Arabic, Jewish, and Egyptian soul of the melody. This soul is the mostly high novelty, ye know, giving the dearest souvenir to the masters of story or poem writing and it may be named as Musical Literature as one could see here for many times, and-probably sooner than I will-it will be generalized in the world of writers. Nonetheless one shouldn't forget everything written in all times. What a devil of a last will of my ancestor-Kafka, would be if we didn’t understand that he couldn't be able to insert melodies through the pages of his.
    Worn out by philosophy based dating or dating induced philosophy I'd like to take another handful of Petit BEURRE biscuits, to continues munching and to turn to the beginning but to my astonishment after turning the corner of the street of which name was given to me I found the block where the NGO center was placed. The top storey were located for the departments of the headquarter, and several departments of the organization were adjacent to each other. Some rooms there-queer to say-were parted-using thin wooden plaques as wall-into two or three chambers... I had seen many buildings restored like this one already yet I used to think them funny things when you would come to think of them I mean how they happened to come together in a little boat but having got full of cabins as a ship might, and this matter should remain a mystery to me how could a huge organization ever got comical places in here. And then, how is it there’s no meeting hall in this center and still there’s plenty of personnel? Besides the best designed things might be no more sufficient constructions...The World would remember forever that there was no lack of life-boats, and yet there could be no use of them while Titanic sunk!
    After some women were teased by my sight in the NGO Center's corridors-some of the opening to the genuine one while the other ones are false-I was asked: "Who are you?" An old man with very peevish dark eyes rigged with abnormally black eyebrows in the contrast to his white hairs was questioning me looking into my eyes-or rather into one of them in order to focus or to conciliate his seeing problems somehow-and I felt that neither he nor I can be rowed away in that kind of ocean like atmosphere in which this center was been being sailed like Titanic...
    The damned inquisition of, say, the octogenarian must have gotten smashed anyhow the-obligatorily-mutual friendship between the organization and me for it was sinking in a way one should consider bailing! I considered that my appliance following their ringing me up could make a good material matching to the salvation for bailing before we were soon dumped into the depths of the icy ocean namely communication. But after I heard some more words uttered over the noise of his voice I remembered that this old man was that one who had called me by phone. His voice is younger than his voice as it would be in every old people case.
    I speedily drew near him while reminding him his telephone call and tried to make he remember our conversation "mot a mot" without swerving to other points, but I had also to have got him well backed to the mood and plead that he'd rather let me tell him I was pretty invited to the center. It must have been easily explained that he smile me a welcome. "Did you ever become so much disappointment" he asked "and weary of getting communication as here?" I said that I used to confront-is it the word?-generally with disappointment to death in the way to explain the reason of my existence everywhere! He laughed a laughter-younger and energetic than his body: "Your answer appeared to me the only way out in every dilemma of implementation regarding the reason of somebody, eh ?" He went on with an existentialist speculation: "But Tolstoy's question 'What we do' is valid at every you have arrived already. Listen your heart until the end of your youth and try and see the target put before you and having been hindered by the same power who had put it there. That is the best way I felt always if I would not be sick and weary of soul and longing for sleep. "What must we do?" is the one and only question, say, The Mankind arrived at after one thousand years, And here you are my answer: if our ship struck anything we should accept it as providential and usurp it. Here is the solution you had been looking for in our NGO. You would go up to the upper storey instead of going down with the lift and quit the building. We should understand that no death could prevent us while we would carry on with our voyage. Great poet Pushkin's 'LE VOYAGE A ERZURUM' was an accident as big as dodo we call Soviet Revolution and no nation cope with such dirty thing that might elicit every hundred years. From the point of individual way of life one could usurp even such big plagues".

    Keeping his words in my mind I rushed the staircases in amazement. One may mean to say I was going to commit with eternal exploitation to usurp all sort of misfortunes in my life. I was going to see my fortune high over the mist of the city. So I hid frustrating the banister lest the organization officers would insist on escorting my ascending in spite of me. Finally when no one had been my visage I went up and began to walk in another corridor.
    Then I heard some sound come from a corner rich in voices and I discovered that a woman and her husband-or her male friend have been making love for how many minutes God knows. How that scandal happened under the roof of any NGO I don’t know. Probably she hid her lover because she was afraid the mature people would have them crushed over the avariciousness the horror stricken citizens ruled by an Islamist regime for a good time. At any rate, I ought to confess that there she was being kissed there and I perceived she was so happy in her love for her mating partner. I looked around and found a British horn left there anyhow and hooted it. According to me the voices had been stopped. At the time being I could persuade the woman to climb to the roof to go on with kissing and being kissed aloud there.
    All joking aside went up to the roof Instead of them yet before I went up to the penthouse-yes there were a penthouse-I lowered the floor where they were panting using the rest of their energy to finish mating, and asked them: "Who are you? This place is not matching much to any task you'll try to finish , is it? At first there was no reply for both of them were near to coming every minute. One of them slid down to the silhouette of mine and hissed in a horrific tone: "We are the respectful members-the spouses-of a family having got two children. We have been sentence by all Islamist groups of Turkey and Iran to be shot-on head-without having been tried. And we take refuge in this NGO Building which is afraid of Islamist militants-of Islamic State in Iraq and Syria backed by the party in power, Hezbollah butchers, and secret Muslim terrorists of the F. GULEN Gang-for we had refused to work in HUN HANE dealing with children organ trafficking. All in all it might be very useful an information that we are surgeons and as the ropes of all Medics in Turkey we have to obey the medical or non-medical orders of Turkey's Islamic Government and other Islamist powers in Turkey.At the second phase of my unexpected conversation with them I was extremely bewildered that the Islamist Ideology oppresses the medical doctors first. Those pitiful medics under the heart rending torture, relentless oppression added to insult bear all the burden of labor giving service to the people whose-at least 20 %-most radical population would be insane from the beginning of the occupation: occupying Constantinople, Balkan Countries, great parts of Rumania, Hungary, and even Austria!

    Towards the penthouse and cutting the dialogue line with her and her outcast husband that to help her dressing, pushing off the matrix like drapery aside with a little kick. There should be classical breeze of the city peculiar to this season which might blow my melancholy slowly away from the strained skin of my face till I was hidden within the web of lights reflected from the far bridges of the Bosporus linking The Asia to our old, beloved Europe. The suspense of waiting for news from the department to go down again was terrible but the worst thing here-left in dark-was the vague situation. Briefly I didn't know even the patronage of the organization would have known that I was here-the penthouse.. As one could discern similarity shared by Titanic and my inutile waiting: one might nearly swamped by the waves when their huge ultimate goal took the final plunge into limitless hopeful dreams. Such big debacles make one to edge away from the practical solution and adopt the life style of The Prophet, firmly believing in some convictions regarding the similarity of poetical soul to be lived forever and to turn into a monument based upon all sorts of baseless fact The Messiah. I hope The Human shall have abandoned suicide probability ad fundum. Actually and absolutely. I had got an abyss before me in the penthouse-over the fifteenth storey of the building thereunto one could think all that happened to me is an omen sent to a crest whereof I cold left to the artifact abyss then. By God's pleasure I was to convince myself to forget my past unhappiness and my fortune woul change for the better. That’s the way to carry on with one's job necessary for one's mission! At that point of my pondering I ask the little waves of the air they used to call wind, and the wind did not answer my question so I learnt that superstition couldn't be a good thing any times. But if I had known how to be successful trying to cope with one's sufferings that every dating hunter was to undergo as a result of our baseless efforts wherein The Female would be involved. . And yet a voice in our hearts whisper that "don’t think about the other sex any longer. You couldn’t help that their cloaks' hands would turn otherwise. Now I wonder what was it that force us to make child amongst several unknown facts should be involved in the relationship between the spouses or darlings free of marriage records? I thought after I remember the incident I have witnessed just before a while.( I'm not a sleep walk, am I? "No never down right" my reply should be...Was I asleep when I heard giggling of the wife of the surgeon-she herself is a surgeon- and moaning with zest while making love on some rags rolling on the cold floor of a well known NGO, say the association of medics, center's second storey. She actually kept moaning one minute and next minute she would have commenced to scream under the unendurable zest of natural orgasm as if they were lying, rocking and rolling in their bed having been provided with all commodities a comfortable bed room they had had if they had been the citizens, say, my beloved countries-The USA or Russia. For I couldn’t forget those screams for the rest of my life, I, under the oppression of my own conscience, I have decided to go down back and to change some words with them.My situation-while desiring to make an observation whereof one could start an indictment whether I had got any written order to observe in a semi official corridor of an NGO location any mating pairs no matter they should be married or not-ought to be accepted as delicate, if not fragile, and I ought to be supposed as shouldering heavy burden from the point of task I have been to be having received over the phone call from this very center. Instead the sophisticated disadvantages I went down the staircase. Alas the people-I was after-were not there and a miraculously change-the exposure of some extra ordinary lamps added to the bulbs used in routine enlightening in such places were combined to bring on some kind of stadium lights-has been apt to affect not only bodies but the shadows too for there could be no shadow around. He-who had rang my home phone-was the only personage there to search me as I understood when I went down to see what was the matter.
    Peering upward from the over illuminated floor the fog he was getting almost angry because of my absence. I to worried about the absence of the Turkish husband and his wife-they both are surgeons themselves escaped from The HUN HANE hospital- who were mating, say before a while, on the bare floor-provided with only rags to lie on considerably drowsy materials, huh? It must be about time for the night to turn into late midnight. If we’re not going to hurry up the sun would have risen and all the lights been useless . What a spendthrift organization, god shield us... I, sadly, tried to learn where the Mr. & Mrs. surgeons were. As if was just about the impending time to weep for the inhuman working conditions of Turkish medics he answered me crying: "They cannot sojourn anywhere too much time lest the policemen of F. GULEN Gang or other "Turco Islamist" paramiliters paid by the government or even Iranian guards. Yesterday morning when they captured a poor little fellow-an inexperienced MD who had rejected to work in the HUN HANE Hospital dealing with Judeo Christian children's organ trafficking-he was shot dead, shot head...
    While he spoke to me he shake his figure towards the bridges of Bosporus and I looked apprehensively toward his hand. Now that it is lighter what appeared before like a collection of mobilized shadows could be seen in the streets. I sensed then my face sullen, long, and red. My body was rigid, non shielded instead of I dressed well. He wrapped a white shawl covering his scarlet necktie, and the ears of his were apparently open to catch on every sound from my side.. After a pause he whispered the duty they-as an NGO -into right one of mine.


    After learning my home-work which shall be paid to my satisfy I went back to the home. As for the mission...err... Let’s not talk any more about it. It might awaken the Turkish Soviet and it could start screaming over its TV stations of the party in power and those belonging to the false ones of The Opposition Parties. though none of them could understand Poetical English of Thomas Hardy-B.Q.-occasionally through the figurative speeches here..
    As an aside I confess that I mightn't remember anything regarding to my arrival at home and falling asleep in my old-beloved bed which has been made extraordinarily tidy. She’d know what we were to be talking with the man in charge of the organization. For moms have an instinct to be ready in making the best accommodation-from the point of comfort-when her child would be late in coming back home, especially, in the night. Methinks everybody have seen that proved in their own families more.
    When I woke up to go to the school egg, bacon, tea, milk, butter and all sorts of toasted bakery were inviting me to the kitchen to have my breakfast.
    Here you are the capacity of the gastrointestinal system of a son so much dear for his mom! Hardly my school depending minutes exhausted when I've finished my breakfast. Then what? Lo to the school class of mine. After the last ting-tongs of the break bell I took a taxi and went to a poor Jewish family that hadn't afford to escape from Constantinople's famous 6-7 September 1955 terror attacks organized by the state in those days and asked the grand daddy-who was still in a healthy posture while welcoming me-and asked him " Have your family lost any of little children, if there was any, recently? He refused to talk on such matters under the holy roof of their home, and yet offered to go somewhere near to The Galatians' Tower to where we can go on step.
    Thank God, on the simple and stale way towards the tower he lead me to the most famous synagogue near the place of ours!
    "Well-done! You should thank God, even if an ordinary person would lead you to visit such a place, as it is implicitly claimed a while ago. I might not be omitted easily, you know, thanksgiving" said the old man and made remark with inquisitive eyes. "You’re not be married soon, are you?" "No" claimed I in a tone of camouflage claiming that matter would be in my agenda.
    "I didn’t think you were" opposed he jocularly "You people over overacting temperaments of youth exhibit more to affinities to The Female than the Female used to do so. Briefly methinks" he added " wives run as if walking and husbands do it vice versa." I supposed he has lots of those in old good days! I didn't carry on with the matter as if I did not hear or will not notice his questions and remarks. When we went into the synagogue he was still staring through his eye-glasses.
    During the first steps to give a start talking on a misty matter about the kidnapped children to be send HUN HANE Heathen Children Hospital for organ trafficking by Turkish turbid green Soviet Regime and that of Iran's bloody green Islamic State my voice into an excited tone because just a message came to my mobile phone SMS a propos to show the scientific findings that would make remark about the actual yet positivist truth claiming especially Judeo Christian kids were to be chosen amongst little girls for the organ trade run buy main Islamist Organizations. "Did you hear that?" asked I the old Jewish. After he nodded "no" by shaking his head I showed him the link. (
    He startled: "What do I hear?"
    I-" You heard what we are talking just now."
    The old Jewish man-"I thought I heard the sound of Satan." (We both stood still intently. After a second or so I talked again.)
    I- "It's not that of Satan yet the sound of steps of Islamic Terror drawing near every moment."
    He was seeming faint and having been drowning in the turbid water of The Bosporus...
    The old Jew (hardly elated) "By God, it is an ethnic cleansing!"
    I-"It sounds nearer... Alas ethnic cleansing could be coming this way."
    The old Jew-"Oh, if only this rotten Anti Christian and Anti Semitic State of Syria and Iraq Islam State would leave the people they used to throttle in the streets!"
    I-"Let’s hope it will. The liberal World led by The Europe, The USA and The good Semitic brethren (Israelites and Gulf Arabs run as much risk of being run down as we do not our best to save the victims while these human sacrificing scenes continue in the deserts occupied by Islamists. Couldn’t we see one inch away in this path going to Hell."
    The old Jew (nervously)- "Can’t we pronounce some kind of a cry on the TV stations of Golden Horn?"
    I- "None could hear us hear our voice through The Mass Media Organs of Turkish Soviet that owns all of them from The Leftist to The Rightist".

    The old Jew- " Nevertheless we can try and hold out when the Islamist terror of Syria-Iraq Islamic State gets close to us. (Notwithstanding we're, perceiving some auspicious stimuli in the atmosphere of the synagogue during which we chattering-even whistling at the least threshold of human audio or touching randomly the things around us on and on)
    I restarted the talk:
    I (rejoiced to the limit of having been consecrated)-"How silky cool the air is here, and the lights soft, friendly! It is not my imagination, is it?
    The old Jew-"No, I notice also that it is not making us shuddered least. For few minutes spent in any sacred place the air movements could inspire one as if one feels cold or warm to death."
    I-I wish we had some books so we could read and keep the richness regarding this peerless atmosphere."
    Suddenly the Old Jew hushed me:
    -"Hush! Do you hear that?"
    -"What? The sound's echoes I've just made whistling?"
    -" Maybe. I... I heard it a moment ago."
    (We waited to hear the sound if there would be somehow. And it happened to be heard much more strongly.)
    I-"No. This is a sound of a rat as big as a dodo.". There! Don’t you hear it now? (A noise as of a rat over some kind of high and narrow shelves is the color of the books having been read again and again, and trying to descend from there.)
    The old Jew," Yes, I hear it. One cannot guess what can it be?"
    I- "Isn’t it a fat rat?"
    The old Jew-"Yes very tall, and fat with a short tail."
    I-"How could it be overfed here while there is not any fodder?"
    The old Jew-(Shouting) "Here you are, taking a promenade to prove that he could make a stand up show except the floor under us. (With a shiver) Horrible, but it could cope with the hordes of all hyenas on the old earth!"
    I-"That poor he-rat might be get angry with us and we might get frozen when he scolded us."
    The old Jew-(He takes off his coat and walking carefully towards shelve like accessories of the hall we are in speaks) -"That mister-he means the he rat-is the most intimate friend of the oldest lady, say the grand great aunt, of my family. After the death of the big aunt he used to visit the her the sleeping under the soil of Jewish cemetery with some wild plants in his mouth."
    I-"it sounds both queer and ridiculous for the contemporary people who find visiting Mars queer yet not ridiculous."
    Putting a dot at the end of my dialog affinity for the time being I started pondering on the probabilities that every minute I might see anything irrational. Damn this misty mission of mine! (The noise of the descending he rat grows more and more distinct. At regular intervals of his panting blows the walls of empty hall of the sanctuary)
    The old Jew,—(still gazing at the wall) "Perhaps it may be something-to some extent-surrealistic but I hardly think we could have consider it comical."

    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 11-17-2014 at 08:06 AM.

  9. #219
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2011
    Constantinople/The European District
    (Many thanks for attending to the tome ii of the infinite novel above by m. Solzhenitsof!)

    In the time being I sensed that we have already quitted talking in terrified tones. Good God, how nice a good effect that the great he rat composed around us. ( turning quickly around I discerned something huge and black is drawing near through the desks of the foggy scene directly beside towards us.)
    The old Jew- "The huge, he rat gave up the drifts to approach us with a slight movement. We ought to shrink away as far along the carpet linking the desks to the niche as we can manage!"
    I- (looking at the chamber of The Old Testament towering above everything) "A mere hill his shadow! (turning to the old Jew) Steady there or you could be in his stomach in a minute if you’re not careful. As to me I'm not a Jew from a concentrating camp-for instance during the 6-7 September 1955 incidents in Constantinople under the occupation had been one of them- but I'm ready to escape anyhow."
    The old Jew- "There is nothing to be frightened over. Tin-tin-the name of the he rat was that-would come near when he should feel himself obliged to present his consolations over the unforgettable death of grand great aunt of ours."


    After the first frustration and a wonton dispute between Alex and his young wife his mother in love our pompous VARVARA PAVLOVA intervened very speedily thus everything would be calm or the inexperienced family should be smashed to pieces. Lady PAVLOVA reassured her son in law-Alex by finding out that what he might take for some horrible crises in his fresh family is an ordinary reality. As it was they would have only divorced the frustrated sides continued to tremble with horror: the bride, bride-groom, and the mom in law of Alex namely Lady PAVLOVA. And yet what was that what the pompous madam mean by that very word" ordinary"?
    One, nearly, having lost one's patient and pasting two hands on mouth not to let one's mouth to be written in Guinness's Records over using pornographic hard words is to ask always: What is ordinary and what is not.
    Here you are the reply: At the beginning of dating, mating etc. putting aside the marriage between unconscious fiancés everything seem extra ordinary and everything turns into ordinary after the first sexual intercourse. One is to wonder for the time being: Which is bigger amongst the ordinary and extra ordinary. Since The Mankind continue to augment the world's population neither one nor other could be bigger.
    Try much as the Iceberg could it is not to be anything visible and such shall be the relations between The Male and Female. Even The Venus would help them in trying to conceal the bottom of the icy thing in the water that very bottom should be well known as everywhere. The eternal matron VARVARA made them push iceberg from TITANIC of which name must had been MARRIEGE. Instead the subject of their actual problem should be marriage they tried to push it away...
    Alex-"Ouch! My heart is aching..."
    Lady PAVLOVA-"No use wasting effort on your heart. The heart of The Male is too heavy and gentle to carry and my daughter can get no grip on its icy surface.
    All in all the instructions of VARVARA PAVLOVA made an effect as blast of the mortar would echo through the ears. It sounds in the depths of their hearts. -"Oh my God, one never think of that" would have been after every genuine friction or unexpected tort that had not been be elicit itself without been being planned because this Bulgarian matron couldn't put up with anything out of her agenda. She sat down pitying opposite them who newly have got marriage viz. green horn spouses and spoke: "Never think..."
    Alex- "Never think of what?
    Madam PAVLOVA-(gloomily) "Those hard words you both, seemingly, used to use in every dispute!"
    There can-of course-be no danger in frictions dyed by brush turned into green screen dotted with dirty gray stamps of new marriages generally, and highly most microscopic frustration having got no danger but probable evils . If great parents' lady spokesperson were not ever to hit this mass of icy probabilities they might have sunk before they could see the bottom of the peril without beguiled by the visible part of the ugly yet controllable fate of The Family.
    Alex's young wife carried the stage of that dispute one step afar: "Can’t we do something without being helped by the grandparents discourses?"
    Lady PAVLOVA-Shall we yell to each other when any danger get nearer.
    On and on Alex should reiterate "God shield us, madam, I understand that we should not do that." This "understanding" ought to be understood that a fussy madam could make a man to be excessively apt for falling into the plague of modern times namely accepting every ach as sickness! This is also to be apt from the point of one of turning into a wrack waiting to be rescued every now and then!And the aftermaths of the non-sickness diseases: Medics come or one go to medics; patients wait for to be salvaged as survivors from both death and resurrection, and if they heard anything about new surgical operations they would even think they are call for a doctor in order to help them in being anatomized and go right in this direction.
    There could not be any sound if Alex and his wife have any regard for the lives mixed with dispute and kiss at home Madam PAVLOVA-by means of a good fate-shouldn't have heard it. And yet marriage had been defined as to be ready for hearing harsh, horrific voices alongside with the caressing sound of coo, say from The Male to The Female of vice versa since Adam and Eve.
    Lady PAVLOVA couldn't stop herself and ordered Alex to do some rational but useless things including keeping calmness.
    Alex-(whimpering) "But madam, if we don’t let our angry reactions to hurl that they’re here they could be showing a liability not to heed our reason and they might never leave it free forever."
    Lady PAVLOVA-( too much sternly) "Can we learn your references sufficient to back your claim? Who did dare to teach those nonsense things to us?"
    Alex-"Sigmund Freud!"
    Lady PAVLOVA- "As he died we cannot take the risk lives according to his bad rules...
    Alex's young wife-(unexpectedly revolting) But mama...
    Lady PAVLOVA-"What mama...?"
    Alex- (Treating his mom in law with great respect as ever)-Freud has been talking on not 'bad' but 'bed'!
    (Since the respectable lady does not hear the speculations of that kind but a look of earnest fragility comes over her face. And yet there cannot be any chance to permit a long pause because that may feed a sudden laughter rising from any side. So the silence is suddenly crashed by the wheezing voice of the lady who has got enough capacity to continue the dialogue under her absolute control.)
    Madam PAVLOVA-" Gosh! That certain Freud must be reigning on top of us. (They both start to observe the survival capacity of the talk on sexuality to some extent. Regretfully at that point their eyes to catch on the meaning of deep thoughts explained are much more active in approaching to the misty chattering.)
    Alex-(furiously) He was not a king but a scholar, and I’m not going to be seen as a scientist on account of the perfect way to approach the scientific findings.

    ALL THREE TOGETHER-(CHUCKLİNG) Let's put Freud's damn fool ideas. (They embrace each other using Sigmund Freud's both scientific and teasing instructions as a common enemy's soft abdomen!
    Regretfully, it would be a common attitude in nonsense embracing to forlorn the scientific upshots all over The Europe still. As for the leader of uncivilized countries-Turkey Freud may be surmised as a prehistoric animal actually that animal have explored the inner animal acting within the true criteria of DE PROFUNDIS that is reigned by wriggling, say, outer identity.

    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 11-20-2014 at 04:15 AM.

  10. #220
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    Oct 2011
    Constantinople/The European District
    Quote Originally Posted by mesolzhenitsy View Post
    And look at new patches of the infinite novel of which main body is to be enriched by them-added over edit-to it regularly!

    By the way, making remarks on the quality of quarrelsome family members of The European Personage talking on something indoors could prove that slow corrosion might be impending in The European Marriages this novel will not turns in the direction of asking reward. James Joyce as the greatest author of The West Europe had done the same things I would rather do for the sake of The Eastern Europe Family. As for the matters of dating, making love, getting married, and divorcing etc. in the occupied Constantinople one cannot find anything within the humane construction of them worth to be written for the people involved in such matters wouldn't talk till they destroy The Family of theirs.

    To my great surprise Alex-one of the characters of this novel- could ask anything concerning the author directly:

    Alex- "SOLZHENITSOF the author himself is telling us that he is not asking any reward of Europeans for his service he gives to The European Family" This unexpected deterioration in the mental health of his son in law forced Lady PAVLOVA to call for a doctor. After the medic rang the outer door's bell of their apartment some ridiculous things happened yet they wouldn't be worth to be written here.

