(Istanbul, Turkey. April 2009)
I sail but where do I sail? Can you say she is right for you? Can you hear the evening prayer?
Light and sound. I go through you.
A Party of Five:
We walk the narrow alleys towards Galata Tower. Iʼll hold your hand. No. Iʼll hold your hand. Letʼs be gentlemen.
Restaurant Near the Tower:
There is meat and then there is meat.
The Skylight Pub:
I open into the night. Sticky tables. Three shots and one beer for five Turkish Lira.
Who knows where we are!
I donʼt like this place. I donʼt do this. I donʼt do that.
I travel the gates in search of a room.
Smiling Byzantium Nun:
I had an American. He left for the midwest. Stop taking my picture.
Scottish Soul Dancer:
I swing and twist. Donʼt look at my shoes.
I always knew the potatoes were great! Letʼs hit the bohemian neighbourhoods!
The Golden Horn:
Ahhhhhh an Ottoman on stilts!
Go around the back. Climb the stairs. Tell me what you see.
Look into my eyes. Do you like what you see?
This girl is almost my girlfriend. She doesnʼt kiss on the first second third fourth fifth sixth seventh eighth ninth tenth or eleventh date.
I am going back to Washington
Up and down up and down we go. Blow the candles. Slow.
Ah Kokoreç! Cow intestines on a spit!
Pretty Turks in barbie socks!
soft faced boys! boys! boys!
Ah yea Turks! I flirted with cock sucking to become part of the avant garde! Ah yea Turks! Ah dank basement near Mr. Attaturk's tomb!
They made an awful film!
let us dance under a tent to Turkish drums!
I suck your mints!
She: I am made to BLOW!
He: I am made to BLOW!
Chorus: We are all made to BLOW! to blow . . .