syrian tourism
the raving lunatics out
there and the moon hidden somewhere behind the clouds. both pull on the
precious bodily fluids. exert the brain, the big toe and the little
finger. downstairs in the kitchen, preparing the rotting vegetables, is
that growing hunger. a couple of pieces of pumpkin is all that is left
to get catty over. desperate kitchen violence in the cold wet climate.
here is no retreat out of the middle east. crowded and confused is the
clarity of the roman administration. i've not yet seen the starving
masses scavenging the gutters, running out the back, serving themselves
europe on a plate, passing through, seeing the sights, paying a visit,
contracting dysentry and having the runs for a week. a hardy way to lose
that baby fat. with the office desk day job easy to put pudge o the
gut, arms and arse. the gaunt look on the homecoming becomes the healthy
slim figure after a few dahl baht.