    In the synagogue again:

    We went on to speak about the giant rat-fallen in love with our grand great aunt-whose case couldn't be appreciated as much more queer than Alex who has dared to speak about the author of the novel in which he might only take his part as one of the major characters.
    I-(jumping up amongst the desks to force the soul of Aunt's rat-the Casanova to come near and speak) "Hey respectable beast ought to open your heart to us!"
    The old Jew-(putting his hand over my mouth in time to stifle my shouting to call him to be more voracious) You green horn! This taciturn rat is not a parrot as you, and you cannot expect him showing himself in a striptease peeled off his way of life based on silence.

    The people having got the relics from the heritage of Byzantium used to give struggle against every type of corrosion-corrosion in family making, divorcing, bringing up the new generations, and surviving in history as a people abiding on the bridge between The Asia and The Europe. So, instead of learning smile and exhibition of good manners the hordes that had occupied The Golden Horn have always hated to think free. From this point of view the old Jew was glancing-very frequently- at the main gate lest an average citizen of Turkey might have been spying there to listen to our conversation about a Rat Casanova whom they could imagine such an hero only over cartoons.

    I-(laughing) "I’ll run away with you, even if, an creature with no limbs to make speed."
    The old Jew-(Paying no attention to my cracking a joke but sits down opposite the shadows on the walls of the synagogue.) Do you see queer silhouettes or hear extraordinary sounds again?"
    Actually we feel ourselves no farther away than witnessing much unexpected happenings than before. The old Jew would go on stir uneasily. And suddenly...

    Yes! Suddenly The old Jew began to talk, trembling with terror, and I noticed that he was staring at a certain point on the wall:
    The Old Jew- "We must have escape from the crazy crowd that would hit us after all."
    I-could understand nothing. Who were they that were to hit you? They might have not the average citizens of Turkey after so many a slaughter this soil had seen in the history.
    The old Jew-Of course that couldn’t be again after the Great Catastrophe the Armenian had suffered. But we heard shouts, (suddenly smiling with any kind of prophecy-I don't know what he does guess-foreseeing what could happen to me) that we knew what they were.

    Then we carried on with talking:

    I- (being exited profoundly) "Go on please!"
    The old Jew- (sighing)"The fake humanism of The Turkish Soviet State was ready to bust up, to break up, to blow up etc. There was no longer peace around The Bosporus that has been having got bloody ripples fell in the water-from the early hours of 6th September 1955 henceforth until the evening of the next day-after the hurling hordes under the control of Soviet type intelligence agents have attacked to the Jews, Greeks and Armenians living almost in a pre-historic place of which symbol could be The Golden Horn."

    Obviously state terror has almost made everything ready to be used in need viz. in slaughtering the Judeo-Christians in occupied Constantinople.(I became panic-stricken at this thought and began to weep aloud.)

    I-"I cannot stand this any longer. Let me go sire or we both will be crushed by the remnants of bad memories the terrorists had curved within the crinkles of your brain. If we both had been drawn mad over those memos the stately murderers would take a chance to do away with us without shooting at our heads which shouldn't be left full of horror of those ignoble and yet official terrorists. You can stay here and be killed by your memoirs if you want to but I'll go out of this innocent, insulted, ignored and wounded sanctuary.


    Not insane with the fear of having been open to the Islamist terror near to Bosporus but with the newest menace after learning the stories of the little Judeo-Christian or Kurdish little girls I had decided to be ready for a voyage at the end of the first semestre to VAN located in the Southeastern part of Anatolia.
    The weeks flew as the rivers, the winter semester, and I've put one foot on the WAGON-LITS of the express train. I was about to throw myself into the snow sea of The Eastern Anatolia. On the platform of the train gar the little yet luxury restaurant was nearly to grab me by the arm and pull me into it) I let myself enter through the door of which gilded miniature pillars glittering in a color scale from grayish green to scarlet have been exhibiting The Ottoman architecture built by The Armenian Foreman who had worked in accordance of The Architect from Vienna and other European capital cities!

    I would go to Van first and this would be all right from the point of my questions like those I have asked the old Jew already. You might want to survive over unanswered questions at times, and I should confess that I was in that mood down right then...

    While climbing the steps of the train I was feeling myself having been rejoiced by the celestial body. "Do you want to see the peak of The Mount Ararat too" I asked myself, "you thief of mission ?" ( As I was captured by a lonely laughing crisis I've hidden m face in my hands and given my laughter as an autistic child would do in a fit of temper.) "Am I fool that I should omit The Mount Ararat-the symbol of Armenian happy centuries while they were administrated by not humans but by PAX ROMANA! And yet I would prefer not to take the risk of climbing to the peak of peaks-that of The Noah's Ark?" replied myself again. For five minutes in this soliloquy I grew more kindly in this dialogue with me. What? Did any reader offer me to use the word "rebuke" for what I did. Come on my dear; try and be sensible! Act like a reader!

    The Express Train has been shook slightly first with a combination of impetus and inertia after the whistle was blew. The whistle has been blew again and we passive goers-the passengers seemed once more to be in the same vicinity for a while. The main building-similar both to a book palace with a earnest, well shaven, bronze face and a grand hotel taking the passersby up with limitless violet signs-were they violet indeed-and raising its attic towards the little "aero planes" used for training pilots since the end of The World War II. The scenery around historic-if not the antic-gar is incongruous could easily get one's nerves. But I took the masterpiece of Henry TROYAT with me. Beginning from its title-The False Light-to the limitless details one might not be fed up even reading it through year after year.
    As The Express Train gained speed the horizons-or rather the some shapes belonging to blocks, the high gardens with high fences, the railings of some ateliers belonging nowhere and the like seemed not to be getting near us, and we passengers couldn't discern any more the figures, colors etc. Even the voices were escaping afar. For instance a moment ago I heard something like a crow cawed but in wile it stroke us as something striking the surface of the sea.

    Maybe we've been ascending to the crest of perception in express trains... I am speaking the curtain of daily fife used to be suddenly lifted in them. The speed of the machine has just risen over the average acceleration so too much moderately every design and paintings around began to come back their real shape and color.

    I decided to go to the wagon restaurant. The surface off black wagons fretted by the streams of air, vapor, mist -if not smoke- from vivid engines, and harsh winds at times below the windows of compartments seeming as The Knight armor's opening. God shield us from the evil of the Satan, at that time I step into the special place all the angels from the heaven helped me and I found an empty chair of the table to which a young Armenian gentleman's orders were being serviced. (After I saluted him he has introduced himself as a certain Mr. ...YAN, say, ARAMYAN.) Then we started a quick chat:

    I-(My back having been turned to the wagon's door through which a crowd -obviously hunger, thirsty, and looking at somewhere to sit down and to dine over the restaurant as if they could hardly believe a good fortune to find any.) There’s the express train bound to go to the ancient cities where the KHAZAR Jews, Turks, Kurds, Armenians were living in peace until the ominous year of 1915 when they found themselves in a damned war, and Armenians have been sent-if not slaughtered-in exile. What luck you have survived!
    The Armenian- "Chance? What chance monsieur? There had been an amoral and generalized horror you must have heard. Look! They-as some victims and my dad has narrated us-The Turkish State's terror virtuous murderers were breaking into straight towards our family members-no matter their ages one month old or octogenarian-to slaughter them in their homes.. "
    I-(Over hum and haw with an expression of having been shocked) "I wonder how they knew where you were."
    The Armenian-"Hello, hello....Are there anybody at home? You innocent asker, they had marked with a red "X" every door opening to Greeks, Jews or Armenians' houses."
    I-(shaking my head deliriously)" Hello, if it's for poking fun of me? Believe me monsieur, I didn't know that second MEDS YEDGHEM up till now..."
    The Armenian-"Where are you living?”
    I- "In the same city where they murdered you and pillaged your estates in the year of !955. You know, I mean 6-7 September incidents thereupon all of you Judeo Christians were annihilated."

    With the return of his civil holding out he has regained all his self-assured nonbiased courage. He tries and read the rate of cordiality I confessed as an exposure thereof we could carry on with the chat at the dinner table we were to share at least for a while enough to finish the meal. I too scrutinize the face expression of his as something importance induced with a double chin bright by mans of having been well shaven. The Armenian-(turning to with a sarcastic smile) "Not annihilated. And yet we ethnic minorities fled our motherland that is famous for its Bosporus that is told being bridged The Europe to The Asia. Yes, there are two bridges already there not for the sake of any continent or any friendship but for Turkey and the people of Turkish stock."
    I- "You see my pessimism was justified after all."
    The Armenian-(simply) "We-the victims of the 6/7 September 1955 horrific attacks had forgotten all about it. We still love The Bosporus..."
    I-"Thank you.

    The voice that call the people having finished their dinner to make a place for them waiting to find any chair to sit down and get something to eat is heard. The sound of the chatting ones as we ceased. We-The young Armenian man and I-wished a good voyage to each other and went out of the restaurant to take a rest in our compartments each one got a little table, a wash ball and a bed.
    After a moment later I woke up there were the same sounds to be heard near to the restaurant wagon but because of having breakfast for the time being as the last station was only one hour way as far. Briefly manned-the less distant off one do be from The Eastern Anatolia the Female shall be out of sight-by a full passengers of The Express Train I have travelled aggregated towards the side of the restaurant wagon. The young Armenian gentleman in his dark suit, evidently was in the stern steering.)

    I ( shaking his hand)-"Hello! You certainly are feeling yourselves healthy and happy after a good sleep.
    The Armenian-(looking out of the corridor windows up at the mountain chain sliding alongside the horizons our express train was changing on and on!)
    -"You are like picking a delicious mod out catastrophes as the subject of cheap chats. Regretfully what made you've heard yesterday about the 6-7 September 1955 attacks on minorities living in The Turkish Soviet State couldn't be narrated in one session limited with the time of a dinner! If you could have listened to the rest or rather details of the story you wouldn't find any more gaiety in it. Should we go on from the point we left unfinished yesterday evening?
    I-I drifted into the lack of full information because of the time insufficient!

    At the breakfast table and having honey, milk, butter, cheese sandwich, tea, and both two color olives of Anatolia could give way to the most cordiality or rather frankness down right. It was about the same time I first heard the very word 'Alas' he hissed as a whistle.
    The Armenian-(nodding toward the me) "You cannot estimate what a cruelty happened there!"
    I-Some murders the state had committed with?
    The Armenian-I wonder where could one have witnessed anything more horrific than murder? When the incidents had broken out my nephew-as a two years old baby-has been In the brace of his mom.
    I-"Then the mops has attacked the Armenian baby..."
    The Armenian-(wonderingly) "But how do you know?—"
    I-"I never have found it myself but made an estimation. Why don’t you tell me it in full details?"
    The Armenian(having been too much keen about it) "They-the baby's mother and dad, the relatives escorting them while they were coming back to home from, say, a picnic have been afraid to death but, crying out loud, they were nor lucky enough so they couldn't take to heels..."
    I-"But they might have passed by the street in flames of state terror and could turn any corner directly towards the narrow lanes in peace."
    The Armenian-(impressively) "The family with a baby pressed on the breast of mom has tried to take that chance." (I felt myself quietly drawing tears at that point.)
    The Armenian (going on with his heart rending story)-"Just at that moment I mean just they were to cut it people would attack to-no matter how much queer and dramatic to say it-directly to the baby's mom. As her head was hit by a stick stout than that used in baseball , something similar to the parts of a brain-I mean a scattered brain- fell on the pavement with the kid crying. Surmising the bloody matter a brain's the mop would left the victims on the ground moaning like the oxen The Muslims used to throttle in religious festivals. And yet-thanks to God-the part gouged out her head skin was only a fatty dermal cist. Any question of the family's life after that attack? They are living in France happy and in grand security..."


    There were crimes of The Soviet Socialist Republics of Stalin and all them should be based on logic. And yet the crimes of The Turkish Republic could be platonic, nonsense, full logic or smartly planned! The boundary between the crimes of The USSR and the Turkish Soviet could be clearly defined as one would see below:
    In the second half of October 2014 The basketball team of Turkish Soviet’s Ayatollah F. GULEN Gang killed a Serbian lad in a basketball match.( Sırp taraftar bıçaklanarak öldürüldü, Galatasaray - Kızılyıldız ...
    And the Penal Code of the Turkish Soviet would be unable to make the distinction between premeditation and holy-premeditation in this case for the militants of F. GULEN Gang’s team were shouting The most sacred motto of Islam wiz “ Allahuekber!”. ( Yeni Türkiye'de spor: Kızılyıldız taraftarı katledildi, terörist ...ün önce - Galatasaray-Kızılyıldız basketbol maçı öncesinde Kızılyıldız ... alanda bekleyen Galatasaray taraftarları da tekbir getirerek saldırıya dahil olunca ...

    So the Turkish Soviet decided to conceal the perfect crime namely Islamic Crime ought to be concealed. Especially in Ankara many measures have been taken. One of the great steps of those extraordinary measures was to cut the lines of Turk TELEKOM telephones and internet services over them. (Now the date is 25th November 2014/03 Hours PM and the lines are all cut around The French Embassy to Ankara. So if any new murderer would have planned to stab a French Officer at the back no neighbour of that victim could inform French Embassy in time.)

    And yet the criminals of Islamic Terrorism obviously would be no longer helpless young militants who could plead religious love as their excuse. On the contrary, they might be-for instance-a governor loyal to F. GULEN and he might have a perfect philosophy, which can be used for any bloody purposes-even for transforming an anti Semitic fascist into a great leader of humanism. Yesterday-14th November 2014)-The Governor of Adriano-polis (EDİRNE) was awarded for he has shouted that he should never give any permission to any Jew to pray in the synagogue.
    So the world must have been taught that The Turkish Soviet’s officially authorized vagabonds could kill everybody on earth in order to possess award from the state, but it would never occur The EU to say that has heard about those murders It is also reasonable or theoretically defensible The Turkish Soviet State to cut the lines of phones of everybody.

    As for the cataclysm it has hit at last the Satanic crimes accused of Anti- Semitic crimes against both Gulf Arabs and Innocent Jews above! All those evils of the common enemy of the humanity namely anti Semitic secret Soviet state in Turkey thereof alongside with the different parts of its body namely The ULKE TV. of T.ERDOGAN has completed it. Actually the bridge between the Semitic Brethren could find the chance of being built over the blasphemy of that ULKE TV. that attacked both Jews and Gulf Arabs. That evil political apparatus and theft or corruption gage of ERDOGAN has insulted both The King of Saudi Arabia and Mr. Netanyahu of Israel. That ULKE TV. swore both the king and the other innocent man using the same dirty words: "The beasts, the dogs of The USA, and ULKE TV. of ERDOGAN has added to its insults that Turkey should crash the puppet pillar of states of both Israel and Gulf Arabs as the first step. What is the second step, eh? From the of ULKE TV. Israel and Arabic States had been warned by the Ottoman Empires that Turkish conquerors should occupy The Middle East again. (Sıradşı Tarih Ülke TV-22 Kasım 2014-Prof. Dr. Mehmet Çelik)


    About the arrival at Erzurum-The favorite city of Alexander Pushkin, one could not make any significant remark if one wasn't living there. Now come on and imagine a chain of mountains having got a hairy-green-flora on it, and when some misty clouds would touch the mountain's congruous surface one could see the water drops at the top of every green peace there even from the distance of at least ten miles. The Hair should be stood up after the passing of clouds began speed up and yet thereof the bare-lacking woods-would be insisting, I'm sure, in existing the same monotonous scenery. If one were be able to fly over the city everything could take one up with but The Wood. After my arrival I have stopped altogether every now and then to find any orchard yet could see only some lonely elms each standing many meters far from the other. I was during one of these observations when everything was still bared-even-of anything similar to woods, I heard the caw of cows and I asked the first soldier if he has seen any forest around the reply should be: “Soil seems as after a great fire, doesn’t it?” and I thought it does so.
    It kept the soldier's reply in mind: how much getting a soil might be woodless there should become a majority of The Female escaping from streets and smile because smiling might be commented as the green light for making love. Erzurum was to have no chance for changing this rule: no forest no identification of sex The Female. Methinks it's too much weird when it sounds that dating should be accepted by The female as a misdemeanor if not a sin or crime.Any soldier in Erzurum Garrison may have replied my question emphasizing same somehow " Don't percept them with the same optimism that everything is so much quiet and clear here where is no tradition of dance in the ball rooms or watching the ballerinas without scrutinizing their anal region before catching the harmony between the music and the figures of dance. The people here couldn't forget the institutions of European civilization, and through the gentle behaviors of The Tsar's they loved another force of the Europe-L'OTAN yet the sexual fog so heavy in the city the people of Erzurum couldn't discern going to bed from inviting any lady to dance.

    The important thing in Erzurum, therefore, is not to smile, but, the world being what it is necessary, to learn dating in it. As yet this city is in the age of negation regarding sex, it is of some avail to examine one’s position concerning to find a foreign girl-as they call them who are out of the city out-offer dating.. In a medium of anti-sex way of life we must examine our position in relation to deprave a beautiful one no matter she would be a psycho or not. If getting marriage has rational principles, then we are to behave irrationally in an approach as a consequent of principles. If The Male had nothing to be a part of the foundation namely marriage, then we could be sane forever.

    I' rather repeat it again: “If a girl couldn't smile she’s a tomboy sure enough," but having not said it before how the devil could I say it again. Someone should get me out of here because I treat my new sayings as well known proverbs. And then both I and the reader ought to remember them that neither anybody nor I had been uttered before. Then everybody have to keep a lookout for any of the references of the “Tomboy Girl” who hadn’t been observed yet even not by Darwin Adding to that I have met with a soldier who implied: “It’s probably I have not implied anything" and told me to have to be prudent while talking of The Female. I grabbed an admonition and gave up the idea of jumping in The Female of any city generally. And yet I could recognize them over their sullen faces crying all the time under the consciousness of theirs, couldn’t I, boys? Oh...That's enough for a writer in having been dragged out of manners. God shield us-we authors especially when we would turn to the reader who all answer: “Yes sir.” What does yes or sir mean here. That’s how I am able to give such a direct instruction for you. Actually this course belongs to Simone de Beauvoir and she was teaching us that not the man nor the woman would have to have got any special face peculiar to their sex down right!
    The instant output:
    I stopped thinking of The Female when I go to the hotel very near to the Train Station for I decided to start a work matching to the dating stricken like me. just as the misty atmosphere rose upon my gloomy behaviors writhing in that mug . (During the Soldier’s story I have been looking at him with an expression of happiness of approval. And yet one might observe the deep stupefaction on my face based not on inquiry but on being after the same prejudices to be heard by other people. The I am not any longer being unable to decide. And I decided! I would rather to create-or let's say for the sake of manners make-of a girl face after changing her tomboy's feature.Whether the Tomboy girls of Erzurum would be holding out against my draft or making me a laughing stock or not even turning to my side on purpose-good or bad-but passing by the, say, buffets alongside the boulevard I should get my coke. I thought a good hotel would be useful for me for gaining more power to carry out the mission of the episode for the time being. But the first-that of the main text-after listening to the soldier’s explanation with intense interest I ought to go quickly to the hotel room of mine reserved before semi officially. (Of The Female: removing the tomboy girls' common feature from the existence they share over that notorious earnestness if not sullen face...)
    I reinforced my intentions, designs, plans, and inquiry systematization. I have turn to my face towards the hotel surrounded by bazaars and little ateliers of artisans whose chief instructors had been The Armenian before the hottest war days of the year 1915. After a while I was at the gate of the hotel. The valet ran and took my middle size valise. He would guide me to the reception first for noticing if any reservation had been made or not. That’s right way because of the unnamed civil war in the Eastern and Southeastern regions of Turkey. More scrutinizing the institutions would be better than the people in charge of security should be sleeping.

    The dinner, Turkish coffee escorted by fresh water of the mountains, tipping the waiter who dared to crack a joke shamefully platitude-saying "I like your type that is written in Turkish tip-concluding the routine jobs of the empty evenings to deal with no matter one would be at one's home or a hotel in the favorite city of our great poet Alexander Pushkin-ERZURUM. Of course the rituals should wait one after all: praying, reading, watching TV 24 both in English or EN FRANCAIS, and at the end of these recitals before sleep of the individual belonging to bourgeois then lo towards the bed.

    After taking a good sleep rigged with dreams God knows who has produced them for us frequently in a way flue generally and very lucid occasionally I'd jumped from inside of the layers consisting of warm blanket and tepid the quilt into a briskly cool day promising as if saluting me “Aye, Aye sir.”

    At the breakfast table so much richer than that of the express train I have put myself in a self imposed questioning: Coming in ERZURUM or going to stay where I am?


    VARVARA PAVLOVA thought she would observe a dead love as the love between her son of in law and her daughter if she should be involved in the classical family problems of the average European family. "Before a while" she mumbled herself " I was sitting apposite the two tepid figures from the point of biological excitement looking at to each other with masked faces with eyes looking like holes in the ash having got only-in between-sporadic sparkles.

    Alex ( while he mutters) was gnawing some considerations..."Senseless meeting of beggars is ours! (He tried to get an image of his mask-maybe a portrait-without using a looking glass, and go on with gnawing more or less the same thing) Let me give up the blown up balloons they call the pillars of an healthy family. (The words take the web of systematization and his revolt glide swiftly away from the problems linking to sex towards the future). "The future" he repeated in silence "is always the main property of the Europe, and European future has got the power to which The Human is the second in the very conception of being important."

    His young wife would be in this scenario as the daughter of Lady PAVLOVA The fresh incidents-either disputing or reaching the peace-ripples over the flawing moments shared by the certain spouses ready to be observed by the moms in love-both from the side of bride and bride groom-who should be too much attentive while observing newly wedded pairs.

    Alex went on crying in a tone out of the ear's hearing capacity" some words of the people constructing a new family could show that all speeches spoken argumentatively under the holy roof of the home-in another saying 'home sweet home'-might not be perceived as an utterance of anybody to help but of the beggar after being helped. We-the family hold are all cheap beggars all over the world. And yet it turned out-in centuries-we European beggars are not wanting anything for nothing at all as they used to do around the spoiled Bosporus. "The exact truth" according to Alex, as everybody could catch on the explanations of Islamic terror godfathers like those around the Bosporus is that, "if the Taliban's bloody bandits, Syria-Iraq Islamic State butchers kill Judeo Christians babies the world will plea the murderers 'pardon us for being throttled by your militants' so, the New Ottoman politicians could find the chance to remark what we have just lived in WTC attacks might be seen as something almost unbelievable." He continued to murmur silently: Then the butchers might wash their hands and, as a last resource, go on with beseeching Vienna to conquer the heart of the art of The Europe."

    The drawing room overlooks the main street before the new block in Alex's flat district. Though it was a fine late afternoon-if it's not a word an afternoon of golden oranges dominated all over The North Pole wherein no Russian inurbane settlements' people know neither, the folk's paving blocks gray in the contrary of the surrounding hued for two millenniums. glistening. What these few people-Madam VARVARA, her son in low and her nice daughter white around girdles to the thumbs putting aside her knees slightly darker than the milky skin before mentioned.
    Coming back to the "main street" above, actually the people had been used-after the Bulgarians have been rescued from the Ottoman Torture alongside with other people from all of the other Balkan States to be seemed busy in it in a hurry rational or irrational yet in a mixture of The Female and The Male. But it must-first of all-be remembered that there couldn't be many, say more than a dozen of ladies amongst many hundreds men to be reported filling the streets, except the Muslim women visiting their parents, relatives and the like, and the Christian females outdoors for their Sunday service-they having been in charge of the children had to hold small ones' hands tightly for the boys with short trousers and their sisters in skirts instead of wearing long, large, ridiculous semi pants of Janissaries as Muslim girls would prefer... While the Eastern and Western Europeans have been creating creative artists in all branches of fine arts the Balkan People couldn't manage to show the same skill for the people down to their knees would be able to feel "The Ache" but be not able to name "The Ache"! And let me remind The Reader of the rule of fine arts: No ache unnamed could create the fine arts of which ultimate goal should be happiness of the human especially of their souls!

    One might dare to claim that The Balkan People-under the mandate of The Ottomans were unhappy every moment yet rather uneasy in the Sundays. What was that they felt behind them was their fathers' rational discipline. Instead they disgusted being open arbitrarily beheading as a wild punishment of vagrants who might have forgiven only fat women because they loved obesity in the case of The Female. Of course the executioners in dusty brown semi skirt-blood stained-uniforms couldn't be the fatty women lovers authorized to forgive the victims but their commanders whose duty wouldn't be defined definitely viz. those who were to be itching their paunch after nearly every execution-throttling bewildered prisoners who should generally have not been trialled and judged to any sentence but would have got acquaintance with the butchers by sight only a little while before they should give the last breath of theirs for nothing at all. The executioners used not to have a hat nevertheless have a stick to beat the victims. Maybe the hat revolution has been made in their near history for that reason. And yet the administrators around the Bosporus like today to execute the people without any trial-Alex at that point remembered The Nurse's death over unlawful state execution after she has parted from Sofia's Refugee Centre and went back to her motherland namely Turkey- on the contrary they like butterfly ties as worldwide known English gentlemen do. Seeing him beside his wife Alex began to weep, instead of the of his mom in law couldn't have estimated why he should be drawn to tears in a good European family he had got after having been married with a lovely mademoiselle. (Or rather to be called as madam no matter before or after marriage. Now come on and remember that the butchers of Syria-Iraq Islamic State wouldn't accept to marry with an unmarried madam never even if they had known that their rejection might be the cause of serving a hundred year penalty in a jail similar to the dirty, hard smelling undergrounds of Damascus or Baghdad!
    Next to Alex's mind, came a group of VIP Questions of three "W"s why, where and who... Those key words should be scrutinized from the point of officially shed “bloods...
    The blood of the nurse who was murdered after rescuing a little Jewish girl from The HUN HANE-The hospital of children organ trade- running by two states-the state of The Bosporus Soviet and the state of Ayatollahs! Besides the slain Armenian journalist HRANT DINK* has been-over executing show to beguile that some of racist rascals killed on behalf of pseudo TURCO-ISLAMIC ideology-murdered in the same way! (*see in GOOGLE please.)

    The Secret Soviet State of Turkey** after the ridiculous hat revolution prohibiting to wear fez would got caps, hats even melons matching to coats, suits, waists, neck ties, modern shoes instead of amorphous, handmade boots but should stand still at the same point of throttling people without trial. Alex guessed Constantinople*** were going to one of the big white screen in the centre of the World's Cinema based on hocus-pocus. That was why he had started out immediately laughing under his breath and talking to himself at the lowest hertz of the human voice to rename the two main key words of this novel:

    Not The Secret Soviet State of Turkey but THE SOVIET BOSPORUS STATE
    AND ISTANBUL OF BOSPORUS SOVIET STATE instead of Occupied Constantinople.

    In the favourite city of Alexander Pushkin-ERZURUM again:
    After they had gone out of the main gate of the hotel, my question network-about the method that I'd have pursue in searching the last ethnic minorities' children kidnapped by the official organ trade gang" members or paramilitary groups-filling the agenda of my work seemed gradually emptied. By that time all routine attempts of mine must have begun. The message which has just come tom my cell phone was advising that I shouldn't ask anything anybody-from taxi drivers to the deserted horses ad hoc the special mission but the Pro-NATO Turkish or Kurdish good Muslims of which the most important personalities could be found in the southern quarter of the city. Near the sacred tombs of the saints bordering the highway the sky-as I have been warned or rather rejoiced-used to be sunshiny even while it would be raining, but be lightened by soft beans.

    The saints' tombs on the each sides of the bundle of streets and especially the jewellers could be observed with their antic chairs the pavement in front of their shop giving them the chance to sit astride any basic object but the holy tombs. The streetcar routs which were planned to pass by those sepulchres and to make crowded stops empty almost every ten minutes. In magnificent quarter-the Tabriz Gate, the Shabbat fountain having got three David's stars curved in a line on the monumental face the fountain's facets were classically mounted each one adjacent to each other keeping the five inch intervals. And their waters was murmuring kept within melodic nine comma intervals too.

    Beside those holy points there were banks under the lonely elms wherein one cannot manage to catch any female silhouette and perceive the unwritten rule of the Sunni belief availing here: Hereby religion would welcome every sort of relationship humanly except to see The Female taking a rest on the banks of a park.

    I didn't turned my direction towards any park and walked towards the city's highway coming from the west and going to the east along touching to the southern-KYBELE-district. I myself like all the directions of salvation, belief, prayer, tolerance, aiding, fasting, briefly making the every good creature that would be surrounding us to carry to minds Good Samaritans. As it was more comfortable to be a good believer or a benign atheist in this way I tried to keep hissing prayers I know and sniff out of the passengers near me. After making some speculations of my interesting obsession to formulate both dating and regime of the country I live in I reached the upshot of the hour around midday: There might be no doubt that the mankind have invented lobe after they had got acquaintance with religion, got the tablet of "Ten orders", and returned to the window of the heart to see it their sweethearts there.
    Soon after I reached the southern part of the city , the sky clouded over, and I thought the rain was coming. However, instead the clouds have condensed the sun beams began to tear every shadow and they showed me the Father RASIM namely the last saint's sepulchre. All the same, the huge drops of the sudden rain peculiar to mountainous regions have left in the narrow roads a sort of threat of rain, which made them-gradually-darker in searching the holy place even it used to be bright every moment as I have been told. So it would be unnecessary to stay watching the sky for quite a while, and in some minutes there was a loud religious ballade having been sung by a moderate choir accompanied by the biggest tambourine of the universe. The sounds were coming from behind the door-made of ash tree, sure-opening to the two part entrance-one parted for serving to hook over coats and put out the shoes in summer time and boots, galoshes and the like in the winter. The main access adjacent to that platform were giving way the little waiting room had got two staircases one of them climbing upwards and the people were standing on the steps. Then the carved oak side board with its crystal glass dominated brown showcase. The mirror escorting these parts of classical furniture would be attracting very much deeply the attention of the people brought themselves here inattentively! I knew I was to be the most apt one on alert incessantly and understand that I couldn't introduce my excuses by means of a little suitcase everybody could carry

    The hymn singers were crying not any word belonging to worldly tongues but a syllable universal “Huh” and one of them looked up at me and shouted, “how could you be upstairs without using the staircase and penetrating through the door instead of opening it?” I waved my hand and invited him to accept the things as they were, and added “Good rituals to you!” And yet from then on the problem of how I could go in a hall above the entrance on the level of highway, you know, the basement. There was a steady stream of questions regarding my assenting the hall higher than the entrance I have been and penetrating the ash tree door-at least one hundred years old dyed for many times actually the colours from the fist dying to that of last having been left on it anyhow: white, green, brown and green again but to some extent in metallic tone.

    The sky must had changed again; because a scarlet glow was spreading up beyond the windows. I have learned at last: "As dusk set in, the ruined mansion of the Saint RASIM the father grew more alight. Speculations I myself made returning from their flying across somewhere forced me having got tentative, and I stepped down using the staircase that I should confess I have never used before. I noticed also little but awfully enigmatic observation. Regretfully the stairs going down words could not reach anywhere but the same place whereof they were to begin descending . It is this: "Descend much more lower you would ascend to the basement you might start descending." Then I began to consider that if I were a fat man at the very side of a fat wife-I have been being imagine that I had got married with the girl in The Bosporus Soviet State-could I have manage to use the staircases?
    After all I tried and went upstairs. To my great surprise what were I face after climbing the staircase of the tomb-God knows the saint, herein, has been alive or dead-the same chanting group and the same man amongst them and shaking his finger asked me how I could went down-from the entrance-not using any steps and penetrating through the oak door which was as same as that of upstairs passing by the sepulchre. Waving my hand as before I warned him of the situation of mine, you know, not passing by but visiting this holy place. Then came some children were-apparently-following me having panted and drawing themselves wearily after me as if I was their parent.

    After some minutes the local pious crowds began to flow into the semi tomb semi sepulchre house where I was forced the metamorphosis which would turn my mission of research into that of an ordinary audiences. I noticed that the people there has been divided two groups: those in charge of chanting in the chorus of hymnals and the men approving them with their heads that seemed a little dizzy because of being shaken for a long time. And, strange to say, some younger ones were gesturing more vigorously than the elder brothers of theirs who were to be satisfied with shaking head only. The scenery I try to describe aimlessly was no doubt of the wild-East ritual variety. Those who had been to the semi shrine house in the middle of the southern part of the city would come to its end for it looked more sedate, though a few were still crying the well known motto-huh! Though they were near to finish the ritual there was none-except me-worried and on the whole I seemed exhausted because what I was doing there was not linked to love more or less. There were a crowd not consisting of homogenous personalities because of my rational existence. Remember: rational behaviours do push you in a situation that couldn't be conciliated with that of those carried by enthusiasm of love! So I should keep my mind safe and sound to ponder rationally in order to run away from the place of RASIM the Father whom I should visit for the sake of my mission. No pray, no mission and I would have begrudged of the chance to give a good shape to my fate. Briefly this position has been the fate dictated to me. O the rescuer-The Messiah! (I wished if He should rescue even from the rescuers one might run into everywhere.) After dipping into the thickest philosophy I couldn't remain loitering from one door to the other nor that I had used to enter neither the other ones opening only to each other but exit. Then I have heard the saint RASIM the father ordering me to stand still and to find me in the street under the window of my hotel room where-as I have been illuminated by The Father-a group of postmen have been coming by, walking arm in arm, would carry me a parcel that should be the letter I had not been waiting. The youngest postman just under my hotel room's gave the letter of which envelope has got golden symbols hitched to it.

    I must have shouted humorous remarks when I came back to the hotel, the people ascending-or descending-within the glass cabins of the modern lifts of the hotel turned their heads towards the staircases I have rushed upwards and the ladies amongst them giggled. I recognized them as The Female from the pages of my novel my and yet none of them I knew. Instead it seemed to me even that they waved to me. Can it be true? Exactly no... Nevertheless under the oppression of The Bosporus Soviet State the lovely-should they be lovely indeed-faces of The Female would frequently seem to The Male that they would be giggling and even waving their hands. Then I have successfully managed to rush into my room. And I have read-many times or rather over and over again- the letter that has been written to me by my ex teacher from lyceum. Just then the street lamps came on, all together, and they made the stars that were beginning to glimmer in the night sky paler still. I felt my eyes getting tired, what with the lights and all the movement I’d been watching in the street. There were marvellous oceans of hope, motivation, optimism and pools of energizers designed hereby for merely purveying the miracle opened before my agenda namely the great surveillance of mine devoted to dating-generally- to be understood and to be made privately under the trees, within the dark cabins of non-lucid lifts and the like. Then a streetcar passed by my hotel having got the people wrapped by its hustling I could hear behind the windows of my room. I, in my obsession like Female conception, yeah I might be sure it has stirred up some ladies blond hairs. After this consideration I would be happy of finding another great chance to make concrete criticising produce realistic speculations about the Bosporus Soviet State's regime from the point of both dating and its ethnic cleansing that had done away with The Armenian in the very year of 1955 in Istanbul-the real capital city of the Bosporus Soviet State.

    As the starless sky turned its silky gray colour into navy blue above the trees and street lamps, I still was reading through the letter but my suspicious faculties of my mind looking-for inquiring the reality in the details-if it had been a joke grew more and more nonsense, almost imperceptibly, until I have came to the outputs in tree points of my ex teacher's letter when there were no strange points above ERZURUM but stars brightly winking. Nothing except those three points could be deducted over his letter claiming clearly that:
    -A seminary concerning with the subject of environmental pollution problems would be attended in Istanbul of Bosporus Soviet State immediately,
    -DAMLA-representing The Female worth to be my darling by proxy if I might qualified her meaning in my world would be in the seminary hall for four days for introduction amongst the students chosen ad hoc the subject,
    -VARVARA PAVLOVA, Alex and his wife-the daughter of lady PAVLOVA would be present there!

    Obviously my ex teacher had been writing down only useful things for me so that when I read it thoroughly I should go down, take a taxi to airport, and to buy a one way ticket to Istanbul-the actual capital city of the Bosporus Soviet State, and after coming back to the hotel I should prepare to fly with the first plane! Inasmuch as I bought the ticket for the morning flight to the west. I’d like to spend some quarters at the pavements and to smoke a big PAZAR cigar that produced in Anatolian Eastern Coast of The Black Sea but the night has turned rather chilly enough to decide against it and I went to bed.

    As I was coming back to Bosporus Soviet State's capital city-Istanbul, after a good flight I glanced at the Turkish news papers that used to take the role of mirror reflecting the intellectual life of Turkey-as if it is possible to give news about anything that could be existing anyhow while lacking existence-and I looked for the seminar at least squeezed within a short paragraph and thanks to God I got something through the papers of the H...Gazette...Huh!

    The next day I had a busy morning at the home of my ex teacher. As in the days of lyceum he was in a good humour. He even poked of me for I didn't seem too tired, and followed it up by asking about the saint-RASIM the father, if he has been alive or not. I thought a bit, then answered, “To some extend he was alive and has been carrying on with sceneries of absurd drama he had started to put on scene when he was about sixty. As for his age now he should be at least one hundred years old if he had not died of old age instead of I didn’t want to make anything negative which might make him made to look bewildered. Then he ask me "why, I can’t imagine, can I ?" so he seemed to think that remark closed the matter.

    There was a pile of bills of electricity, heating, phone calls and water spent waiting on his table in the study, and I had to beguile him as if not seeing them all. . Before leaving for lunch I found a chance to ask him how and by whom I would be installed into the name list of the people to participate in the seminary. In all my life I always enjoyed doing critical things at midday for instance to give up offering the first dating time to an girl. Don't laugh at me that I couldn't be anybody to offer anything like that to any mademoiselle. Suppose the subject is of a madam what should make any change in the matter. So you see I was to shot "down with all regimes democratic or dictatorial I'm after dating!"

    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 12-05-2014 at 04:26 PM.

  11. #221
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2011
    Constantinople/The European District
    The novel has been being written over "edit posts" viz. Maybe in a method that should be used for the first time in human literature.


    The next day I had a busy morning at the home of my ex teacher. As in the days of lyceum he was in a good humour. He even poked of me for I didn't seem too tired, and followed it up by asking about the saint-RASIM the father, if he has been alive or not. I thought a bit, then answered, “To some extend he was alive and has been carrying on with sceneries of absurd drama he had started to put on scene when he was about sixty. As for his age now he should be at least one hundred years old if he had not died of old age instead of I didn’t want to make anything negative which might make him made to look bewildered. Then he ask me "why, I can’t imagine, can I ?" so he seemed to think that remark closed the matter.

    There was a pile of bills of electricity, heating, phone calls and water spent waiting on his table in the study, and I had to beguile him as if not seeing them all. Before leaving for lunch I found a chance to ask him how and by whom I would be installed into the name list of the people to participate in the seminary. In all my life I always enjoyed doing critical things at midday for instance to give up offering the first dating time to an girl. Don't laugh at me that I couldn't be anybody to offer anything like that to any mademoiselle. Suppose the subject is of a madam what should make any change in the matter. So you see I was to shot "down with all regimes democratic or dictatorial I'm after dating!"
    And yet I confess that it was less pleasant, as the client of a retailer would do, being informed about the price after the goods bought should learn the sum to be paid used. Regretfully that kind of fate dictated or supported by "The Female, was turning to be the basic part of the daily life of ours: to learn the total sum of the bill to be footed by The Male after getting in touch with them. I once brought this to my father’s notice. It was ridiculous, he agreed but he preserved it-I mean the framework of our classical Mediterranean Family-with all his power. All jokes aside his mind would be clearly reflecting his abandoning the main subject to deal with mere details. I left the ex teacher's home in a way of hasting than usual, at-Ante Meridian-half-past twelve, with the information that my participation to the seminary had been designed over the collaboration of the NGO which had sent me to the Pushkin's favourite city-Erzurum, and by ex-teacher of mine at Lyceum. By the way it turned out that he was working in the Istanbul-the actual capital city of Bosporus Soviet State-Municipality Cultural Department. The locality-therein the ex teachers house was-was overlooking the sea, and my ex teacher and I paused for a moment on the steps climbing to the gate of the garden in which the flats and his apartment to look at the shipping in Bosporus. Why? For nothing at all, and there should be another question: why is its name BOGAZ ICI instead of Bosporus? The wind from the direction of Russia was scorching icy. Came just then a mini cooper, with a strip from its baggage bulging to the bumper adjacent to the front fires, and all these details has been proving to me that they suggested me to take part in a seminary into which I should jump. After saying "good-by" to the teacher I started to run I couldn't know why I did so. The car was not going away, and I hadn't to chase it. I felt a slight dizziness and I could not decide if it had been with me since my birth up till now. All I was conscious of was my baseless rush along the road amongst the people some of whom ought to be assumed as The Male sharing my heart aches and yet they wouldn't do the same things I did there. Instead of my consciousness I took a flying jump, landed safely, and tried to do the same attractions forever. I was not out of breath instead of all extra ordinary activity, and went on to pant in the ears of the passers-by. “I have pulled it off ” was only the explanation of my baseless deeds there. The I reached the minibus stop I used to use while backing home from the school.

    (Read this annex after the finale please...)

    I would be dripping with sweat in my arm chair installed before the TV set which for the most part of channels list full of those I used to name them Turkish TV canalisations. Thirty years or around after I had got married with DAMLA a kind of The Female from the biggest metropolis-if not de facto capital city-of Bosporus Soviet State. DAMLA was at his usual place beside the entrance opening to both the hall and the kitchen, with his apron making her fatty appearance more obese than it should be, her yellow sporadic hairs of geriatric period created -would be-beard. When I saw her wrapped with such negative findings she might be sympathetic and I should be to salute her with a platitude “I would be to feel too happy as you see.”

    "No" I said not so, “No,” but I felt extremely hungry both for saying such deep friendly things and heard them. Alas we-spouses of a family living in Istanbul namely the biggest metropolis of Bosporus Soviet State-ate-seemingly very quickly the friendship after the last love induced things and had not got any relationship which one could call friendship. The citizens who are-no doubt being the putrefied remnants of The Ottoman Empire's standard people-the citizens of The Bosporus Soviet State would evaluate the family by means of everything but friendship. So if no ingredients of the family shouldn't be seen any more every steps would be used to finish it up no matter over divorcing or letting the spouses to gnaw each other cynically to death. Then I rescued my body-or rather my ***-from the arm chair and threw myself at the bed in broad daylight to take a good nap, as if I’d drunk a big bottle of Turkish ouzo.
    When I woke I went on with pondering the same things before going to and getting off my bed. I was a bit late to go out of home going nowhere but escaping from a certain place. Should it be my own house I sought to live anyhow? The drawing room was psychologically stifling, and I was kept hard at it all the hours before going to bed again. So it might come as a relief when I would go out. The horizon out of the windows was pink, and it would be too much salubrious to be out-of-doors then. However, I stayed at home, as I had to wait fried meat balls and potato chips.Then the hall was first to be growing dark and, when I was starting up to put the lights on, I almost bumped into the old cat that used to be floundering in the same corridors of our house as I. Usually, our old cat had its soft little balls to roll on the dark corners. For eight years our cat had been inseparable from the family but its protest mewing has never been more brutal than the spouses' screams of the family-even if a chronic optimist could call it so- living herein.

    (Dating and Regime)

    By Prof. Mesolzhenitsy


    There was a great day after the seminar has came to end and it's to be spent in a witty and very speedy way. My ex teacher must have been-during the Seminar-afflicted with scrotal itch while trying to find a chance for giving a lunch to mange in time for the great household of VARVARA PAVLOVA were to back Bulgaria before evening.
    And an unexpected pretext happened. I suspect; my ex teacher has invited a white lie anyhow that the day after the seminar was his birth day. Methinks he would have lost all his hair if he couldn't reach any solution to make the Turkish girl DAMLA of Bulgarian stock and I to meet, get acquaintance with each other and to start a walk towards our happy marriage. Perhaps through the hunger for dating with DAMLA observed by my ex teacher from Lyceum and he has cooped up with my avarice has come to the moral obligation to solve the dating problem of mine.

    His tenderness must have reached at the highest point for having been rejoicing me with good tidings related to the fake birthday planned thoroughly to give way to me to meet with my idol from the point of dating or rather from a baseless point thoroughly. While he was happy on my part he would-with healthy, pink cheeks and a light on his face-be surmised as my rescuer. Adding to it he has developed something of an entrepreneur' s queer hunched-up posture. I remember he always has got his smelling ability stretched far forward and some school friends of mine and I, very odd to explain now, have caught him red handed to listen to the door of the teachers meeting hall. But, much more oddly he was indulging in such misdemeanours for the sake of the students to warn them of the undesirable considerations about the handicapped ones early enough to give chance to them in augmenting the critical points. Having his exaggerated affinity to his obsession in saving his students been known by the rest of the teachers they detest him.

    There was, even, a rumour about his over sympathy with us-his students in those good old days-that twice a day, morning and evening, he has taken his measures to eavesdrop and to get more information about both eager beaver teachers' caprices and the mischief of unsuccessful students for making some reconciliations on behalf of us if needed , and for six years of the secondary school and Lyceum those biting backs targeting our ex-teacher's tenderness have never varied. You can see the awful truth of education here: all of the teachers with the exception for him who was after nothing but our success were full of mischief and the naughty students were no less than them. So in the empty corridors of the school during the lesson time one could see only the fugitive shadows of our golden heart ex teacher and the vagrants stealing the hours of routine education behind the mask of a harmless pupil.

    I have understood for the time being that my ex teacher had been pulling his students along the boulevard of good pointes in exams as hard as he can, till finally mischief of capricious teachers couldn't take any step against the pupils-good or bad-and nearly should see their malice fall flat. Then he would punish the teachers whose caprice might give harm us. As for the Female in the eternal case of dating there would be big question: Should The Female give up their ultimate goal viz. observing The male having been cowered and lagged behind them? From the point of The Male's debacle, regretfully, The female wouldn't even deign to drag the lagging victims along. Presently ex teacher seems forgetting the bitter experiences he might taste in his marriage as every male spouses.

    If he had been caught read handed in spying to get news in order cope with the bad news from the side of teachers' hall or from the administration of the school on behalf of the naughty students to make them passing exams with flying colours he would have behaved as if there were nothing to be ashamed of and got another hiding and another source to use in spying. In helping his pupils he might not be more abused for he should have not halted in a corner crossing his arms and accepted being a mere spectator while any examination turning to show tort from the bad points of any students. Naughty pupil and our ex teacher would make a non-classical pair of teaching and learning ones on the contrary of the classical teacher and learner who should glare at each other; the naughty pupil with terror and the teacher with hatred dominating the eyes, and every time they’re together, this happens: when the pupil wouldn't keep up with the class the master should want him to do so.
    Now he drags on towards a girl who will probably have left behind her after we'll have divorced-if having got married- only a trail of abstract faeces as it could happen after the collapsed marriage that would have been devoid of friendship at the very moment of the debut of wedding process. I confess that as more aloud I could praise the friendship should be taken first in priority from the point of The Male used to be showing addiction to The Female. Enough is enough for now...Let we shall see the main subject to be disputed within frame work to be shared with DAMLA-my abstract darling, other people and my inquisitive existence over the invited birth day party of our dear ex-teacher from The Lyceum!

    (If one knows his real date of birth he may be accused for having made it* up)

    Within the frame work of the impending talks in that birth day party I have been well informed of them, and no hidings is needed hereby. Every things have been going on as my ex teacher and I shared in our routine like sporadic conversations for some weeks, and my ex teacher used to say my avarice to choose only dating and-or-regime as my high lights over all sort of topics a “ righteous crying ” adding that "something should be done about it; and really he can be sure of what's needed." When I met him in the café, he usually would be ready to bawl at me, calling me slightly coward, a great lad without a girl to date with, and so forth, and the I was to some extent sighing. I would say, “Good evening,” at the end of our café cessions but the old fellow took no notice and went on pitying me. After I have called by the famous NGO by phone I understood that he’d ask them to offer me a work matching to my qualifications. Altogether instead of my asking about that event I could gain nothing as an answer. Yes he wouldn’t answer, but would go on pitying me...


    Varvara Pavlova: A VIP lady in Sofia-Bulgaria
    The Newly wedded Girl of Varvara Pavlova
    Alex: Madam Pavlova's son of law
    Nathalie: The beautiful nephew of Lady Pavlova
    My Ex-Teacher in Lyceum, and I
    Damla-The girl living in my family's neighborhood (Also a relative of Nathalie)

    SCENE-A splendid hall on the top floor of one of the new hatched towers around PERA in the centre of The Bosporus Soviet State's Actual Capital-Istanbul . The wall paper is so much vivid to carry Hawaii, Seychelles, Maldives, and trifling Indian Ocean Isles as a whole.

    There are all direction window- in front looking out on the rainbow color producing and purveying them on the orange, cherry, lemon, brownish violet illuminations of Bosporus Bridges' réverbérs on which enlightened area nothing could be seen because of flickering beans drawing both geometric and non-geometric figures swimming in the air as a bottle of whisky on the waves of an angry sea. On the left is a door leading to a French balcony. On the left the lights would be showering the alcoholic beverage service trays with dazzling chandeliers of the corridor leading to waiters army hall and the kitchen adjacent to it and to the rich, complicated articles of the toilet-sets for ladies and gentlemen. Above all there are several crystal mirrors with gilded frames by means of invisible gadgets making their faultless occlusion to the walls of which borders are made of golden. In the middle of the luxury stands a golden rigged, round table in antiquity class made of curved oak and majestic arm chairs around it. In the northern corner near the emergency exit before which a people in charge of safety is standing still.

    Several electric ampoules hidden behind some gilded applications or around the baroque furniture's side wings seeming as created in a one and unique entity together with the contents in their buffets having been embraced the mirrors enriching only the lights but all shapes, figures, appearances, all kind of features and the place they would full. Alex, a blue eyed and straw haired young woman looking thirty is sitting on one of the arm-chairs of luxury chair drinking vodka. A Chinese porcelain plate full of fried Turkish nuts, almonds and specialties as pistachio nuts on a little table like accessory beside him. His mother in law-Lady PAVLOVA having been wearing a hat a la mode, is also drinking something near him. Nathalie is dressed in the silky toilet extremely of noble fashion. She has got no piercing but platinum earrings in her ears, gold bracelets, and a quantity of rings-each of them fashionable, high quality and high price. Her face is that of a mademoiselle at the very threshold of adolescence instead she is in an advanced stage of to be a angel like bride.

    As her eloquence her attitude is one of the deepest affection inviting first of all friendship. She is ready to heed to all words-including those of hers- to be exchanged during the birth day party-however it might have been made up by our ex teacher- and when she glances over hall, saying not of her great and genuine tenderness, her expression grows maternal. From time to time she smiles a broad smile-a neat, cozy gesture that could influence everybody present there.

    The time is in the late afternoon availing later than it should to be because of seasonal time monitoring of the Bosporus Soviet State. The traditional LODOS whining of the malicious southern wind of Istanbul where the Bosporus Soviet State hides is heard incessantly. Under the steering factor of special effects of time and the influence of the outdoors that affects everything the guests of the party gets around the grand table of the hall that majestically takes place in the centre of them that have been described above.

    Sonia-(looking directly at my pupils) You goody! Why do you call me Alex's wife or the daughter of VARVARA PAVLOVA?
    I-(laughing aloud and very bitterly) What a question I got! Here is my answer: I do so because Alex is you husband and Lady VARVARA is your mother.
    Sonia-(Having a sudden fit of chuckling coughing) come on and answer me without using any elements of my question.
    I- And you want me not to talk with you. If there cannot be any possibility giving way to Lady VARVARA to be Sonia's mom and prohibit Sonia called as the daughter of VARVARA PAVLOVA...
    Sonia-(Turn her face to DAMLA) Keep hold off this lad from the chance of getting acquaintance with you. (Then she sighs and murmurs) What a life! Ought poor kids not to have any proper names! (She leans over to the little plate of pickle and gobbles a little part of green tomato) I know the effect of putting down something, instead of putting forward a worthy thing from the point of a healthy talk is ghastly.
    DAMLA-(Having too much opened a pair of blackened eyes-exaggeratedly- made up contrasting enormously her silky brawn hair) Who is he? (And pointing to me with his finger falling out of manners she asks again) Is this it you warned me of?
    I-( making a rough innuendo about the dabs of rouge on her cheeks) It's MESOLZHETITSY serving your cheeks to be observed as a finding of a feverish illness.(And adding to my speaking gap open to be accepted as anon-gentle reciprocal)No lady, no, don't take amiss and give me a little chance to say the name of illness I just purveyed to the chattering: La Grippe not Consumption.

    As she has just completed her toilet after my cracking joke she didn't help but laughing and has put aside the glass aside and sliding very swiftly her place ran to my ex-teacher and kissed traditionally his hand uttering nice words to appreciate his professional quality in training new generations.
    DAMLA-(Still laughing) Gosh! You are a real master. (Pointing me while going on to kiss the hands of teacher) You must be seen as an idealist teacher for you have trained such brilliant lads.
    My teacher and I-having been trained so well that should be praised over the words of DAMLA-replied her, say, for being awarded by her with a reverence! front of the mirror, the door is flung open and Steve lurches in and bolts the door after him. He has very evidently been drinking. In appearance he is a typical “cadet,” flashily dressed, rat-eyed, weak of mouth, undersized, and showing on his face the effects of drink and drugs.)
    LADY VARVARA PAVLOVA-(Hurriedly pushing her biased attitude towards everybody) Hello, Should we have come together to award a teacher or attending his birth day party?
    Nathalie—(Looking around with a sneer) We all are the finest looking mess, Aren't we! (She continues to sip her Coke and sits down in the majestic arm chair serenely.) Maybe I'm the one you who as ugly as a beautiful strenge bird.
    Alex-We talk on "birth" not "bird"! If thou wisheth to be genuinely beautiful thou shoulthst put on some paint on thine face and smile although that might give us the Pharaoh's mummy here.
    Ex-Teacher-(Rushes over to the side of Alex and plaster a bit of rouge on his face then turns around) Look, people! Ain’t that better?
    Everybody begin to shake the hall with enormous laughters.
    LADY PAVLOVA-Better? No, but it’ll do. (Catching the silhouette of the empty vodka bottle) Who can gimme a single drop out of it?
    Ex Teacher- (Turning to the waiter) Sony bring another bottle of this, really, magnificent drink.
    DAMLA-Yuh know there ain’t any traditionel persistence for alcoholic drinks.
    I-(With reproaching anger) Yuh ain't lie! And yet there is no traditional model in consuming vodka.
    VARVARA PAVLOVA- Don't traditions means any local religion. And yet thay have got no book to be base of the belief, do they! ( Turning to DAMLA) I'll bet ad unguem fuctus that if there were any yuh should have got it burried around here some place.
    DAMLA-(Scalding me firts and teaming up the group tending to use much more The Black's English of the USA) I have never been insulted till yuh...err... (pointing me again) that very word...err.. consumption and yuh know it very well ain't you...
    I-(Shouting in a fake anger) Don't shake finger t your finger at me! Should thet be all the thanks I deserved to get. (Getting really angry) What’ud yuh do if I would have taken you as stranger or rather E.T as the moving picture hero viz. Extra Terrestrial? If it were to be happen yuh might have been ready to use such a chance to kick me immediately. You've, methinks, felt yourself ready enough to insult me at the debut of knowing each other.
    Nathalie- Oh stop this stupid spat. She has the right to behave in a way excess affectation any time she wants to make a stand up show!
    I-( Feeling obliged to Nathalie instead of her words superciliously wounding me)And she knows it and sticks to that chance like glue
    Alex- Do not say glue, say UHU! Ha-ha...
    Ex Teacher-Yuh don’t notice her after every disillusion you have caused while you wouldn’t care.
    DAMLA-(Flattering or rather trying to conciliate the atmosphere) Aw, viva teacher! Yuh make me too much happy with those words on behalf of me. You are my savior. (Then vindictively) And yet they are not wise enough to hit me talking garrulously .
    Nathalie-Aw, don’t say that! Think a bit: what about being idiot but not over being garrulously?
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-Naw; but she oughta be learned a lesson dat’s all. She oughta be on the level with-pointing to me-him.
    I-(Feeling my nerves shattered) Exuse moi madame, s'il vous plait Dammit! I am not wiser than her because I would not prefer to be anything as she.
    DAMLA-Stop that boasting.
    Sonia-(Wiping her finger points-as if getting ready for wrestling-with her handkerchief) I could do but it ain’t no good.
    Ex Techer of mine-Then let's get something else. I told you before some hours what we should be after; right?
    I- I'm after, first, overwhelming The Bosporus Soviet regime secondly to get acquaintance with the number one girl of our district namely DAMLA!
    DAMLA(nervously) No.
    Nathalie-Well then, don't blame him for qualifying your place in the order. It’s up to you to order him then he should put your name before Soviet.
    I- Yep! I'm ready to make change in every ordinal matters.
    Everybody laugh or rather roar...
    Lady PAVLOVA-(speaking eagerly and almost in tears of laughter) Listen, Mr. Mesolzhenitsy! Let her to think over your marriage offering tonight and let your family visit that of hers as traditions should say so.
    Sonia-(in a bewildering amazement) A couple of young people observed from the point of love affairs by parents! What’d’yuh think this paradigm mom-the last vaudevilles being played near The Europe?
    DAMLA-But yuh had lots of prejudises about The Orient.
    I-The Orient that wouldn't welcome to be called as Orient. The Intelligent of The Bosporus Soviet State couldn't put up with seeming as The People of belly dance of which other name is Oriental! Didn’t I hear yuh all they used to defend themselves irrationally because of living irrationally? As for the belly dance there too cannot be any ration related to the danseuse in exhibiting some drilling like spasms of her belly.
    Sonia-(sullenly) Let's get into a game at this very place of birthday party!
    Ex-Teacher- First of all clean me in it for I had made it up. I'm an old man an ain’t got any certain date of birth. (with sudden anger) And I wouldn’t tell it to yuh if I had it.
    I-D’yuh think, milord, I'm a simpleton to be gittin’ your protection' If you had not made this birthday party up I could find a pretext to be introduced to big family Lady PAVLOVA within which DAMLA would be shinig as a star.
    Nathalie-(adding a mere "geez" to my speech)And keepin’ the bulls from running her in when yuh do is to stick at the very side of hers, and play dead. Remember stars are not suitable to live but to be burned If yuh want any flame git out and make it.
    ANNA PAVLOVA-Methinks that’s all yuh got to say, pardon me to recite the passage you must have leant by heart.
    DAMLA-(furiously) I warn you of growing ridiculous. If that’s all yuh got to say, is it? Well, go on with being ridiculous.
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-If anybody amongst you wish to learn which one is generally preferred in the families dictated by the secret Turkish Soviet State between living and dying and ı could hand you a tip right here: Dying in two different meanings, say, to kill or to be killed.
    Alex- Oh mom. I’m gittin’ rich in philosophy no matter if I should be of abused at times.
    Ex Teacher: (Speaking to Lady PAVLOVA) Milady forgive me but I'll ask a little question: Are half drunk now?
    ANNA PAVLOVA- NOP! All jokes aside yuh seem been hitting because of the "No Smoke" indoors eventually. Forgive me you too yet I can tell by the way your eyes look.
    Alex- Gosh! I began to think I was going on with talking already with my eyes here.
    VARVARA PAVLOVA- It shall be the best for a guy that’s always full of words and words,
    Ex-Teacher- While The Female would garrulously spend words The Male keep them for having been drilled to death over a cardiovascular arrest.
    Alex-Obviously yuh could notice it! There’s too many cholesterol I've-I kin say-got.
    Sonia-(With narrow eyes, aloud and threatening voice.) You chatter on and on, d’yuh hear me? I suspect if you should hear me when I I would chatter!
    ANNA PAVLOVAROSE-(in a frenzy) Come on you green horn spouses, will you?
    Nathalie-(Jumping up from the arm chair table se shouts) Shut up fur Chris’ sake, shut up! That kind of frictions are as bad as holy wars and to be, from the point of sacredness, matched to the homes-the most sacred places.
    I-Sssshhh! There at homes the couples of the world do make mating as well! we woke her up. Keep still, Steve. I’ll go out, yuh needn’t worry. Jest don’t ANNA PAVLOVA-Making so much noise about a biological function. It's legal sexual intercourse, that’s all. (She begins to cough and rising her hands God knows why...)
    Ex Teacher- Lady PAVLOVA you are overacting behind the mask of seeming natural in behaviors.
    VARVARA PAVLOVA (who has been watching with a slight sneer) Felicitations Monsieur! You’ll have not to muse out of your dreams. You gotta git earnest hearings instead of eavesdrops .
    Ex Teacher-But, milady, how could I put up with these people of,,,errr,, new generation that ought to be called as the changed generation?
    Nathalie-Changing have not got the privilege to be accepted as new things In the old earth!
    Sonia-(applauding) Repeat it Nathalie, repeat it please. Aw please, Nathalie!
    Lady PAVLOVA-Come on Sonia, be a good girl!
    I-She can't bother us by anything but anything she would wish to be repeated.
    DAMLA-She’s too much keen to make Nathalie to repeat it.
    Alex-One cannot leave yuh got three-quarters of the party with repeating silly words.
    Ex Teacher-Let her to get it as she wishes.
    Alex-Why sire?
    Ex-Teacher-You heard what I said, didn’t you?
    DAMLA- (Pointing to Alex and me) That's not your busy, then. Leave her to repeat those nice words.
    I- Nice things need not to be repeated.
    I-I shouldn’t, eh?
    DAMLA-(glancing at my face) I’ve the power enough to defend my opinion.
    Alex-(Laughing at her, a bit having pitied however) I know what you can do: defense but not offense!
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-Don’t try and bluff us DAMLA, keep silence.
    DAMLA-Now that we’re talking not keeping silence.
    I-The Female can do everything except shutting up...
    Ex Teacher-And of the male one cannot say "vice versa"!
    Nathalie-Please, sire for the love of God try and take side of Mr. Mesolzhenitsy!
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-Don't be afraid of little jokes. He’s all his teacher got to live for.
    Alex-(contemptuously) That‘s what they all say about the teachers of Lyceum like those of his. But I've got some teachers in my school to behave us in a wrong way .
    DAMLA-(Laughing) Alex is able to be a number ten player in football.
    I- That popular player from Brasilia is Alex DE SOUZA and he claims to put an end to his football career.
    SONIA-(coldly) Would yuh please of for the sake of GAWD stop dat blubberin’?
    Nathalie-Wha’d’yuh mean?
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-The Female always mean good!
    I-Mean well or mean good?
    Lady Pavlova- Hush! Here is not a linguistic school.
    Sonia-—(staring towards no directind) The Male jest tryin’ to scare The Female, ain’t they? They shouldn’t do that, should they?
    Alex-Don't wory ma chere! Yuh’ll soon that we would not...
    DAMLA-But would try and do it, wouldn't yuh?
    I-For the time being you shall see that I wouldn’t. Yuh jest wait and see!
    DAMLA-The Female from The Bosporus Soviet State couldn't be as patient as a waitress.
    Alex-Aw, DAMLA, why couldn't your lady citizens be patint, say a patient wife but a waitress rich in patience.
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-(Pointing to Alex) Git dat guy outa here!
    Sonia-(Saddened) Forgive him! He is not a bad guy a naughty kid yet!

    (There is a hot and harsh dispute during which the table is being emptied by the avaricious guests. Finally Ex Teacher puts himself as a pawn and hits everybody promising to give a more magnificent birth day party. The quests laugh or rather roar again.

    At the same instant the atmosphere in the hall is seduced to be open to being lacked of rationality and Alex pushes his way irregularly to invite Nathalie to dance. Although distinctly a non-criminal type his face is he may be partly redeemed by its look of vagrant soccer player as harsh as a warrior his sudden invitation welcomes by the girl in silky black dominated toilet, and has gat the chance to embrace lovely Bulgarian girl-Nathalie. I tries to trace the same procedure to invite DAMLA-The Turkish Girl to dance yet she refused me. Then our ex teacher automatically repeat the same attempt within really the same procedure, and it gives in. So he and DAMLA began to dance without any music. She keeps gazing where my eyes look at.

    I-(Pointing to DAMLA, speak to everybody with contempt) None should think that she loves dancing lesser than Nathalie.
    Alex-(Slinking toward the average direction all guests) Yuh think European girls were less smart then The old or Ottoman Female.
    Ex Teacher-D’yuh think I’m goin’ to let yuh beat DAMLA up jest cause she has got ambivalence feelings about the subject of Tannhäuser?
    VARVARA PAVLOVA-(sitting still in her armchair and looking around of all of us) Yuh dropped the tip on me now; but I'll get you!
    Sonia-(She laughs and she can be heard murmuring). Take it easy and don't look embarrassed, please...
    I-(Making a clumsy attempt at consolation) Essentially there is a show of dance in vain.

    (But the existence of The Mankind goes on to breathe behind the curtain)

    If I were Heidegger I could know who might have been surmised as being dead while living. But when one’s full of self confidence it means being dead for one’s liable to do something with blind eyes. Since I care what they feel-I mean the lost children-at the hands of Islamic terrorists I decided to visit the mayor of the nearest province to my house from which windows give the chance to me in seeing the night lights of the Bosporus. And yet from the point of the criminal concept accepted generally they might as well be dead anyway. Then if there had been no the kids I should be after that sweetheart -DAMLA namely my concrete darling-on purpose. So I got to look after her. And I wouldn’t give up my fixed idea on beautiful DAMLA not to get in no mix-ups on account of my mission I was worth to deal with. What may be added to that that I resumed unexpectedly after The Finale? Thanks to everybody who read my infinite novel. It's infinite because-in the paragraph above-everybody saw that it could be carrying on with its infinite text after the copulative WORD viz. CURTAINS. Now let me confess that I’m glad you too go on to read it. God knows what you would have done if my novel were not to be sustainable in the ocean of humanly realities, fancies, psycho-analyses and pen faults making psychological chaos in minds. One must accept the truth that the writers could see both the unseen and the seen not worth to be seen. Instead of that fault I do advise the reader not to worry about my getting into worthless fancies covering least volume in the text. For instance the word "I" is meaningless horribly but I use the pronouns as you, he, she, they, we and the like. Come on now to ask a question: "who are "and the like" ? Of course the mix-ups.
    How might one happen to believe in my mix-ups when I don't know the meaning of mix-downs? One couldn't take every speech granted as genuine. Words can show living and dying as different, say, actions of the creature who used to live and to die..And yet both actions are far from being any kind of activity. For instance you cannot find anybody claiming to live. Then if one who cannot claim to live cannot claim to die. At the last step of this deduction both life and death seems unreal jobs for they both are far from being the job of anybody.
    Why am I telling the philosophical story here? I'm doing it to create a pretext in getting married. DAMLA and I can get the job to produce a human to live, that's all... DAMLA shall ask me the place where we will produce a baby. And I' ll reply her: "The room next to study. Why is she to ask that question in her nest-our home-of her new life? Because to open the route of coming to life to a baby is something to charge both the father and mother with ignore what they assumed to know... But nearing to the end of life makes old aged people imitating as if they knew everything instead they know nothing for they all remember nothing. They try to make routine little, say, slack jobs while they wish strongly to found a new episode in their life stories. The baby comes to grow old yet on the contrary, the old hopes to find a way of coming back to youth of theirs which cannot be seen as youth nor in the past and neither-naturally- in the future.Having been born and aging: the time between them has its own speedy way, within using technical terms, acceleration. Have you ever heard any word from the youth that a decade is a short term or vice versa. Regretfully the both of them say something contradictory to each other: "O too long" or "O too short...
    I come here not over analyses on being born. I know the way those growing older would have treated the time to live or to wait death. I have dived into this subject regarding not to mix in other people’s age problems.But this time when I gains the aging as a starting point I might salute the kids all over the world where they could stand for it forever. I is just wanting to cry "the rights of kids are only for them" and to ponder about what I would like to say in that meaningless cry. Come on now and think everybody: a cry may let you share it. Why must you stand for one who cries anyway? Why shouldn't you beat yourselves instead of kids? One despondently find it easy to dispute the matter but the parents could think different: “Why mustn’t Ione beat one's kid?” And yet I can’t decide even to carry such a matter to the medium-shared by the spouses-to be disputed. Briefly I have got nothing in the procedure of marriage except the style of mistreating the kids. As an aside one should keep in one's mind that
    nobody could treat the kids in a faultless style for the kids are the one and only real fault of The Mankind. Do you ask "What would I mean?" If yes, here you are my reply " Why can’t answer it yourselves?"? I have not got enough experiment to make a good break and get out of this paragraph of my novel just now. All in all one might put an end to it get all kid related problems away from me but it is true that escaping from kid induced problems are the main reason of their problems. And if I went to some other part of my novel you’d prefer to find and beat me. Even if I don’t let you to beat me you would target your kids at least to pinch. Where would we keep the kid not to be beaten? I-grimly-manifest this as the main point to be disputed. They would prefer to sleep with their parents. Let me ask then why DAMLA and I should date if after marriage we couldn't find a corner-far from any eyes to watch us impudently-to make love? I might-as if-be hearing your answer: "Be off where you would like!" All right. DAMLA and I could try and escape from the bed room to the kitchen. For sake of God tell me if one should get married to escape from one's bed room. You see kids are always to show us limitless rational offerings. With your kind permission I cry aloud: help me. I am after DAMLA-my wife in the future-and our kid will follow us just at the time of love making. Can there be any suspicion about its malicious intention. Remember please: kids will be kids. Suppose we manage to find some cushions in the kitchen to lie down on them. But what about the weird hustling shadow around us. Actually we'd interrogate the kid "should it be you?" and the reply is on hand: "Geez!"


    I met with DAMLA in the tramcar! Gosh that was a-mere-dream? Didn't I run into her? How could we could discern the truth from the cheap fancies? I've pinched myself for I ain’t done nothing! And yet it was concrete, true, well preserved from unreal so my suspicion gauge slid slightly towards the side of unreal leaving the concrete proof on the negative side. before opening a conversation I saluted her and confessed that we all are shadows though having been seen as real bodies. She bewildered:
    DAMLA-Oh, indeed? Of which-making speculation- for the part of reality one could remark that we all are well dressed creature and even if our bodies as amorphous as wriggling worms we have got something to drag somewhere.
    I-Do not believe anything dressed well because being real and being well dressed would be contradictory to each other.
    DAMLA-(Squaring philosophy of existence) Instead of it we'll cope with the nihilism walk strongly in the streets.
    I-What about the situation after having got the kids? You ought to be wise enough to know that they would be preventing our walk especially in the streets.
    DAMLA- Nonsense! If their parents would provide them with affection, big sympathy, and great sum of pocket money to spent on potato layers coke afterwards they should never be quiescent.
    I-Crying out loud! They couldn't be calm whether you tip them off or paying anything.As an aside the parents ought not to do pinch or beat them for it’d be the feedback of the urchins' volcano in the depths of their soul. I mean-by speaking about the specific volcano-the isles to be hidden in them. One cannot see those chain of islands unless one is not a naughty kid.
    DAMLA-Then why don’t you put an end to this subjects of kids?
    I- I dare say this life obligatorily push us to standing at the level of kids or parents. OK?
    DAMLA- Why don’t you get a job in another place to deal with philosophy?
    I-I couldn’t touch philosophy without embracing the basics of thought and sense?
    DAMLA-(scornfully) Oh, couldn’t you? Do you suppose I couldn't guess the entity and reach to the word you keep for you?
    I-Tell me what that is then.
    DAMLA-(Bitterly) There is not any place for being apt to utter it.
    I-I see that from the point of view of level you are above uttering the very word viz. "Dating"!
    DAMLA-If you knew what I was you cannot claim such a nonsense!
    I-So I could suppose you would think of dating at times!
    DAMLA-Pull yourself together!
    I-(Bitterly)You do know the game so that actually You're not up against me. Every female used to try that be fussy in dating. The Male have looked for decent reactions and not been much more starving at it anyhow.
    DAMLA-A year after I first hit your appearance I quit all fancies in this way and tried to be on normal level.
    I-I got it as a job working twelve hours a day for nothing at all a month. You see I work like a dog, too, and never left the street I was so scared of not seeing you.
    DAMLA-But what comes of it ?
    I-One night my family invited a lady to dinner who’s frequently seen me in the street when I was after. See told both my mom and dad that they should fire me right off the pavements.
    DAMLA-(Reiterating) What comes of it, huh?
    I-I tried to explain the same thing a lot of times yet there was always the same having been being repeated through your non-venomous lips though they dragged me back. And The Male would prefer to be killed than dragged back in love affairs.
    DAMLA-(Again) Pull yourself together. My exact request is clear: quit trying to tell ugly things before a, say, mademoiselle. They don't seem to be of any use.
    I-(Abruptly) Let's pay a short visit to my ex-teacher for the party he has given. DAMLA-Gosh! Are you tired of pondering. Then let come a break, huh?
    I-They-I met with in the birthday party of my ex-teacher-were all the good people, and they appreciate me where I stood, and they’re going to keep me there related to those affairs I mean The Love Affairs.
    DAMLA-Could they manage to see invisible things. Come on then! Tell me what sort of things were there anyhow related to, err, the affairs of such and such things, say, love affairs?
    I-I proved myself from the point of capability in making The Love Reform for the sake of humanity, didn't I?
    DAMLA-Keep away your reforms from me, and if it can’t be done make you yourself as a whole far from the pavement I used to prefer while backing to home after school every day.
    I-In the case of "no reform" could I speak to you?
    DAMLA-(Laughing) I won’t say not to let you do it!

    At the final sentence of hers in my unexpected conversation with her I was extremely bewildered understanding that the sexual oppression on the girls here was to hit their chance to be understood first. Those pitiful ladies under the light but scorching traditions had been taught to conceal their natural peculiarities related to gender. Adding to it the probable insult that might break their hearts if they would have opened their hearts should make them to keep their silence. All sort of the feelings of love, on which they might improve their position in dating, love, and marriage etc. should not be told but concealed no matter they had got a good education. As for the Love Reform of mine I could define it easily: That is God’s truth that I would like to concern first with kids before dating, loving, and getting marriage. Kids that have got the upper hand for thousand years in shaping each other or got the ability to create the new generation coming just after them. Every kid groups could do it just within their two decades of their life. Then what'll that very term- "the new generation", mean? I talk just about its meaning that existentialists used to try and teach us. If the human being are not able to know what kids could do each other we future parents shall be in dark in the matter of understanding the basics of human existence.

    Meanwhile I went on to walk towards the ex-teacher's home. He welcomed me at the gate-for a door of a teacher's home could be named as gate-and led to his study. At the table there were scattered papers filled in by manuscripts of his, some dog ear papers induced books and some periodicals.
    Teacher-Give me a clear report about your visiting me unexpectedly.
    I- I'll be an inutile attempt to try and report linked to a pair in inutile attempts especially from the point of the male trying to date with the female any way. Teacher-(Remarking my unexplained recent love affair convulsions affected by DAMLA whom, no doubt, appreciated within a large spectrum of unbiased understanding by him already) You never know the luck you've caught useful to be in touch with her. You may be able to stick to her this time.
    I-(wearily) Talk could not be accepted cheap if the talking one is our ex and peerless teacher as you. But maybe you don’t know what you’re talking now about her. What method can I adopt to get her? What am I fit for: dating or being poked fun at?
    Teacher-Housework my son! Only they can help one in exams at the schools and dating with girls of mystery like those from around the Bosporus!
    I- is the only thing I know about? And yet I don’t know much about that. Teacher-What else could I make enough to help you? That’s the trouble with all the girls in Balkans and in America.
    I-Most all of The Male in The Asia Minor wouldn't like to make The Female to change but they just shouldn’t endure it at all. That’s all a strong change as a revolution there ought to be to realize it.
    Teacher-We can’t work out of this life with The Female because we don’t know how to cooperate with them. For my part I was never taught how.
    I-(Shaking with laughter) Who, sire, do you think would make a change with those ladies in the way I look for?
    Teacher- Only you who look for it! Besides, there would be the kids of yours. (Sarcastically) You may not ignore the greatest problem of the spouses as you have remarked-occasionally-it!
    I-But people aren’t strong for making observations them hiding amongst the kids while they would create each other while wasting time, say, playing...
    Teacher- Our ladies with babies-especially after they are married officially-do give no heed to The Male's alerts about the children.
    I-Do you say-essentially-that The Female ought to be accepted as babies forever?
    I-But neither the female nor the babies could inspire me to try limitlessly hard and understand the story of The Mankind that The Kid had written and shall have been writing in the places where the parents couldn't be present.
    Teacher-(fiercely) Should it be you who might teach that ruthless truth to me. I-No sire. This truth’s all I got. And obligatorily I won’t give my "exploring the kids' world" plan up.
    Teacher-(Kindly) That’s not a bad plan you've got, Kids.... I heard someone telling that the debacle of a kid created by other kids would be a disease for which no doctor could write any prescription. (Pulling his hand out of his pocket) I’ll put you just now in charge of carrying this plan of which basic points and details are all to cover the plan of yours out. Be silent down right and fade in the thin air to accomplish this, say, draft we two share! As an aside your semester holiday continues and you must go back to the city of Pushkin-ERZURUM where you can run around something or somebody that may be linked to the lost little Kurdish, Armenian or Jewish girls-lost or kidnapped somewhere near to the border betwixt Turkey and Iran-and send me and the NGO sponsors your work more information to see everything in their cases much more lucidly.

    On seeing me off, the ex-teacher didn't show himself before the entrance so I should wave my hand to him for farewell indoors of whereby a lot of things linked to smelling atmosphere peculiar to every house that would have got kitchen famous for Anatolian pickles and molasses not saying of abundant garlic sausage , vinegar, coloured glass based aesthetics, and his hand went to his pocket to give me the draft in manuscripts. Naturally, I gripped it and rushed toward...Then the confusion in my brain let itself sink back its routine serenity again, but without leaving to preserve the discipline my teachers taught to me.

    When I was some distance off, at least fifty meters, I couldn't remembered him as a fastidious form to inoculate discipline. After a while, however, I had not the power to show any vitality but the glimpses of my eyes seeming bewildered and glowing between the extremely open eye lids.


    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 12-28-2014 at 01:57 PM.

  12. #222
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
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    Thanks to everybody who follow the new parts-over "Edit Post" editions-of The Infinite Novel by Prof. MES Solzhenitsof!
    When I was some distance off, at least fifty meters, I couldn't remembered him as a fastidious form to inoculate discipline. After a while, however, I had not the power to show any vitality but the glimpses of my eyes seeming bewildered and glowing between the extremely open eye lids. The hertz amalgam made of the sound of the engines, footsteps, scratching pawns of pets jolly at the very side of their owners and was even livelier, soft and yet much more strong, than at noon so I estimated that the time going back from offices, ateliers, shops etc. was up. But the light hasn’t converted into a friendly tone as Dostoyevsky's style would remark ; it was glimmering as yellow as ever on the velvet stretch of bananas that ended at each point dark similar to the shadowy air of the average evenings we used to live here. I confessed-instead of my regular condemnations targeting at the people who should be around me-that they have the right to find evenings as melancholy induced...
    Briefly one could claim before the people of the old earth that if there is no Female who doesn't conceal her sexy feelings there shall be no evening free from blues!I claim very clearly that as episode evolves I reach to the very consciousness by which my verdict concerning innocence in sexual fancies fall from my semi open lips-timidly of course- briefly: amongst children, ladies and males the highly most intrigue belongs first to The Child and secondly to The Female! The upshot of the verdict: The Male-from the point of this matter-would be always innocent and be open to be blamed. I-pondering such righteousness induced reformist-for I should make the love reform quickly as I'd promised my sweet heart namely mademoiselle DAMLA-spent two hours and the sun seemed to have made no progress because my watch having needed a new battery made the time becalmed twice as a sky made of steel as could be at that time of the season. If my eyes wouldn't make a trick to me the evening was to come and there far out on the boulevard a tramcar was passing in with its lights on. That chaotic way of perceiving both abstract and concrete elements of the earth could only make me to take the first steps in carrying out my mission of rescuing the little Armenian, Greek and Jewish little girls from the HUN-HANE viz. the hospital that would be going on with giving its dirty service to children organ traders namely the allied organ traffickers or rather the semi official crime army composed of revolutionist, aggressive atheist and fundamentalist Turkish officers and the Islamic Guards of Iran.
    Then the flexibility of the time before me struck me that all I had to do was to fly to the eastern Anatolia, and think no more about anything a propos the philosophy gushing out of my pen.


    May I introduce me as a writer? "Yes" or "No" might be the answer but the novel as a whole some paradoxical explanations pulsing with my avarice for dating, heat philosophical points, and my mission pressing on my back over the request of both ex-teacher and the NGO dealing with the cases of lost Judeo-Christian little girls kidnapped by Nationalist or Islamo-Nationalist Turkish gangs giving service to children organ traffickers in the HUH HANE hospital. As you should know I had given enough information about that hospital and I took some steps toward the solution-or rather enlightening-within the details of the last crime linked to The HUN-HANE. For the chief of the Children Oran Trade Gang namely F. GULEN didn’t move from his bloody mansion in Pennsylvania/The USA, I should work in the Eastern Anatolian towns. After all, there was still some distance between Bosporus Soviet State and its fearfully oppressed province wherein the kidnapped little girls should be looked for.
    As my imaginary darling-DAMLA was 18 Years old I would think of getting marriage with her after tasting an ideal dating, and perhaps because of the shadow of my kids in the future should be irritating my imagination The World of Kids would seem to me as a different problem to be solved regarding their education and training that seemed to be grinning at me from the horizons of the future. Why grinning at me? because DAMLA and I would not be the trainers they-our kids. Gosh! What a sophisticated future shall be that of ours!Inasmuch as I must have waited. Although the heat of desire to date with DAMLA and get married with her the probability of infertility might make my cheeks flashing and flushing in turn, and beads of sweat could be gathering over my eyebrows that it would come to the meaning of browbeating in the way of getting marriage.(I would rather to write this sentence not for the sake of meaning, good or bad, but to play with the word "brow" and It is just the same sort of heat a marriage may inflict spouses because of infertility or fertility as my mother has tasted after my birth.. Why? Why then that one may see the one and only inflicting factor of the old earth: reason. All jokes aside mom says that I was full of reason when I'm a little kid as I'm now, and I have got other disagreeable virtues: sense, sensations, thought, wit and the like.)

    After landing the city of Pushkin-ERZURUM where all my veins seemed to be shrank under the skin because of subarctic cold-minus 50 Celsius degrees.. I couldn’t stand the cold any longer, and took a taxi-cub to the same hotel I have stayed before attending the seminary after which I managed to meet with DAMLA in flesh. I knew it was the wisest thing to do if the full plan and the accommodation needed for my getting-successfully-acquaintance with her. Wouldn’t I get out of the frozen air by moving on a yard or so? This wise people induced suspect was o much dense that I dared to accept the truth which had hurt my mom: it was the excessive reason I have began to exhibit after having been born to a life of discipline and reason. For the time being I would, since as, I take a step in making an inescapable expect that my kid should be wiser than I would be. In addition to that just one step, forward, yes my kid should be capable to cope with their wit as well. "If my kid", I presumed while boarding plane, "competes me in witness rating and chooses the way to hold a sharp logic up against me as sunlight would be thwarting an recluse snow ball shaft of light might shot upward from my elder intellectual background made of steel, and my kid might feel a well controlled radiation vaporizing from my crinkle rich forehead, and at the same moment all the reality told over the proverb saying 'knowledge is the power" that should make the respect I had deserved already to be accumulated!" What about the itiniray the reader should expect to read here, hera you are a brief one:

    We took off, and I began to watch the world beneath the plane. I was conscious only of the artefact existence spread on the ground as the clouds wouldn't close the sightseeing being less distinct at times. Then everything began to change more rapidly before the plane landed. The is a huge crowd before the gate of domestic passengers' exit. I rendered a fiery gust coming from the witty style of life of mine, and while the sky has been becoming cracked in two, one half in a dusky semi globe and the other in twilight from east to west, and the rest of the great sheet of my mission poured into the hotel when I checked in it again.First of all I salute the people at the reception, and the receptionist rose to his feet...
    Receptionist-Thank you for your coming back, rather, choosing our place to visit again.
    I-Thank you just the same...It'll be very useful for me in feeling myself just as usual as being at home while sojourning far from that sweet place, say, going in the famous phrase as "home sweet home" without lying to myself. Though there is a another saying that just came to my mind that had remarked that without a sweet heart there could be no sweet place: neither home nor mansion or palace. Yes believe me rather trust my memory! I had gone to a doc about two years ago. He had told me that if I hadn't been dating with a certain "Blondie" I had been assumed suffering from heartache and it would had been the worst thing I had had ever.
    Receptionist-(Without any humor light or grim) Had he said that the only hope for an unhappy one to get a female? Let me, sire, to remind you of the bitter reality: Having been happy needs at times to get rid of any Blondie!
    I-Both postulation of yours and the doc's are equal, regarding to availability within pointing righteousness, to each other from the point of searching for happiness. But I dare say both of them are lacking the formula of happiness ordering one to get out in the country, breathing fresh atmosphere and walking in the open air, and sleeping in a modest bed rescued from the evil, say, news pollution, noise, and the dirty gasses of an endlessly running traffic.
    While answering him it occurred to me to ask the main question of my NGO linked mission looking after the stories of kidnapped non-Muslim children for the receptionist might just as well has had got something about the Judeo-Christian population living near to the border between Turkey and Iran. I, so far, should open my consideration that might concern him. I did so and he said I could go out to some semi ruined villages where I shouldn’t have to pay nothing to learn the ethnic profiles availing all over the Eastern and Southeastern part of The Anatolia. But he said I’d have to leave the formal sketches of my research behind. I told him I’d rather to go back on my word I've given to The NGO than do that, and he said I’d have to be careful or the red tape of others' would ruin the mission of mine. But I have been careful from the very beginning. (So the organ hunters inflicting the Judeo-Christian kidnapped children should sob with regret at last.) I could even catch them red hand in the surgery units designed for stealing the innocent children organs to sell over the Anatolia to Iranian mullahs!
    The humanist receptionist stopped my musing
    The receptionist-I assure you that instead of your deep love affairs you can do it because you cannot up against it, rescuing the kidnapped children. (He appears deeply carried away by his own guarantee in this matter.) Gee, I'm sure you were too much excited when The NGO made you shouldered with the mission , but you could do it even if you got yourself skinned to death.
    I-(interested) I? Methinks I don’t look deserved to it.
    The Receptionist-Oh my dear sir...Listen to me please! You talk about trying to be able to solve that problem and not being able to find out the traces of Jewish, Greek, Armenian families hidden somewhere in Asia The Minor. Well, I been not up against the same thing. When I was a kid I was thought to live stealthily as a little Jewish boy in GUMUSHANE; and it wasn’t my fault. I was mixed up with a group-a sheer cocktail of Greek and Armenian kids much more skilful in hiding than me and wasn’t wise to what I was doing my best. They made me left or suffered from oblivion; and in the school they made a crook Turkish nationalist-even racist- out of me.
    Whereupon I salute him again we shook hands and I went straightforwardly upstairs and entered my room which I emptied for a temporary interval both to hold down a part in the seminary, and to get acquaintance with young lady DAMLA who has treated me with respect but as soon as any she got wise I’d be after to make The Love Reform regarding to the standard preparations of getting marriage and having got kids she nearly would have canned me same as they did even the assimilated minorities from Antioch to Trabzon. Thanks to the God I was in my hotel suit again-to keep from subarctic cold here. And adding to it one should mention that they might be seen peerless from the point of breakfast service by which I could get the chance within a good time to cope with the obligation in designing the daily research program.


    By means of a fast asleep I gave up all schedules lying in the dark corners of my brain. I have seen that it should be no use to make interrogation to find the traces of assimilated Jews, Armenians, Greeks in a long way from The favorite Eastern Anatolian city-Erzurum-of Pushkin to Trabzon rimmed with the silhouette of the greatest sanctuary of Pontus. After hiring a car-strange to say there is "Let a car" service here-I should be on the way from ASHKALE to where Jews, Armenians and Greeks from Istanbul had been exiled in the years of The Second World War-for when I got out the clear concrete actions I should get in with a web of sophisticated abstract fibers and learned how to be a real researcher not through supposed verifications at the table of luxury rooms of five star hotels but over observations having my feet on the ground where I’ve never been before. Nonetheless I confess that the news on Turkish TV Channels this morning (8 of January 1915) told a story linked to my great investigation that I could neither be a witnessed nor a fancier one even if I had spent most of my life in rooms or on highways: Turkish High Court would give its verdict that CEYLAN-The Kurdish little girl who has been chopped by a group of Turkish green Maoist soldiers loyal to Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN abiding in Pennsylvania still, should not be deserved any penny to be paid CEYLAN-The little Kurdish Girl's family regarding to indemnify the family of hers...
    Nobody into any little parts jail but the killers who would kill any Jewish, Greek, Armenian or Kurdish children should be free forever. This not the law of The Pro-NATO Turkish Muslims but of The Bosporus Soviet. One could find enough information in debut paragraphs of this novel. One should know that on the contrary to Soviet Socialist Republics The Bosporus Soviet were designed to own and to usurp every institutions of the ordinary life including religion. As the reader may remember from the abovementioned story of CEYLAN-The little Kurdish girl after she has been chopped into very little parts by an official mortar attack her mother has been tasting the hell's fires as she was obliged to gather the parts of her little daughter from the branches of elms around, and to pick up them from shadowy bunches of withered crocuses...

    (Tick away the link below for getting the humanly chance of seeing little a cheap photo of CEYLAN, and finding the Turkish famous humanist writer's notes namely the article of AHMET ALTAN about CEYLAN!)

    Just at this point I can enter in a imaginary dialogue at the main gate of one of the Turkish Universities-imaginary for no Turk could read my too much complicated texts-with a Turco-Islamic fundamentalist.

    Fundamentalist-What are you going to do in taking a trip to Trabzon?
    I-(fiercely) What am I going to do? I shall find out the traces of the people assimilated in this country; I mean Greeks, Armenians and Jews...They made a trick and faded into thin air, escaped out of the life of ours!
    Fundamentalist-When did you give a start to it?
    I-(Suspiciously) I'm not going to answer you asking "what is it to you?"
    Fundamentalist-(Suddenly) Hey, I didn’t mean that. You’re a good people and maybe you can help me in understanding why The Europeans concern-being so keen-in Human Rights.
    I-I’d like to do it if I may manage to explain first whereunto human rights come as a certain meaning.
    Fundamentalist-Then I will be on listening to you.
    I-(Crying) Listen then.... (There upon came a gentleman who tore me from my broad daylight dream and tilted my body till I stare at him directly his eyes...)
    The Gentleman (In flesh)- What are you doing here swaying to right and left in turn and rebuking?
    I-(Before replying this real people I looked around. The lane I was would look like squalid pathway on the top of Black Sea Mountains at the side of Turkey Coasts, and full of putrefied moors of a migrated countryside as; say as that of Peru or Tunisia. The plaster covering-in the umpteen tones of gray-the houses as a soiled wall paper. Everything as a sample of something artifact around us is dirty and torn in places showing the plaster beneath. There is an several windows in front of the buildings looking out on us as if we-the people on the pavements-were something a steamer to be waited alongside the well known facilities of a wharf. It occurred suddenly to me to gaze them and I saw whereon a bottle of fresh water. On the right side of us is the sun or its huge shadow in the sky. And yet there must be a little question here: Can could anything be called as the shadow of the sun?)Listen!
    The Gentleman (Looking at me fixedly) What do you say that's worth to be listened to?
    I- Don't get angry with me monsieur as if I swear you...
    The Gentleman-Well, I’m a real intellectual who could be born in Erzurum for this soil had been sacrificed with marvelous gestures of Alexander Pushkin. I just bring forward a postulate: Any intellectual-if any could be-in Turkey might be born only in Erzurum whereunto the great poet would had pissed in its lonely lanes as a sheer joke after sipping a good amount of vodka.
    I-Please accept my respects Esquire. Actually two weeks ago or around I've heard the same claim . May God won’t squeal on me, and help me!
    The Gentleman-(Not having been surprised at my words) We must refrain from prejudices focusing at the Russian Occupation solely! Look, young man, it must be reminded of the existence of a European Stock-at least Christianity based-nation-The Armenian who lived here from the beginning of the history till the bloody incidents of 1915!
    While we talks with the gentleman the guys that are apt to be intellectual souls because of Alexander Pushkin's cracking jokes as pissing into the darkness after sipping some vodka after the midnight and the masters of hand craft-fled Armenians that were here a century ago, are all looking at us in the street!
    I-Hush! You dear esquire never can tell on the contrary whose tongue's every word glued to the ears in a public place like this.
    The Gentleman-(Lowering his voice) I read about you in the VAKIT Gazette and CUMA Magazine. (He looked around as if he was afraid.) I'm not afraid of the crowds, are you?
    I-Me too! But I am not the kind of Jewish Businessman-UZEYIR GARIH as courageous as daring to visit a Muslim Shrine and choose to be a slain patron who would be murdered one of the poor people fed by him, you know.
    The Gentleman-What that I know?
    I-If you lance a glance at the newspaper sites in internet linked to that murder you will see that the murderer had been trained-at the beginning of the year 2000 in the famous garrison-HASDAL in Bosporus Soviet State's Capital City Istanbul.

    The lane he gentleman and I were to stand talking leading to the Government Square. On the left a the greatest Turkish Bath of the city, and some stands allocated for the business of Street Vendors selling meager articles for women utensils like bowls and beaker, and the like. Above the canvass covering the stand a worn flag hangs from a stick from the peak of upper cover to the ground wherein it's nailed. In the middle of the place stands some rickety tables and a chairs to serve-or rather to sell-to the clients. In the near right border of the square near us is a land mark showing our direction as right superstitiously. The gas pipelines under the ground could be seen in the mirror of our inner brain or heart.
    Returning to the rest of our chattering with the gentleman I should remember the sensitive question antecedently:
    The Gentleman-Is it any heart affair whereupon you could summarize the reason of your trip?
    I-(calmly) No, Remember that sublimation is the kitten of the main reason-ah especially from the point of my view it's love-for which we would pile stocks of pretext to live instead of choosing suicide.
    The gentleman-What's the title of your sublimation?
    I-My special mission. Come on esquire, I am not afraid of giving you the key word of my mission: To detect in the field all points of some kidnapped children belonging to the minorities.
    The Gentleman- What children are they?
    I-I'm afraid you couldn't find enough time to read newspapers or watching TV channels...
    Gentleman-(Anxiously) Do you think you knew Sigmund Freud? I think one would be awfully dismayed sure if one did. (Furiously) Hey young man, hey! Are you with me? Think young man think: How can babies-whether male or female themselves-get t the reward of falling in-sex induced as Doctor Freud remarked scientifically-loves with their parents.
    I-No, I could tell by the eyes of all babies I had seen already they didn’t mean anything bad, or rather immoral.
    The Gentleman-Immorality need not consciousness, and Dr. Freud would not concern anything but sub-consciousness.
    I-Are you a Muslim? How long have your family been here?
    The Gentleman-(Shaking my hand) Enchanted monsieur, I'm happy for I have got the chance at last to introduce me. I'm barrister N.UNAL-one of the most keen nationalists of Turkey. And yet my mom is an Armenian converted to Islam after felt the horror of 1915 cataclysm.
    I-(Cracking a joke) Is that the only way for safety to be Turkish nationalist here? I had heard-before a good time-that would have wanted to make his job up should make a great racist noise at times maybe even-sometimes- to blow a horn tuning nationalistic.
    The Gentleman-I have got that reflex and never left it neither in my bedroom nor in the street except when I had to get a fast food-let it not be hamburger or sandwich-to eat then I could get enough power for incensing a religion induced nationalist tumult!
    I-Excuse me esquire but at this point I'd rather to put forward a couple of question. Why a nationalist boasting and why in the bedroom?
    The Gentleman-Because of "The Virility Show" The male need when going to bed with a female even she exhibits much more virility than the male. One night I've seen a guy on the corner give a synthetic Blondie a long look. Believe me she should be appreciated within that look-exchange encountering if only she would have got the longer look.
    I- Methinks he was a cop, huh?
    The gentleman-Yes, you're right in getting a hunch, after a while It turned out that he was...
    I-(wonderingly) And respectful esquire you have just come to a point that it could teach us the wrongness of trying to take The Male from The Female.
    The Gentleman-Why? The post is post whether through internet or by the hand, say, of the postman.
    I-My sire, here under the sky knowing must be liable to go through observation and experiment.
    The Gentleman- The female could not be used as an object of the routine experimental studies! They aren't liable to be to be observed in away routine! I-Do you took this chance-over talking the well presumed peculiarities-for playing up The Female?
    The gentleman-Shall anything make difference in the matter by means of my answer. Neither "Yes" nor "No" change the truth: The Female are to be praised always.
    ı-Who will do that?
    The Gentleman-The Male! This difference betwixt, say to praise or to be praised, makes it possible to tell The Female apart from The Male. When you didn’t even know me this truth has been existing! (Reluctantly looking around or searching a better direction to look)As only the one who exists can praise something that are imaginary. Yes that is the word: The Female should be stand imaginary or there would be no difference between The Male and The female...

    Before saying "good-by" to the gentlemanly I have shouted:
    -"But The Children are real ones and I'm going on with searching the traces of Judeo Christian or Kurdish children assimilated, murdered, crippled or sold to the organ bazaars alongside the border of Turkey and Iran.
    One cannot make any estimation about the tragic feeling created by my words of "fair-well" amongst the audience in the crowded lane whereof open windows of the specter like out-of date mansions built by the Armenian non-licensed architectures two hundred years ago.And yet I must admit that he effect of a serious shouting as that of mine may harm the lively ones. So the gentleman rued for not giving a prologue while the crowd around us didn’t realize transparently the subject of our hard talk. In a bewilderment I arranged hair to gain time, or rather loosing time at the very threshold of my journey though I knew very well that I shouldn't lose even a second at peevishly attended by the people-randomly came together in the street-performances. The gentleman as a sheer natural presenter-for his noble family had abode here- seemed not to be useful over a tumult I might give way with my enthusiasm.

    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 01-16-2015 at 01:06 PM.

  13. #223
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by mesolzhenitsy View Post


    (Go to the beginning of the novel please)

    Suddenly I saw a street vendor selling salted Turkish cakes-looking like a snake from a far point as I stood then and I called him “would you please come here monsieur! How about the taste of your cakes, sure, not having been stale?" I’ve some brownish wheel shape Turkish croissants and solid pudding they call pasta here” was the appetizer reply of his. It struck me that his fresh patisseries would save my having to stop before any inn on the way to Trabzon to have my dinner, so I ordered gently, “Two croissants and some pasta as natives call...”
    He has brought me what I ordered quickly and using that pretext I started my debut voyage towards The Black Sea. If I had reported before that I had hired a car I began to drive or if I' said before that I'd been travelling by an inter-cities bus I should begin to look around from the window at my right side. Through the hills, woods, pits and writhing brooks I saw not a pink panther of course but ridiculous artefacts ruining nearly the whole nature. For instance they have built and been continuing to build a lot of, say, queer Hydroelectric Centrals not to produce any energy but ugly sightseeing one could estimate how might have been seeming before the construction of those things under the gloomy sky whereunto I would rather his bed, and pin naked beauty queens for I couldn't forget my sketches in the way of making the world's love reform.

    The bed reserved for me in the quest house of our NGO hasn’t been made yet and the room was dirty. He should make it tidy if the economy ampoules might given me the chance to see everything around the corners by using only a false lighting by means of them.
    Letting a temperament induced voyage blow over me, it seemed the chance resting enough here might last for twenty four hours, maybe not so short but for a week. I hadn't got a lot of clothing or rather suits with me for I shouldn't be on the coast of the Black Sea to display anything but for an investigation. And yet the news were sufficient to make one drawn in perspiration so the underwear of one's would be forced to be richness from the point of distractions. As an example I might convey you the incredibly horrific-actual of course-event: The Bosporus Soviet State's security forces have been reported as having been turned lastly into the murderer of a 12 years old boy in The North Kurdistan or southeastern Anatolia. When I have heard it melancholy overwhelmed all my positive senses then rejection began to rain over my soul. At the same time whistling a blue tune should accompany every sense of mine, since they used to save our dangerous grief from having been accompanied by absolute negativism that would-sure-be available in the case of The Female, within the broad hinterlands of well known comrades love and distress cutting red dresses to heat, and the blue ones to freeze.
    After a good sleep even interrupted by any dream the street calls me. I had a glance at the headlights of the newspaper imitating and paper wasting cellulosic rugs in Turkish if there is any language left out behind the so called rather comical revolutions. Someone speaks to me, before I could find a peaceful mood after reading over the newspapers. The words of the man speaking to me are not ridiculous, on the contrary, awfully drastic. The Bosporus Soviet's Greatest Islamic cleric living in the USA-F. GULEN, has sworn Voltaire namely one of the first thinking brains of the Europe over the wry mouth of his anti European servant-a certain H. YAVUZ-who has incited a rancor against the slain Armenian Journalist-HRANT DINK.
    I remember...The Bosporus Soviet has gazed that dirty murder with an old anti-freedom, anti-liberal smile. I was too much similar in its approach towards the ethnic cleansing occasions with the stale smile of an old maid from the Mao's China and F.GULEN or the Turkish Ayatollah's well camouflaged brothels! Regretfully the number of The Female for sale is disproportionally higher in those would-be humanist and green or red Maoist countries than that in the Europe.
    The Female ought to get a red or a dirty green flag around the neck and come from behind the curtain of Soviet type respects bestowed-as many times having been the famous red motto reiterated and being written in a two faced manner as on it-equally to The Male and The Female and to chant revolution tunes in a neat yet tough voice, and be ready to sell their bodies to the well known big shots of red-as in China- or dirty green-as in Islamic State occupied partly Syria and Iraq-Maoist regimes.

    In the beginning decades of the third millennium green Maoist Turkish Ayatollah-F.GULEN was saluted as the semi God of Turkish Bosporus Soviet State by his hashish addicted, official followers some of them having been sitting on the higher chairs of the most strategic posts of Major General, Mayors, Local Governors, and the non-official magnate followers as Turkey's fake businessmen like the princes and princesses, or hermaphrodite celebrities like KOC Holding crowned patrons. They all like The Female Artists but only when a mademoiselle sat like a woman at the piano wearing a full transparent toilet without any underwear to hinder being peeped by the audience. And this situational artistic performances would be realized under the same conditions as in North Korea or its suzerain-China.

    When some vagrants-using the genius of Ataturk-were to give a big start to the notorious state-second to The North Korea-Turkish Soviet State it would be endearing the prototypes of Mao. Came then leaders of the political and even religious murders. Just at the springtime of the newest thousand years of the modern time of ours namely The Third Millennium a well chosen cell of official murder in Trabzon a young beast has been exploited-over his too much wild saliva-and he slaughtered a well known missionary priest-Rev. SANTARO here.

    An humanist hiccup I felt Trabzon in my throat. Hiccup is supposed to be in need of carbon dioxide and one is advised to stop breathing for one or two minutes on. I chose not touch on my breath rhythm but spent it to talk about the murders within which Trabzon had begun to produce murderers for ethnic cleansing or to intimidate the Christians to death. Her was at least one little shops selling biscuits, milk and gazettes on each corners of its.

    So I went over to a shopkeeper and after shaking taking his hand which he tried to hold back for he felt that I'm a stranger. And yet after getting acquaintance he yelled: " Gee you’re a regular citizen. Welcome monsieur!"
    I-(Not in confusion) Aw, that’s nothing master, As a matter of it I should be an average citizen’. None wouldn't done it.
    Shopkeeper-No one wouldn't have done it if one were in your place. (A slight noise is heard from behind the shop desk.
    I-(Calmly and roaring for there is no reason to look around nor to speak in a whisper.) Supposing that guys who planned to slaughter the priest SANTARO were not ordinary killers but a team a cops loyal to F. GULEN? (And added a nonsense tag to my speech not to startle up) Supposing all of them had hunch who they were?
    The Shopkeeper-(Startling instead of my measures taken-over my ventilation words-already)What are you planning to make me twitching and to open a gate way in-no doubt you are in charge of-the inquiry? Can I help you to find an exit out of this dreary matter? NOP Monsieur! I Can’t do anything for you.
    I-(Without knowing why I did it) What do you see there-pointing to shop-windows) Are they a fire escape, huh?
    The Shopkeeper-(Obviously for the sake of cutting the dialogue short)Yes.
    I-Come on citizen...Show me then which way does lead to the fire escape.
    The Shopkeeper-Down to the south and turn to the east.
    I-To hell with another city. I’ll try to read through the story of a slain priest murdered recently by the same murderers from Trabzon the Bosporus Soviet State used in the assassination of slain Armenian journalist-HRANT DINK.
    The Shopkeeper- I see...You' ll stick in here with me not to gain anything bot to lose time!
    I- Why do you tell nonsense tales?
    The Shopkeeper- Nonsense tales are only getaway in two categories of actual events one could escape from the useless questions
    I-What goddamned categories of actual events?
    The Shopkeeper-Trying to narrate the details of love, and to fishing significant clues stuttered in the mouth of ordinary witnesses of extraordinary murders.

    The well experienced, officially well-dressed shopkeeper touching before me at the subject of religious or nationalistic murders opened to be argued ordered me to go back to the Alexander Pushkin's favourite city-Erzurum from where I could make a trip towards the goddamned terror induced regions of the near history-remember please that the shopkeeper had pronounced Malatya but let me add to it ELAZIG and the like-that would make an unappetizing cramps on my stomach. Small cities as they would be they might be considered as terrorist training centres. If the truth be said I should confess that mademoiselle DAMLA also had got a small world surrounding her though she should be successful to quit every surrounding I might deal with for flying back to the actual capital city of The Bosporus Soviet State to embrace her shadow on the way back to home from school every weekday, at 5 hours PM.
    By the way one could offer the general title to define The Female remarking that they should be accepted as the supreme attracting surrounding of all surroundings!

    On the way back to Alexander Pushkin's favourite city-Erzurum I read over a booklet about the Bosporus Soviet State that one could read through:

    ON 25 October a usually reiterating event occurred in ANKARA for that ominous day the cute-red Major General-the Chief of Turkish General Staff, a potentially dangerous, relatively powerful, and a well known or famous transgressor on the path of Turkish quasi Constitutional Structure (his name is really famous now instead it no longer figures on the high-lights of red fascist DOĞAN’S MEDIA bearing a portrait of a commander with sword, and the words: ‘I’m the guard of regime against the West’) for that morning that bloody sword woke early, and caught the smell of newly brewing liberalism irritably. Raising himself a little, he perceived the photo of a navy colonel on the first page of a tabloid who has been prosecuted by his order and would be buried as a martyr that might be said to be forced to take with suicide* (a most respectable soldier, and one especially fond of American Democracy and tending to denounce the plot in the Black Sea) to be just in the act of attracting public opinion towards the opposite direction of their newly baked plot that should be effective from new center of black fascists-Trabzon to Izmir-a pompous antic city like princes of red fascism.
    * In Turkish Army, beginning from the year of 2008 eight officers has passed away in the same way!Orduda iki yılda 8 sır ölümün nedeni -
    Kuzey Deniz Saha Komutanlığı'nda kendi tabancasıyla intihar etti. ... "Son zamanlarda intihar eden subaylardan bir kısmı amirini ele vermemek için intihar ... - Önbellek
    “We are at the threshold of revolting against democracy and liberalism coming from the West,” he said, “ I would rather not have any general election for a new government could near to the EU or for the Democracy Opening new laws of the Turkish National Assembly, but, instead, a hot anti-imperialist war and KEMALİSM,” --the truth being that he wanted both but knew it to be useless to ask for two things at once, as intimidated people consisting of Pro-West Turkish and Kurdish Muslims did not fancy such tricks.
    “Oh, the fool shall have his military dictatorship,” the Pro-West Muslims reflected. “So much the better for us then, as we shall be able to demand DEMOCRACY OPENING from the international swindler FETHULLAH GULEN’s SECRET KEMALIST GANG imitating to oppose to the sheer KEMALISTS” Yes, Mr. ERDOĞAN who would, doubtless, dismay them!
    And duly the Pro-West Muslims swindled by the PM, and intimidated by the grand red general İLKER BAŞBUĞ threw their democracy and liberalism hopes out of their heads.
    İLKER BAŞBUĞ has donned before a navy uniform over his shirt not for politeness’ sake, and, seating himself at the head of the news of so called free media organs, poured out blasphemies on the West at the Black-Sea coasts before, got a couple of anti democracy proof ready, took a weapon called LAW into his hand, assumed an air of importance, and cut short the role of commander asunder described the weapon-nonetheless he used to make similar tricky definitions without his cheek blushing with lies-a big flute or something as the like. Then his head fell forth asleep and in his dream he glanced into the LAW’s middle. To his intense surprise he saw something bloody there. He probed it cautiously with his pointing finger then poked at it with a great tenderness.
    “Quite bloody it is!” he murmured. “What in the world is it likely to be?”
    He thrust in, this time, all his fingers, and pulled forth a lobule of the liver of a child who probably one of them who are still to be abducted regularly by red soldiers of Turkey Vulture and Iranian mullahs! (Now the author advice the reader to try and read about the TURCO-IRANIAN HOSPITAL viz. ‘The Heathen Children where is still performing organ trade of Kurdish and Judeo-Christian Children) His hands dropped to his sides for a moment. Then he rubbed his eyes hard. Then again he probed the thing. A bleeding lobule of a human’s liver! Really a particle thorn from a Kurdish Child no doubt! Yes, and one familiar to him, somehow! Oh, horror spread upon his feature! Yet that horror was a trifle compared with his ONE AND ONLY OPPONENTS-TARAF AND STV’s wrath.
    “You brutal thing!” one of them shouted frantically. “Where have you cut off that liver part? You villain, you! You drunkard! Why, I'll go and report you to the BRUSSELS myself. The brigand, you! Some secret witnesses have told ERGENEKON COURT already about your organ trading at the implantable organs of the Kurdish and Judeo-Christian children as you murdered their parent till they could hardly be neutral in the war between PKK terrorists and butcher red commanders of the Army.''
    But İLKER BAŞBUĞ was suffering neither from amnesia nor more idiocy than the red butchers under his command. This was the more the case because, sure enough, he had recognized the bleeding lobule. It was the thorn part of a Turkish Tomboy-MEHMETÇİK-killed by his own colleagues in his squad to make a black propaganda against Kurds; it was the liver chop of one of his soldiers whom he used to slaughter at times for the sake of deceiving the West and whom he was accustomed to chop before every Democracy Opening: weekly, monthly or so!
    “Stop, The NATO Gazette” at length he said. ``I'll wrap the thing in a clout, and lay it aside awhile, and take it away into the Turkish Army’s-or rather Junta’s- cosmic office rooms altogether later.''
    Then one of the army butchers’ opponents-The NATO Gazette replies:
    “But I won't hear of such a thing being done! As if I'm going to have a cut-off liver kicking about my beloved country! Oh, you old stick! Maybe you can just bomb your own Turkish Tomboys; but soon you'll be no good at all for the rest of your work. You dictator, you undereducated butcher, you bungler, you blockhead! Aye, I'll tell the WAR CRIMES COURT of you. Take it away, then. Take it away. Take it anywhere you like. Oh, that I'd never caught the abominable shape and odor of it!''

    After that odd dream İLKER BAŞBUĞ was dumbfounded. He thought and thought, but did find at last what to think. Yes he was very happy that Russia has kept its mute attitude before the bloodiest slaughters within the last ten years targeting at the Kurds or the Judeo-Christian minorities in Turkey.
    “The devil knows how it's happened,” he muttered, scratching one ear. “I see, I don't know for certain whether Putin or Medvedev came home drunk every night or not. But certainly things look as though something out of the way happened then, for Russian great civilization comes of East Europe, and a neutrality of something else altogether. Oh, I just can't make it out.”
    So he sat silent. At the thought that the KOÇ HOLDING-the presidium of The Second Soviet-Turkey Vulture might find the proper way in this case, and hinder Russians eternally to arrest the red admirals at the board of Turkish Potemkin which is to be assumed then to read LENINIST-KEMALİST Manifesto against the Global Democracy and Liberalism in the Black Sea, he felt frantic. Yes, already he could see the red collar with the smart silver braiding – and the Russian sword stopped just at the time of falling at the necks of Turkish quasi red generals! He shuddered from head to foot.
    But at last he got out, and donned SAT Commando uniform and boots, wrapped the Turkish Potemkin Plan in a file NEITHER WET nor DRY*, and departed amid The NATO Gazette’s forcible abjurations.
    * Taraf Gazetesi | Elif Çakır - Yaş mı da kuru mu, imza durumu!
    ... haberi ilk duyduğumda, zihnimde İlker Başbuğ'un fotoğrafı canlanırken. ... Şimdi bu “ıslak” imza YAŞ'a gelecek mi, yoksa yaş tahtaya basmak deyimi de ... - Önbellek

    The Second Soviet’s red Generals one idea was to rid them of the FEAR OF RUSSIA’S PROBABLE ATTITUDE after they manifest the BIRTH OF NEW STALINIST-KEMALIST- REGIME in The Black Sea, and return quietly the notorious Headquarter of The Turkish General Staff to give last touches to the KEMALIST REVOLUTION-to do so either by throwing their fear into the gutter in front of the gate of their Highest Military Headquarter! Yet, unfortunately, they kept meeting friends-like FATIH ALTAYLI, and they kept saying to them: “Where are you off to?” or “Whom have you arranged to threaten today?'' until seizure of a fitting moment to get in touch with Russians directly became impossible. Once, true, they did succeed in dropping their great fear of Russia, but no sooner had they done so than a constable pointed at him with his truncheon, and shouted: “Pick it up again! You've lost something,” and they perforce had to take the FEAR into their possession once more, and stuff it into a file under the roof of their actually famous Cosmic Rooms where they been lastly caught red handed through the files planning to murder new Jew Businessmen like UZEYIR GARIH. Meanwhile their desperation grew in proportion as more and more booths and the world diplomatic centers opened for new debates, and more and more witty people appeared in the political affairs concerning the Turkish Red Generals’ collaboration with Iranian Mullahs to whom The RUSSIA would approach with huge reserves.
    At last they decided that they would go to IRAN, and throw the FEAR OF RUSSIA, if they could, into the NUKE PERSIA’S Atomic Brace. But here let me confess my fault in not having said more about the commander of the 3.Army-General SALDIRAY BERK, the most active accomplice of the Iranian Mullahs himself, one the greatest red generals estimable in more respects than others.
    Like every terrible KEMALIST Red General, SALDIRAY BERK was a terrible enemy of the both East and west EUROPEANS. Daily he shaved his chin with the razors improved by Judeo-Christians, but always his own enmity was unchanged, and his ideology (he never quitted the KEMALIST motto that says The Turk is the senior of all European People) namely Anti Semitic, Anti-American, Anti Russian character black and red in its blood stinking depths that hides the aids from Turkey to the Islamist terrorist in Chechnya, thickly immoral arm struggling to Al-Qaeda spotted with reddish, brownish-yellowish stains blood of American Marines in Iraq! But, with that, SALDIRAY BERK was a great cynic like his boss. Whenever fake secular Turkish big media was being briefed, and said to his patron Major general BAŞBUĞ, according to KEMALIST custom: “Our Pasha, your hands do clandestinely very good things against the imperialist Europeans!” he would retort: “But why should not they betray Russians as ATATÜRK sold all Europeans down the river in history ?” and, when the KEMALIST JOURNALISTS had replied: ``Really I do not know, our PASHA, but at all events they do,” took a sniff from his hashish based special capsules which he would define as an ordinary analgesics as he defined the LAW an ordinary big flute, and would provide them with an rhetorical of the greatest ideology-KEMALISM at his good will and pleasure!
    So the worthy journalists stood on banks of the General Staff’s Hall, and looked about him. Then, leaning over the desk, he feigned to be trying to see if any cockroach were passing underneath. Then gently he would end his anti-humanitarian discourse implying that the powerful IRAN could help Turkey to sustain the black-red fascism of KEMALIST ideology.
    At once ten tons-weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders when it’s announced that the notorious commander of Turkish 3.Army near to the Iranian borders have started the military exercises to show the capacity of his army in helping IRAN there had occurred any war between the Judeo-Christians and Iran. Actually they smiled! But, instead of departing, next, to take the second step toward alliance with IRAN against the EUROPEAN, they bethought them of making for a certain secret state establishment inscribed “Army, The Party in Power-AKP, and all of the opposition parties CHP, MHP, and even BDP” that they might create there the annihilating hit to the Europeans (including Russians and Americans) as a last-fatal boxing on the ear of civilization against which the genius culprit of them AHMET DAVUTOĞLU who has been the greatest expert in beguiling the innocent Judeo-Christians.
    Then the dream of the author has begun:
    Suddenly they sighted a constable standing at the end of their way, a constable of smart appearance and named Turkish Solzhenitsyn, with a universal pen complete. Oh, the red generals of the Second Soviet-turkey Vulture could have fainted! Then the civilization’s constable-Turkish Solzhenitsyn viz. Prof. MES, beckoning with a finger, cried:
    “Nay, our ignoble red generals… Come here.”
    The Red Generals, knowing the proprieties, pulled off their caps at quite a distance away, advanced quickly, and said:
    “We wish your Excellency the best of health.”
    “No, no! None of those you would call ‘your Excellencies,’ brothers. Come and tell me what you have been doing on the highway bridging Iran to Turkey.”
    “Before God of Russians and Americans, sir, we were crossing it on our way to some customers buying our KOÇ HOLDING’s tin cars when we peeped to see if there was any Mullah jumping with joy.”
    ``You’re lying, brother! You lie as you are to do always! You won't get out of it like that. Be so good as to answer me truthfully.''
    “Oh, twice a week in future we'll pay EUROPEANS double the interests of the loans they gave us in the past for nothing. Aye, or even three times a week...”
    ``No, no, friends. That is rubbish. Already they've got three or several many times purpose, and all of them account it only a justice. Now, tell me, I ask again, what you have just been doing?''
    This made the red generals blanch, and they confessed the living thought father of anti-European KEMALİST ideology: TURGUT ÖZAKMAN who has been paid 8 million dollars by Turkish General Staff and he has managed to organize a media gang (which consists of İLHAN SELÇUK, UĞUR DÜNDAR, NURİ ÇOLAKOĞLU, MR. MRS GİRİTLİOĞLU, BİLA brothers and CAN ATAKLI) to construct strong ties with Iranian Mullahs and Turkish red generals
    Further events here become clearly in the Turkish GLASNOST called ERGENEKON trial. What happened after that won’t be unknown to all men.
    “The Red General SALDIRAY BERK and the Iranian Agent-M”
    (Attention please: The Turkish Shiite Commander of 3.Army-KEMALIST General SALDIRAY BERK is actually in touch still with Iranian Mullahs’ agents within some procedure organized by ERGENEKON terror groups in ERZİNCAN)
    General BERK of the commander of the Third Army, meeting with an agent trying to make Turkish Generals astray from the fold, resolved not to inject violent intentions in their brains directly, but to find some plea to justify to Turkish Army Iran's right to eat Europeans. He thus addressed him: “SIRRAH, last hundred years Russians and Americans grossly insulted both of us.” "Indeed," bleated the KEMALIST sheep-The red general, in a mournful tone of voice, "I was not then born a hundred year before.” “Then” said the Iranian Agent, “the Judeo-Christians devoured the natural richness in your country, and ATATURK had given an anti-imperialistic war against them!” “Good sir,” replied the red sheep general, “We Turks have not yet tasted our borate or other rich mines.” Again said the Iranian Agent, “Let not them to drink of petroleum well in the Middle East." "No," exclaimed the red sheep general, “We Turks never yet even only one milliliter of gasoline, for as yet our Azerbaijani Brothers’ natural gas is both borate and gasoline to us." Upon which the TURGUT OZAKMAN’s book the CRAZY TURKS came to the mind of both red sheep general and the Iranian Agent, and seized the consciousness of the sheep and opened the 3.Army to be eaten up by Iranian Mullahs through the black-red nationalist or would be anti-imperialist and anti-European propaganda saying, “Well! We KEMALIST TURKS and Iranians won't remain without supper, even though The Pro-West Turkish and Kurdish Muslims refute every one of our imputations. The tyrants i.e. the red generals in Turkey and the Mullahs in Iran will always find a pretext for their tyranny.”

    Having come to the end of the pamphlet I called our NGO's "Madame la Secretaire générale" up by my mobile.
    -"Hello Prof M. SOLZHENITSOF is speaking"
    -Hi Prof. MES! I'm Lucerne-She answers to Lucerne-at the other wire of the wireless, even mobile- phone, ha-ha.

    A witty lady-as far as I know one of my lovers-who as if she were entered onto an inside-out NGO Projects as general secretary sometimes show her at the basics of the aid operations. One could feel at her answer to the phone she had got the love sufferings deeply, in fact even like the Islamic Terror State (IS) fell flat around Kurdish city KOBANI!Instead of her age-fifty years odd was she-she has not got a feature representing an empty, old face, the sort that is a natural start for all famous secretaries. She would speak very quickly, her approach too might be sensed as keen. Regretfully she hadn't any mother although her mom was alive and living with her for her seventy years old mother seemed as her elder sister because within the interval between seventy and fifty years of the age of a mom and her daughter should seem so while at the beginning of daughters' adolescence every girl would give the appearance of a child beside the mother.
    If there were not be any report-concerning the loyalty to the European Soul shown by the greatest majority-The Pro NATO Kurdish and Turkish Muslims- from my side there would have been nothing as a particular changeability induced parts of speech through the no shifting highlights and depths of her lovable feelings she has been carrying with while fallen in love with me. The mobile phone connection between those of ours began emanating parasites. -"Madam Lucerne, I'm not able to hear you just now."
    -"Mr. MES I'm afraid I have lost your voice a little while ago!"
    -"Yes, it was so before a while..."
    -"And yet it is not so now"
    As it could be appreciated from the point of view we all used to live the time is nothing but it might be sensed as everything. Similar to the appearance based relativity too much actually downright I might be accepted as the son of my mother the mom shall be seeming as my elder sister between the age critical interval between fifty-of mine-and seventy-of hers- in the future.

    The great surprise to me the dialog mixed with ours-I mean that of madam Lucerne and mine-was going on as below:


    Q-Who dared and managed to kill The USA in Turkey?
    A-American ex-Ambassador RICCIARDIONE and his culprits namely The Red KEMALIST KOC Holding and The Dirty Green KEMALIST Gang of F.GULEN!
    Q-Do you know anything about the friendship of ex-American Ambassador-RICCIARDONE with ANANAS (Pineapple) Brethren with KOC Family, F.GULEN and the like?
    A-Absolutely! They've reigned together over a huge money named Pineapple viz. ANANAS (Search for ANANAS and see in GOOGLE please)
    Q-Any proof to enlighten the murder?
    Postmodern sömürgecilik – Ali Bulaç (Zaman)
    Batı dünyası ise bencil çıkarları, mevcut refahının devamı uğruna herkesin insanca yaşayabileceği bir uluslararası düzenin kurulmasına yanaşmıyor; üstü örtülü bir ‘kültürel ırkçılık’ta ısrar ediyor, ben-merkezci davranma alışkanlığından vazgeçmiyor ve buna bağlı olarak Batı-dışı dünyaya saygı göstermiyor; saygı göstermediği gibi gerektiğinde ülkeleri işgal edip tabii kaynaklarına ve zenginliklerine el koymaktan çekinmiyor. Irak’ı işgal ederken öne sürdüğü gerekçelerin tümünün uydurma olduğunu bizzat işgalcilerin kendisi itiraf etti. Amerika ve şimdi NATO 10 senedir Afganistan’ı işgal etmiş bulunuyor,
    A-(resolutely) One can hold it through the lines of F.GULEN Gang's thinker-A.BULAÇ who has reached the climax in his secret Anti-USA religion as long as he could do.
    Q-Should The USA need to worry?
    A- I would tell yes if the embedded Anti American agents of F.GULEN Gang could not find the courage to swear The USA hiding under the umbrella of illiterate,, innumerate, golden heart but non witty TAYYIP ERDOGAN
    Size önceki gün Curacao Adası'ndan bahsetmiştim. Dünya uyuşturucu parasının aklandığı ...

    In spite of the breaking flashes gushing from the conversation mingled with us-it's not chancy but a natural casualty of the legal crimes of the Ayatollah F.GULEN Gang's security forces charged with spying through telephone lines- interrupted that of ours directed to stop immediately, and to put an end to my forensic detective mission scrutinizing the slaughtered Judeo-Christians and either the children of theirs or-near or far, of sanguinity by marriage-relatives'' children. Madam general secretary of the NGO-I work for-made her points delicately:
    -"Recite-very loudly The Eulogy narrating the American hero Major General ODIERNO's sacks and leave the region quickly whereof Pushkin's favourite city-Erzurum should the centre:

    Soon After I was back to mine familiar Hotel in Erzurum. After having learnt my intention the receptionist asked me:
    -“Are you going to leave here immediately?”
    I answered him with the abovementioned poem:


    One minute towards the doom in Iraq
    They were awakened by the noise of the boots of the Crook
    Namely red and black fascists
    Who-on the contrary to The New Mesopotamians- hate nitches!
    Great Raymond knew from the beginning of The Iraq War
    That the enemies of the USA and its allies were
    The enemies of Democracy as well
    While are ringing the doom’s bell,
    While the assassins
    Would symbolize the body of all sins
    Who had also intended to assassinate the Kurds that have been
    Praying and thinking freely…
    After the Saddam’s regime has been done away with by the
    God’s Great Servants like General ODIERNO
    That opened the windows of freedom in thinking and praying to
    All living bodies in The Middle-East
    To all men in the street!
    The Pro-West Kurdish Muslims to survive for ever
    Were just at the brink of a time calling for the doctor,
    Came ODIERNO having had his rescuing sword
    To cut the bars that imprisoned liberties one after the other in an accord!

    The fascists left their attitudes to harass The Northern Iraq,
    And, following the instructions of God’s servant not using sword yet only the sack
    Suddenly fled behind the heaps of dung…
    He pulled out from his helmet his identification quality
    Presented it gingerly to black and red fascists, who quitted enmity
    On the spot!
    Great General Raymond standing at the head of his army held the liberty’s light.
    In modesty had never turned his back to humanitarian style.
    He helped immediately over problem induced points always in a while!

    Returning to the text that took a role of presenting a summary to introduce The Bosporus Soviet seemed to me that at a sudden speech a bit of truth flew out of the mouth of the Parallel Polices of F. GULEN who has been listening-illegally of course-my semi official telephone connexion to Madam General Secretary. Was it bothering me over the questions and answers above? NOP! If it’s bothering me or perhaps making the reader to give up going on with reading my novel, I should give up carrying on with writing anymore, but otherwise I’d rather stay here in The LNF, not for I was tired but feeling refreshed. The reader should observe the particular nature of my inspiration, in which I, as the detective-in the case of searching for the traces of Judeo Christian little children abducted by the crooks defined through the poem you've just met with above and I should be the one to be detected, now might go to sleep at the midnight.
    In the morning I found myself who could only bear the thought of returning to my house in the actual capital of The Bosporus Soviet State, for the forensic detective adventure of mine exceeded all that planned before.
    Could it be any chance that I could do anyhow for this particular work.
    Having heard such questions and answers I found the things in such a good order as If I could write down all reports ad hoc my mission true, honest, and accurate instead having been written at random!


    Flying towards the Bosporus I looked out the window adjacent to my place in the plane, and found everything being already perfected instead of my- brave yet fruitless-mission that has not completed formally . When I tried to get out of the plane at the airport, I simply felt myself reborn. There’s a very simple reason for this: my peerless darling-DAMLA. Being a very young and cute girl-as I would have mentioned before she should be, around, eighteen year old-she has the power of The Female's pink paint virtue, and, she could make me happy when I am completely overworked.

    (Dating and Regime)

    Not by The Ethnic Cleansing Programme of the Bosporus Soviet State but by main work of The Male viz. The Female. Women have an innocent share in men in that main work only in that if we would not have to go near to them, we could live calmly for our other works and would not have to spend twenty four hours within their spectrum daily, which especially at the week-ends and weekdays should afflict us to a degree S. Freud couldn’t imagine, since we all full of our own affairs.

    Notwithstanding at the end the way to reach my present darling and future spouse-DAMLA would be known perfectly well that we shouldn't get married and those expletives of this novel were empty words. I was guilty from that point of view but that the girl had nothing as clear and most justified claims against me. But for both of us in particular it was a terrible double life, from which there is no way out but losing the best partners if not spouses.
    And yet I saw my wife's face in good morning light and surely would not fall in suspicion whether that woman should be my eternal spouse-DAMLA or not. If -yes-if the face I saw in the broad daylight were not of hers, and if I had not loved her a my sweet heart with whom I have got married. At that point let me give my consent to the acceptance whereof unchangeable truth would be that in the occupied metropolis as Constantinople could offer one only one's unique love-The Prototype Female of Istanbul and this database might be sufficient to force us calling Constantinople as Istanbul.

    Briefly it must be remarked that the prototype Female of Istanbul would abstain from being together in the bed, and be glued to The Male first in bed then everywhere. Besides its unendurable disturbing effect at home it would be boring to death in the street while going to the office.
    So I dare say all marriages in Istanbul have got the potentiality to make The Male a disease of dizziness to be defined both in abstract and concrete terms...So here you are the disaster of being exceedingly embraced, and it's a sickness to be reported immediately.


    Resuming the remarkable points about The Female in Istanbul my novel ought to be ruminating some findings and instructions which teach us-or rather reminding us of-basic reactions that could be introduced for empiric or tentative arguments.
    Of impulses, inhibitions, exciting powers, endurable or unendurable shocks tracing the path from ear to brain Those factors rigged with the considerations concerning my empty-head, vertigo, and loss of appetite.

    One could find, as an aside, the patients are-first of all-very eager about walking in the speed or rather in their private rhythm of a non-ataxia and free walk of theirs. A useless desire compared to the serious and psychology resistant slowness in walking thereupon another dominant symptom namely to be in need of help while, especially, crossing the traffic lights on foot. For these silent victims whose way of life endlessly would deceive them over directing them to keep the silence. After deciding to give all of them a pharmaceutical production a day-approximately one and half hours after the breakfast-for a week or so, and urged them to shout in convenient places like studios designed for sound recording or in the open air, say, in moors etc. I didn't force them to recognize their misdeeds, and yet, to approve the actions of The People who are apt to shout to whom their voice could give a good massage of some hertz while they listened their own sound through the ear to the frontal lobe. Inasmuch as all the cases in this study would not speak aloud even if the others' voice should harass their taking an offense at route in which a physiologist could trace the labyrinth from the ear to the-abovementioned-auditory cortex. Even after the drug therapy sound massages over one's own shouting will continue.
    Maybe all the readers shall begin to think that the socio-medical reports of mine shouldn't be appreciated until the speculation smelling considerations tuned into scientifically true and they will go to the past when they hadn't got acquaintance with my L'école de litterature , and when the first thing they might hear from my side will be that I want them out of the candidates wishing to be spouses' division. I mean that after the honey moon The Female and The Male would change their deceiving positions to live the **** Years following that moon of honey! Then in the theatre of marriage to put on the Istanbul scene The Male could save mental health only over shouting on a subject that The Female couldn't find anything worth to be interested in...

    Annex of the scientific report

    (Over which I kept my health in good condition...)

    l supposed once-after oppressed by my wife to be silent involuntarily-that I'm a series of a one act of play whereof tickets would be always sold out and the play shouldn't be one act actually: "The Male after The Female", "The Male before The Female", "The Male against The Female", and "The Cat, The Male, and The Female and the like.

    I was one of the citizens who paid a good sum for the ticket and managed to sit in the balcony, and playing my part as being too good an actor without making too much noise as The famous Russian ballets. In the time being I pondered DE PROFUNDIS and asked myself the reason of my very hazardous silence. Nonetheless the answer of my question was simple!

    First of all why is it hazardous more than dangerous? It must be so because if the husband cannot say anything to the wife-too much garrulous-and must keep silence for several times he has no tears in his eyes as the wife could do easily. The end of the first act ought to be dotted with dizziness when the male's and the female’s eyes cannot meet with each other. Basically if the husband is not able to talk with his wife humanly on the social disasters-say nothing of the inertia The Female of Istanbul would nourish in sharing the same ache about the events-like 6/7 September 1955 incidents-he suffers from vertigo. In those horrific events the Turco-Islamic pseudo heroes stepped out the mosque door, through which something is visible that can be nothing else but a big provocation. In this act the minorities-The Jews, The Armenians, and The Greeks-tasted horror if not terror and fled Istanbul. it goes to the heart, The Cat of an Armenian family would survive hiding on the top of the old, lonely woods escaping from the awful corners of Istanbul full of wasted materials from hygienic pads of Istanbul's women to the cocktail of phlegm of hard Turkish smokers... Everything would be mournful and dark for the cat and its kits.

    Come on now! I'll be back in the next paragraph to narrate the carnage of the owners of that cat namely the members of the Armenian Family fled-in the ominous date viz. 6/7 September 1955-their beloved city called Istanbul. And yet before entering some aching details let me remind you of...err... The Genealogical Tree of the cat in the story:

    Big Daddy: Grand Father. Black in colour
    Yellowish Daddy: Crying Father-Charlemagne (Crying after Female Cats
    he lost.)
    Grand Mother: Black in Colour
    Quick Coffee: The Elder Daughter of The Grand Mom.
    Timid Girl: Quick Coffee's sister.
    Fatty Wrestler: The little brother of Timid Girl
    Little Yellow: The son of Timid Girl.
    Caw Hunter: Clever baby of Quick Coffee.
    Miniature Surgeon and Little Quick Coffee
    Smoke The Male: The Magnate or the big uncle of the family
    Female-The Grey: Big Aunt
    Big Black Bride Grooms: He-cats, like Uncle by the side of grand mom,
    Grape eyed: The unique bride of the family
    Gray Bear and Orange The Boxer: The great grand sons
    Singer Dad: the father in law of The gray Bear.
    Little Quick Coffee: A very nice girl-cat!
    The Saudi: the most athletic lad cat of the family!

    For the time being everybody would like the name of the cat that is on the street just now. From the act on the climax of the catastrophic tale of the Armenian Family of which home hosted the great grand moms and dad of Violet-the lady cat-yes her name is Violet; would you enjoy it?-that is going on to live in a certain street of The Bosporus Soviet State having beguiled The USA for several decades, and the lanes open to that street lonely and too much timidly , as if there were an enemy behind it. In those narrow lanes only one track could be inching towards its destination...There is a bus stop near to the old Armenian estate 40 meters far from the bus stop at the street, where I would stay to talk with the well known veteran barber of the district who could remember the doomsday of the Armenian owners of that I should like to caress her smoky back silky yet soiled. The barber does know the addresses of all Armenians who had been kicked on face, ribs, and even on eyes to death in order to force them to flee Istanbul. And the barber of the aged neighbourhood could remember the bad day The Armenian Family should run away crying for help in vain, and the very barber's bitter memoir apropos that calamity might awake every reader about the crime against the humanity. The pregnant young women would be giving birth to her 34 weeks old foetus whose umbilical cord should be cut at that moment on the pavement by the gold heart barber I talked with.

    Family members' panic, fear, and tears would be another side of the calamity that none but the cat that of the survived stock could feel only beside the mute historian who would know everything in this case but shouldn't speak. Nevertheless they might, at least, explain that they couldn't be in silence forever. All in all I would rather give the barber's address for having got information to go to the last ethnic cleansing lived in Istanbul in 1955 whereby there should be plenty of security forces resting around, all in uniforms of surprising cleanness, yes surprising, since otherwise they should have given the security service for all in trying to disperse the bloody mop on the streets of Istanbul-The Capital city of the second Soviet.
    The actual intentions of people who rush into the streets and the roads, lanes etc opening to them in the early hours of the days of 6/7 September 1955 were to be completely clear to me and to the cat if we lived inside it,

    Even if one should look for new witnesses from whom one could obtain some more information about the 1955 Cataclysm in Istanbul one surely have to use symbolically the tram of PERA since the distances between the addresses showing where they might be abiding after survival are too great. But if one could make changes from metro to Bosporus tube channel in the town after hard attempts to change the mess transporters including the sea busses, then of course there should be no distance and no reason to hurry. And yet people stretching their legs while resting on banks in central square surrounding Turkish which is no larger than that of a village thereby to run after the wheels and boats. whereof the Jewish and Greek survivors of the old city might not make it still smaller in its immediate size!

    I have noticed from the corner-I stood-displaying of the shop windows twice as older than the grandpa of the last Armenian Family as they'd be being seen still. Decided to obtain more information, I changed some words with the well experienced-at least seeming so-artisans around.
    Returning to the tree used as its new house by the cat I met with a man selling paper handkerchiefs and salute him:
    I-Salute good veteran! (He was standing in the middle of the pavement with his light goods. His face appeared peering around the edge vicinity or the frame of his trade hinterland. He might crouch on a convenient place outside it. His eyes glare with hatred as he watches the passers by taking to heels without buying anything. When he heard my salutation he started to cough, as if frightened by the noise I have made, and hold a package of the white, soft handkerchiefs over his mouth.)
    He-Salute young man!
    I-Good uncle vendor, where is your home? (He turned to himself and spoke rapidly in low tones. Then addressed to me)
    He-Here, boy. (He takes a large roll of paper handkerchiefs out of his gross sack) This is my cushion and the street corners are my home.
    I-(Forcing him into blues as he would start to remonstrate a lot) Talk uncle vendor, it's good for morality to listen to you! I have got time to hearken your briefing.
    He-Take it as a limitless love story in which there shall be no FEMALE nor MALE or rather an ordinary man. I love pavements as the most swindler but the greatest Turkish Poet NFK written too much yet it’s all perceived as I got with me. I need streets and pavement. There’s plenty more pavements waiting for me around. Will this be enough to get you and the friends out of here just.
    I-(My face was convulsed greedily.) Don't go any other place out these pavements to get rid of that cough. I'm ready to share your outdoor memos!
    He-(Laughing) I have got none and I can’t call any to exist for you. You are too good to salute me already instead you can feel how rotten I am.
    I(suddenly taking him in his right hand and kissing it very respectfully) That’s how rotten I think you are. You the most innocent citizen tortured by The Bosporus Soviet State I’ve ever met, see? (He looked into my eyes. All in all after a while the hardness of my expression has vanished. His face turned to be touched rather than soft that is peculiar to street vendors looking like a Pakistani bus colored is a spectrum consisting both far violet based scarlet and red induced blues both, and figured through several ellipsoids, circles, cubes tiled on upon the other to create a human we call the duality of both reason and emotion)
    He-(Throwing his arms around his sack) Boy, boy, haven't you been taught in the school that the most splendid sightseeing sessions could be watched over the human features best!

    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 02-08-2015 at 07:50 AM.

  14. #224
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
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    Oct 2011
    Constantinople/The European District
    (Dating and Regime)

    After my saying "goodbye" the that respectful man we parted from there.
    Having had the decision, during which I often remained standing without any motion everywhere or nowhere at all times of day to. those pavements seemed so inviting to me, the cat's home tree so exciting. Only here and there did I feel the connection between the world and that street vendor, it was so strongly affecting. As all forsakenness induces a warmth in meeting again, soon I felt that happiness I should owe to the street vendor as well, and once stepped inside the life story of his that could be summarised within a single syllable-ARGH, while being just one second before to see the interior of his life.

    I-(Going over to the exiled Armenian family's cat) Sounds as if somebody is sneaking up the climaxes of the mountains around the Ararat-the chief of them.. (He tiptoes quickly over to me and saluted me.)
    He-We ought to give up the ethnic minorities' catastrophe while we got a chance. Let's don’t let them to get us.
    I-Welcome Kurdish uncle vendor. Isn't it the time to produce an outcome from the matter as soon as we can do it?. (I kissed his hand again as I did several times before and went on quickly to force him to tell something about the Jews fled their motherland after the Bosporus Soviet State had been manifested as an independent state from the ruined Ottoman Empire. He too tried to pull back his hand again...)
    He-So long boy! We may carry on with this subject (Blinking me sardonically he took to his heels in a frantic way )

    Since forensic detections aren’t needed there, his behaviours seemed almost more suffering under the oppression of the terrorist state than making a bit of comical mimics in city streets As an aside there might be an old lady who should not with meaningless gestures under the mist of the economy lights put on in the early dusk of seasonal evenings. Besides evenly friendship displays may irritate old gentlemen too...

    It reminded me of the dialogue with a Greek artist-living still in Istanbul-6/7 September 1955 incidents or rather the last ethnic cleansing was to be the beginning of the most awful attacks planned to annihilate rest of the Jews in the third millennium. The artist, refusing my too much detailed questions, pulled the least foreseeing from his intelligent potentiality I could obtain out from the witty display over his feature (he was rationally conscious of its existence o his face), and handed it to me. It was surprising that he has had prophecy to make everybody to noticed the ethnic cleansing-lived in The Bosporus Soviet State-attentively that there should be both the party in power and the opposition parties behind the icy design (of course he had seen it earlier) of that state of terror..

    I-after some mental attempts to remember the highlights from the dialogue the Greek Artist and I have shared over cup of cokes at that time-I have been able to pour the words of his and mine on the paper.
    Here you are those interesting points we filled in a short, limited time:
    The Greek Artist- Do you think that the sophisticated parts-on the scene of GEZI Park walking of the protesters-played by main terror cells should have been spent in vain?
    I-(Having got some wagons of words each of them calling another into my susceptible mind) First of all let me know whether the danger falling down or climbing to the climax?
    The Greek Artist-(his eyes glazing) Good young chap ethnic cleansing plans of The Bosporus Soviet State as you call is about climb to the most evil mountain , and Istanbul shall get rid of non-Muslim ethnic minorities through biological war. (He coughed.)
    I-(Requesting him to give the most critical detail) My wit leads me to ask the biological agent they are planning to use. Has The Bosporus Soviet State got any microbiological reservoirs to fall back in need?
    The Greek Artist-NOP! They need not any reservoir while the big majority of the Muslims living in Istanbul are the porter of shigellosis.
    I-(Looking for the nearest position beside him to be able in catching on the meaning of the words.)Which minister clutch the key to open the door for n shigellosis burst epidemically? And what about the well known anti-biotic drugs as sulfonamides to stop that sort of epidemics?
    The Greek Artist-Halt there! Turkish minister of Health banned their usage on purpose. There are several agents of FETHULLAH GULEN working at that ministry and they beguiled pitiful TAYYIP ERDOGAN Party-AK- to vouch that ban!

    I-(Stared straight as the little kids astonished in the dream would do before him and repeated the same phrase in tones of horrible monotony) The Sulfonamides are banned . Oh GAWD, GAWED, GAWED! (The sound of people walking, promenading or running to and fro in the street might be heard. A voice shouted: “Istanbul is full of Shigellosis porters, BACTRIM, CIPRO and the like must be found in every Apothecary here.” A police car has stopped near us but the policemen in it were not the government's police. Out of the car rushed the well armed and neatly uniformed guards of Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN and three of them drew near to us. We shouldn't be afraid of them for we could be sure that instead of his naivety The President's policemen viz. the genuine ones should be somewhere to help us. Essentially one of them run towards the place where we stood and the vagrants in uniform broke away. The Greek Artist and several passersby stood still looking in with frightened faces.)
    The Greek Artist-(Looking to my eyes directly and, taking my arm as if he would haul the others to where they came from) Come, let's leave the matter to come to an end! (Two plain clothed citizens would take one look at each other in bewilderment. And The Greek Artist and those exclaimed together) Turkish Ayatollah F.GULEN in Pennsylvania is a very dangerous Green Maoist chief cleric and he is able to control every corner in Turkey!
    I-As I told you before The Bosporus Soviet State is like an octopus of which different arms in various colors. For instance being not aware of each other being in green-as Jihadists-in red-as KEMALIST/Stalinist or in black-as fascists-giving the same service here to the same Soviet type secret state that is after the last ethnic cleansing in Istanbul.
    Plain Clothed Man-(picking out a piece of paper from his inside pocket off ) I didn’t think Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN might have been so much cute as putting his teachers in African Turkish Schools in charge of observing the little black children's sickness, accidents, and other health problems for gaining enough time to carry them to the health centers controlled by F.GULEN Islamic Gang they would stick around there wherein the surgeons of F. GULEN Gang could steal one of the kidneys of the kids in hazardous conditions of health. (Turning suddenly to me) What did you find as forensic documents about this crook Islamic leader or rather charlatan as Turkish president would qualify him for his domestic criminal sins? (Sardonically) A little hearth affair, eh? But you should know that he is a passive homosexual where of I dare not utter a single word. His sin cannot be seen over his homosexuality yet he seduced very young followers of his-under the age of 18 years old- to go to bed with him...
    I-(Catching on the roll of statements in his speech and grabbing his hand quickly to shake it ) You have enlightened all of us here! Maybe you are a little citizens here attending to the intervention of The Bosporus Soviet State which wouldn't be its business, all right.
    The Greek Artist-This gang state gives a frisk before we had a chance to make analyzing about it. (To plain clothed citizen in a loud tone) We'd understand better why it did away with the minorities? It was for this soil the motherland of Greeks, Armenians, Jews, Kurds and even non immoral Ottomans wasn’t it?

    Thanks to god my detective like remarks The Greek Artist gradually realized the position he is in. His expression becomes one of risky talks as he saw the people in the street might think he was guilty of spying for would like to help me in enlightening the murders of the Bosporus Soviet State. He, then spoke in an incongruous way, trying to hold himself in control.

    Plain Clothed Man-(Resuming) Honest to GOD, you shouldn't be afraid of talking plainly for did nothing evil but The Secret Soviet State here. It gave us a bit of bone-in arbitrary proportions-small or big bone yet to every citizens to gnaw and to shut up.... As for the political murders-whereof a great parts would be the lot of minorities-none could claim someone shot the victims like Kurdish or Jewish ones while hunting in the forests even if The Bosporus Soviet State had killed the trees as well.(Then everything seemed quite simply as if all had been explained beyond its truth) Why, I loved him.
    I- Don't halt please, abruptly, on this point. (Turning my sparkling eyes to the crowd encircling us) Stop making noise!) What's got us together is looking for the truth, only truth.
    A Male Adolescent from the crowd- Only truth? Boobs?
    The Greek Artist-Our dignity ain’t even open to pranks sonny! And learn that the heart of The Female ain’t be open to be broken.
    The Male Adolescent-The Female gave you something, eh? And then you give a start to advocate their excessive rights, I suppose? Aw say, uncle artist, what did you take from the ladies?
    The Greek Artist-(Losing all control as if he would throw himself at his young rival) Hey citizens! For the love of The God speak to him. Tell him that I didn’t say it for anything...
    The Adolescent- Hey citizens tell him that we shouldn't give The Male without having been paid by them... I mean not only dollars but their boxes which are worthier than every precious things!
    I-(Turning to the young, indecent people fiercely)explain to me just now, eh? What do you mean with that dirty innuendo needing to be defined by "YUH" so talk and make us to know the meaning of "The Box of The Female“
    The Adolescent-Take the Greek Artist whom is-regretfully- well known and get rid of that Christian first then I'll tell everybody the meaning of the box of the female!
    I-I tell you the rough speaker, speak again just now, and explain the people around us the meaning of that damned word namely "the box"!
    The Adolescent- Don't you know that it means the productive organ of a woman. (Smiling in the gestures of all villain persons) Didn't you like it as our nation's men who loves that very word, eh?
    I-Young man that I wanted to help you get away from this clean place which deserves clean words.
    The Greek Artist-(To me)Tell him that he insulted me.
    I-This kind of personalities cannot think they could tease somebody with empty words... They don’t know they might insult you.
    The Greek Artist-For the love of God speak to him. (coughing bitterly) Oh God, why did he break my heart, why don’t anybody speak to him?
    The Plain Clothed Man-(Sneeringly looking into my eyes) Hey novel writer you don't know proper English. I'm not plain ought learn the very term-Plain Clothes, and I'm-obligatorily-the plainclothes here!
    I-That’s a good lesson but it won’t be learned by anybody. (Turning to the Greek Artist)Hey singer let him be forgiven. He looks to me as if this lad is full of hashish.
    I-(To the all sides)You better hold everything to hurt manners off!

    (To whom concerned: if there were a special station in Istanbul to observe the abnormal behaviors of The Male before The Female and the words they'd spend behind them there should have been a duty of ethics to make a report about the upshots of our subject. I mean in Istanbul the trends of Turco-Islamic teams too much keen or paid too much by The Bosporus Soviet State in the way of ethnic cleansing sceneries as realized in 6/7 September 1955 are to be found in the correlation of sex induced harshness, intolerance, lack of love, and to be hunger for the construction in the desirable and well civilized relationship between The Male and The Female. I’ll touch this matter here and there at times to keep the main theme of my novel on the room vertex. Therefore I’m sick of listening non-classified discourse fragments and some sobbing or swearing stuff pushed into discrimination trends by The Bosporus Soviet State my intention regarding the matter would tend touching this.)


    Rest Of The Dialogues

    The Greek Artist-(Wildly protesting) But I tell everybody I didn’t get anything from any lady for trying to protect the rights of The Female! This queer young person must have been misinformed about me or rather about being able to look at the ladies from the window of civilization.
    I-Our dear, even, milord singer. Why are you speaking in such aloud tone? Can’t you believe me that everybody trust you here?( But just when I was to swear I stopped appalling under the oppression of the unbelieving sneers of the people around, by the mask like faces behind the shop-windows gazing at the Greek Singer with dubious mimics.)
    The Greek Artist-One from The Europe may read their suspicion regarding all ladies. Strange to say these people are ready to witness the guilt of every ladies in every eye of The Female. So we must realize the futility of protesting solely ethnic cleansing history of Istanbul or maddening hopelessness of it the latent ethnic discrimination liability of the man in the street exploited by The Bosporus Soviet State while the Women Rights are still crying for help in this city...
    A Voice From The Crowd-He noticed it for the first time and would protest it before to go in to the inn to soothe his heart. And yet The Bosporus Soviet State keeps a tight hold of our arms and legs so we neither are to protest it vigorously nor to keep away its venomous atmosphere. He speaks words of tenderness to the adolescent in furious, mechanical tones. Yes mechanical because he wouldn't stop his prejudice vomiting over the female. We all are looking at him in silence with a trace of trace for he is a famous singer of Greek stock in Turkey who might not read our hearts but to go on with pitying us over our mute faces that couldn't tell the truth. What truth? The prejudice of ours created by The Bosporus Soviet State against The Female and The Judeo-Christian.
    I- Many thanks to you citizen! I shall try and enlighten the prejudices of the people in the streets of Istanbul.
    Another Man from The Crowd-(Seeming in a trance for his eyes are like the eyes of a Siberian Tiger photographed by means of special black-night camera towards an icy wall. He seems to be aware of something in the Turkish News Paper which none of us did see yet. Perhaps the personification of his good nature has forced him to look at the mass media high lights.) Hey look at this indecent play of The Bosporus Soviet State to make The female to fall into the same trap as The Greeks, Armenians and Jews in 6/7 September 1955 here! Yes The Bosporus Soviet State incited three Turkmen in MERSIN yesterday to kill a young girl and set her corpse to fire after the murder. As it should be the official gangs-the murderers of Kurdish girl CEYLAN-would be the first in taking the first place to lament! Look, look please, will you...
    (Her is the actual text he shared with us before a while: Özgecan Aslan ve AKP iktidarının kadın cinayetleri | soL ... .
    THE PLAIN CLOTHED MAN-Those are the indecent new generation of The Bosporus Soviet State murderers trying to defend their secret power over accusing The Party in pseudo power!
    I-(To the unseen presence of my readers in the street) I suppose everybody will be able to see the two faces of The Bosporus Soviet State: one is trying to conceal the shadows of the murderer on its own feature and the other lamenting over the bodies it had killed or raped...(and added) Here you are the document the religious-secret-butcher or leader living in Pennsylvania / The USA.
    FETHULLAH GULEN Gang is now dealing with idiot President T. ERDOGAN. Recently he uses bloody three Turkish teams, GALATASARAY, BEŞİKTAŞ, and TRABZONSPOR-where of came in the murderers of Armenian Journalist H.DINK-and wherein in its stadium the goal keeper of the rival team forced to bath with his own blood from gash on his forehead.(Attached).In the time being the turn of Europeans shall-seemingly-come and a lot of Judeo/Christians shall be executed. The Grand Turkish Ayatollah F.GULEN is a genius chief blood shading power and reign over the most fruitful crime machines namely the football team vandals listening to The TURCO-Islamic orders of destruction and death by FETHULLAH GULEN-The Grand Turkish Ayatollah who is still abiding in Pennsylvania/USA proudly refusing coming back to Turkey and being carried to the court for a trial open to the control of the European Higher Courts.
    There is no penalty for F.GULEN Gang's football teams. Why? Because he bought referees!
    Spor - 10 Şubat 2015 23:32
    Sivasspor'da forma giyen Ertuğrul Taşkıran, Trabzonsporlu taraftarların attığı yabancı madde sonrasında yaralandı, başına sarılan bandaj sonrasında maça devam etti.
    ************************************************** ************************************************** *******************
    Turkish Ayatollah shall offer even to the Americans only horror, secret terror, and torture for his other murder based-or rather Anti-Imperialist ideology based in their own words- are ready to give a war of independence in the near future. As F. GULEN fanatics in GALATASARAY and BESIKTAS football teams declared recently they hate The USA and its allies because they see The American as the side of Imperialism. Inasmuch as the articles of F.GULEN right hand namely ALI BULAC accuses The Western Civilization for the rebellion of mad mops like The Islamic State-IS-and wishes if only Islam Reigns The World!.(
    galatasaray çanakkalede emperyalizme karşı özgürlük savaşı vermiş hatta bu savaşı verirken bide hicaz da musul da araplarla savaşmış bir kültürü barındırıyor. bu yüzden ultraslan da bu hafızayı bir nevi barındırıyor kendinde. doğal olarak ülkelerindeki hoşnut olmayan durumlar özgürlük kısıtlamaları dikta tehlikesine karşı başkaldırmışlardır haklıdırlar. çarşı daha çok derin olmayan sosyo- anarşi tavrı içinde ve bu tavır kişilere bağlı kalıyor. (bkz: etoo) ultraslan özündeve tarihinde daha derin, köklü duruş sergilediği için ultraslan siker atar diyorum.

    The Plain Clothed Man-(Not understanding me yet good naturedly) I’ll read through the Turkish Newspaper much more carefully.
    The Greek Artist-(To the crowd in the street) That’s right. Make a good job of yourself in understanding the schizophrenia induced Mass Media of The Bosporus Soviet State.
    I-(While stretching both arms as if to embrace the crowds or to stop them above and talking as a shrill pipe, too much regretfully, out of the depths of my anger because of the crimes of The Bosporus Soviet State ) God! God! Why do I hate the ethnic discrimination so? Help me God, I don't like hatred even if I feel against the secret state or official gang that would be carrying with killing the Jews, Armenians, and Greeks!
    The Greek Artist-( Feeling a great shock after having read the document above) Here, here, no non-lucid talk like ours. Come along now! The Bosporus Soviet State tends to render harsh oppression against us presently and it supports even the bloody hooligans namely the bloody fanatics of F. GULEN Gang's football teams like Trabzonspor, Galatasaray and Besiktas.
    I-(Following his discourse). Methinks the actions of will be catastrophic a moment for all Judeo-Christians and The Female. I mean maybe a lot of children in Istanbul shall wake up to see their mothers raped first and then slaughtered
    A Child In The Street- (Timidly) Mama? O God, help us! HEEELLLPPP!


    First of all lemme install here a little but vital importance note: The bloody BESIKTAS Football Team fed by the mould-be anti imperialist ideology of F. GULEN is going to play with our innocent Liverpool so we must ask ourselves whether the referee of that match was bought by The Bosporus Soviet State or not...If F. GULEN Gang paid the referee and then he put the dollars in his pocket what would the very act of bribing at produce a score in the field.


    As every day a new world I would rather ask next day myself the main but well hidden dissertation within the dialogues I too took my part trying to learn what the biggest trouble was in The Bosporus Soviet State. I told myself to be silent even deaf and mute. Actually I would have not been having a dormitory house with any fellows who could annoy me if I kept silence.

    "Everybody might see that I would not like to be a morose one who'd look for trouble,” I reiterated under my breath or rather explained in a pure whisper, “Only I might be at times a bit short-tempered one in spite of the truth that no fellow said to me that I was such and such colleague, challenging the people around me. And yet I have understood at last the awful procedure I ought to follow both solving the dating problems of mine and to challenge the Soviet type secret state administrating the choice of the girl I loved and my choice in the ways of life to be shared by The Male and The Female.I remembered that one of my friends with whom I've got acquaintance during the time I was spending time in a holiday camp once remarked that the regime could stop healthy orgasms and ejaculation and it could destroy good relations between the men and women in the cases of marriage, dating, and flirt as a whole, so we should come down off that streetcar going to the bed happiness under the oppression of the pseudo republics like The North Korea, Iran etc. if we’re human.
    I, then would have said him, "We should keep quiet for The Bosporus Soviet State ain’t done nothing to us." Then he asked me if I hadn’t any sparks of libido. It was apparently a sheer provocation. Obviously my sexual health capacity should settle the account with such provocative personages. So I had to gain that very provocation as a starting point linked to the shows regarding to love themes. In every cinema that would show love making based-if not porno-pictures I got a self imposed test to evaluate my heart's heat in the cases The Female involved... Regretfully my body responses to the scenes full of The Female Beauty had begun to be off the ultimate subject viz. at least kissing. Why? Because when I would imagine to steal a kiss from an imaginary fair sex the taste of blood should reign on my lips. I mean the blood of Jews, Greeks, and Armenians for their bleeding mouths had been shut by big stick of The Bosporus Soviet State's capital city-Istanbul in the year-maybe none could believe me- yes in the very year 1955 down right!
    If I had been given the guarantee that the abominable events should not be lived out of the Bosporus Soviet State I would have shut my mouth, and haven't touch again the oppression reigning here. Regretfully there is no light at the other end of the tunnel. No light for making love happily nor playing football in England if the rival team is owned by Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN and someone should have been bribed at in UEFA so after a dirty trick one of the stars of Liverpool couldn't play in the match against the BESIKTAS football team from Istanbul!
    Lazar Marakovic has been banned by UEFA for four European matches, following his sending off in the Champions League against Basel.
    If the red card seemed contentious at the time, a four game punishment would appear to be harsh in the extreme and Liverpool fans were quickly up in arms regarding the news.
    Not only that, but Markovic hiimself took to Twitter to question the decision.


    "As you see without trying too much!" say not UEFA but Turkish Ayatollah F.GULEN is behind the curtain where Lazar Marakovic has been banned for the match!
    Besides one must warn you of the perils gushing from the most vandal football team of Turkish Ayatollah F.GULEN. They'll play with Napoli soon in European cups. The players of Trabzon will try at every occasion to give the Italians several across the face to lay them out good and proper. Not saying of the future horrific football faults Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN whose gang throttled-and fire her fluttering heart-an adolescent girl-OZGECAN the day before yesterday to create a pretext to topple down the party in power. the day a bit I started to help him get up, but all he did was to kick at me from where he lay. So I gave him one with my knee and a couple more swipes.

    Come on now for an interval between sensible narrations and let's ask a question: WHY?
    In the year 1955 the nose of Armenians, Jews, and Greeks were bleeding like the throat of the sheep in slaughterhouse, They forced over bleeding noses to flee Istanbul no matter they were male or female! Why?
    Nowadays they are preparing to make above mentioned Turkish Football teams to smash those of The Europeans. How? Over bribing at Mr. PLATINI-The Chairman of UEFA.

    MORE "WHY"s AND MORE "HOW"s...

    When I’d imagine making love with DAMLA why should The Bosporus Soviet State remind me of its own crimes against the minorities, and how could its regime spoil my dating with DAMLA whom you might remember from the previous chapters.

    How could the great majority of Pro-NATO Kurdish and Turkish Muslims whose natural party is still AK Party love The European Civilization instead of the oppressions created by Turkish Ayatollah F.GULEN and its gang reigning both socialist and fascist parties like CHP and MHP, and even the terrorist Kurd's political organisation HDP?
    Why did The Bosporus Soviet State give a chance to Turkish Liberal-and yet slightly idiot- Leader-T.ERDOGAN first and why is trying nowadays to have lynched by the Gang of Turkish Ayatollah-F. GULEN?


    One would wonder if one would had enough, and one couldn't say, "Yes.’" it is a call for being busy on what is being talked, and don't be sitting on... Alas I'm shouldering the task to carry on with writing this novel not because of it's an infinite masterpiece but it ought to be carried on with!

    “(Breaking News: PLATINI-Mr. Bribed at person changed at the last minute-The Referee of the Football Match between Napoli and notorious Trabzon. So we all be aware of the peril coming overtly from the abovementioned horrific events planner F. GULEN Gang's teams-BESIKTAS and Trabzon in the European Cups)

    "You see,” I said, “it isn’t my fault tending to feel uneasy in the bedroom; the regime here is forcing me for it, isn't it?” I was to nod, of course, and to add:
    “As a matter of fact, I rather want-in writing the novel-to ask the readers' advice about the irritation I used to feel in Istanbul; it’s connected with the Ethnic Cleansing rendered impudently in 1955 lastly. I’ve knocked about the world of love a bit, and I daresay you readers can help me. And then I’ll be your pal forever; I never have forgot up till now anyone who had done me a good thing concrete or abstract....

    Presently I'm swimming in the ocean of problems consisting dating matters at one side and the oppressions realized in order to harsh ethnic cleansing in Istanbul at the other. Thus I don't want you-all of the Eastern and Western Europeans, to watch the matches of Turkish Ayatollah's second rate teams BESIKTAS and TRABZONSPOR-his first rate team having been being rotten GALATASARAY that had been crowned before some decades or there around as the owner of The European Super Champion over bring at UEFA-against Liverpool and Napoli not to made no comment! At this point watching the tonight's matches with attentive eyes in orange alarm sliding towards red...


    (Of The Bosporus Soviet State's Sportive Tricks)
    AARGH!!!! The second rate football team-the first one being GALATASARAY- of Turkish Ayatollah's F.GULEN used doping chemicals from analgesics to very excess B Group vitamins in the yesterday night's match against Liverpool. We-well civilized Europeans no matter being A Russian, English or a Spanish should heighten our voices and would not give way to the rascals in the revenge match in Istanbul next week to pull same illegal procedure-and the like- off!
    N.B After UEFA changed the crook referee TRABZONSPOR-The third rate team of Turkish Ayatollah our beloved Napoli smashed the vagrants!

    (Of Dating Generally)
    I found in internet communication many people suffering from non realized dating experiences, and asked them if they’d like us to be pals. They replied that they had no objection, and that appeared to satisfy themselves after we has been pouring grieves to each other.... Some of them would like to get got out the black pudding, cooked it in a frying pan to share with me besides sharing love sufferings, but there could be no table, putting out two bottles of wine escorting to pudding then.

    (Of Everything)

    Everything is libido. By the way let's ask ourselves while The Bosporus Soviet State is torturing Kurds, Armenians, Greeks, and Jews in systematic intervals how one will be influenced by libido that cannot endure just some impending calamities' probability. If one ought to speak directly one must summarize the question as remarking the truth that unpredictable future would affect first "libido". So one may make a remark that libido is the most susceptible sense of both The Male and The Female. Following these flaws there could be a
    We started dinner, and then he began telling me the whole story, hesitating a bit at first.
    Suppose there’s a girl beside me-as unusual; after the dinner we went to the theatre, backing to home shared love based things in the bed and after the midnight we slept together pretty . Could you think that libido might have been wrapping our all happy moments if should be ling in North Korea or the Bosporus Soviet State? No, absolutely no! So we can divide the Soviet type states in two: those located in The Europe wherein libido could reach its climax and the others in Asia that might kill libido both over Islam of The Turkish GULEN and Red KEMALIST regime thereof ethnic cleansing might be impending at any time.
    One need not to be keeping his humanist philosophic attempts to smell the drawing dangers against ethnic minorities, as a matter of fact, from one's worrying about one's libido changes that should be argued. One should know that any fault in this way may cost one a tidy sum taking off from the runway of apathy climbing to the sexual impotence. The humanist one-belonging to majority-must know that after the Bosporus Soviet State knocks down the minorities it shall be the turn of good humans who can make empathy with the victims.
    Also noticing that one could not say anything against the Asian Type Soviet about its crimes, one need must know that after ones victimized neighbours flee-as it had happened in 1955-one might be forced to take the place of victims over being despised, insulted, even drawn to mad. But the filthiest way before the neighbours of the victims shall be beguiled through dirty lies that the state should be appreciated right. After all the most dangerous question should come in the case of ethnic cleansing: "Could innocent victims be taken as wrong?" So one must has one's principles like every well civilized people else, and have a job questioning the correlation between the libido and oppression.


    "Well, I uttered, “to go on with my story ... I would find out one day that she was misunderstanding me as if I left her down.” Actually I gave her enough kisses to keep her going on to be in my bed where I would be both suffering from the thought-obligatorily it should be the thought of some thoughtless creatures-of the last ethnic cleansing, and tasting the happiness we might give each other in a libido induced solidarity, though. To the contrary of my good intention she continued to scald me relentlessly and restlessly.
    All the more I-having been a remnant of The KHAZAR Empire and a Jew without any identity card to show my identification instead I was inflicted to by the Ethnic Cleansing in Istanbul-1955, and weeping just as an Armenian or a Greek would do. Infliction has been giving hazard to my libido thus at the bad I should be chasing my past healthy libido hurt by that indecent Istanbul 1955 incidents incited against Greeks-majorly-, Armenians and Jews. From the other side the Turkish Woman and I were after love under the quilt. Regretfully because of the wounded libido my warmth should fall under my average love temperature and The Turkish lady-as all Turkish ladies-couldn't understand the reason of slightly temperature loss of the side of my body. Suffering only from" inferiority complex" The Turkish Female-seemingly-cannot understand The-well civilized-Male's explanations about the hurt libido-the base of love and everything-viz. hurt by social carnages! Thus in the bed she was after love and I after my lost or rather broken libido dwindling instead of my solid penile strictness! As much three hundred attempts as one could try the same thing in love affairs one would attain limitless results diversified over the satisfaction exempt for the times of ethnic cleansing crimes of The Bosporus Soviet State even if one may had been protected against them because of being an individual belonging to the majority or the prevailing nation in Istanbul. Why? Because brutality cannot be generalized to everybody for instance to me. I had-thanks to the God-not rent the humanity to the butchers.
    Say, I'll hit the points always and I have got dozens of children. But who could claim that one of a thousand birth wouldn't carry to the old earth a humanist. Maybe it shall not be a matter to think over for my fine lady; although I am a famous and rich MD she is as a Turkish Female to be carrying on with always grumbling that she couldn’t make both ends meet with what I spent on her or she is too tired to give the right to the family budget in the kitchen or in the garden and the like. So one day I would say to her, ‘Look here, why not-as being a human-adopting the suffering of Greeks, Armenians and Jews fled Istanbul after 1955 incident. I'll pay your donation needed to be made by you in The Salvation Army or in NGOs like that. I can even rent an office and give you enough money you can go to their meetings and waste your money at the café with a pack of The female and The Male protesting the Bosporus Soviet State. You can give the protesters coffee and sugar. And, of course, she would answer me "the money comes out of my pocket shouldn't find its benevolent target for Turkish Male or Female don't like to behave as the other humanists of the world.

    Annex (The Epilogue of TOME II)
    Besides those ominous matters I should treat every twitching on my face inherited from the memories of citizens who narrated to me for many times the tragedy of Jews, Greeks, and Armenians fled Istanbul during 1955 Ethnic Cleansing incidents. Twitching is a simple response on human faces against sexual disharmony, and the brutality by the nationalists of Istanbul who could throttle even the most innocent European football fanatics. As The Bosporus Soviet State of Turkey had been swept from the fields in The World Cups the Turco-Islamic or Maoist namely extreme Muslim and secular KEMALIST militants team up to the Islamic State-IS-in Syria and Iraq.

    I would try take care of her and to keep my rational mourning ad hoc the Armenians, Greeks, and Jews fled Istanbul after having given a good thrash by iron sticks-maybe The Bosporus Soviet State' nationalists have beaten the Armenian babies under two weeks old with kicking on the abdomen only-but she wouldn’t hear of my moaning for she is a prototype of The Female-no matter she might wear miniskirts without pants or another underwear-living in Istanbul . Actually she kept on saying she couldn’t make do with the love I felt for her. Then she should be found out I was doing her too much wrong for I have been in the greatest love with humanity over the empathy concerning every victims as that I should feed with the ethnic minorities. Since I went on to explain that I’d found the braying within the high lights of the news papers published just after 1955 full of the boasting mops who had pulled the ethnic cleansing then. While I would put the photos showing instant attacks of the bastard who take an active role in The Horror 1955 in my archives, her bag could be seen full of various recipients to make a man more fervent in the bed. I incessantly should advocate my rights to pity Armenians, Greeks, and Jews half an hour everyday and to make sex for several hours daily with this prototype Female from Istanbul. When I asked where the anti-humanist attitude came from to ignore the big tragedy of the minorities, she couldn’t tell it because she has got no notion about the human. If, another time, I would try to find a word she could use within the lexicon of hers while she would tell a tale of ethnic cleansing related incident lived in the Bosporus Soviet State she would show a pawn ticket having been belonged to a Jewish usurer from whom she had borrowed a little sum of money for which she should have pay a great interest, say, in fantastic proportion by the classical imaginary usurping stories' formula based on the motto: one hundred for one"! All jokes aside she should surmise an Armenian as a Jew or a Greek and explain some irritation she felt in the case heathens no matter they would be a Greek or Jew!

    So I learned there is dirty work going on both with the consciousness and conscience of The Female's attitude in Istanbul in the case of ethnic cleansing history of this city-or rather the capital city of The Bosporus Soviet State, and I know that I’d have nothing more to do with my present or future sweet-hearts. Coming to the concrete problems I shared with that woman, first of all, I should give her a good lesson about the dirty concept-heathen, and I tell her some truths of The World. I say that, for example, there might be only one thing interested the people crying for the victims slaughtered in the building of HEBDO CHARLIE and that that thing or that conception would be reaching a great suspicion about the potential killers who might call their innocent victims as The Heathen!

    The Female in Istanbul used to define the western civilization before the point of The Female going into bed with every men whom would be desired sexually whenever they should be desired. The secular part of this wry understanding would love it apparently and the others-concealing their faces behind veil-condemn it while nourishing a great affinity to the "bed freedom" from the point of their common prejudice. What prejudice? That one claiming every European Stock married women might go into bed with the men apart from their spouses...I tried to teach the woman in my bed in Istanbul that both Eastern European ladies like Russians and lady Westerners had been taught the ethic contract of Judeo-Christianity, and the moral values ought to be seen higher than that of those who would like to call heathen as The Female from The Eastern or Western Europe or their ancient colonies like America, Australia and the like. And instead of the probability she could have the chance to see the moral basics lying under the brilliant victories in the cosmos like walking alongside with the path finder in Mars. At last I warned her straight, ‘You should be shaming of the European Super Cup got-in the past-by GALATASARAY namely the number one football team of Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN over bribing at the referees, and should sorry that the second rate team-BESIKTAS, of the secret terror chief F. GULEN would prefer to use "doping" against Liverpool in Istanbul this week!

    All the more I must warn the woman "Look at all The Female in the Istanbul! They are jealous of your luck in hiding under the same quilt with me God knows what to do ” And yet I guess her reply on hand in a traditional and ugly style beaten by The Female's complex of inferiority prevailing in Muslim or secular societies in Istanbul since the pillage-pillaging the goods of pitiful Greeks, Armenians and Jews during the 1955 incidents-that had made them too much cold blood in observing the ethnic cleansing or listening to its stories that should come to the social agenda at times. I mean that having been unable to stop injustice and brutality happened before them would make The male a prototype 'yes-man' and The Female 'some wiseacre and proud ones' groundlessly.

    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 02-24-2015 at 05:15 PM.

  15. #225
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    Oct 2011
    Constantinople/The European District

    Of The Novel

    And now look above to read the lines added lastly!
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 02-22-2015 at 03:56 AM.

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