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GREAT KOBANE BY SOLZHENITSOF

GREAT KOBANE OR A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

(New Romantic Russian Novel)

PART I

CHAPTER I

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**]This time is no time as it be always. And yet I know when I am living for it is no longer the time turns. If there is nothing to turn we cannot know when we are… Since life is a game, I am going to pray not to suffer from anything. I knew how to play with life or rather how to let the life to play with me-as mentioned several times in Human History-till now: Pray and work. I longed always for work when I was listening to Smetana, to default from office but not to deprave some women in order to go bed and mate superficially, and yet I knew counting types of work was impossible. I know that ‘default’ is not the word after adding to it ‘from the office’ and yet I often tried it. So I took a good look all round to find anything to fill for the time, and I began to understand the weird construction-TURKEY SOVIET-of The Secret Soviet State that had murdered Ex-PM MENDERS, and toppled down the Democrat Party in Turkey reading what I saw in tabloids. Alas people explain nothing better than to distort all explanations. All should go well and on the contrary of my first experiences when I had been young while they had not come to me, pleased that someone should want to share any opinion with me, say, directing an orchestra, commanding certain troops or being more active in political affairs of the country-Turkey where I had been sojourned. Yes having been sojourned not being a good-or bad-citizen. Instead of gaining nil as a starting point I was as happy as punch, and was going to perform nothing within the rules of the highest discipline I had been taught by my grandfather by my mother side migrated from Russia. It did not occur to me that I might have to ask any prime minister in Turkey to undress. But it was necessary for understanding the weird mechanism of survival of The Secret Soviet in Turkey. Once I would just ask one of them if she-at that time the PM was a lady-might be undressed for my sake not long before I found myself alone, in the pitch dark, as darker than ever. . That is why I gave up my observations regarding to the devilish inner and outer tricks of The Turkish Soviet which took to itself for ever shapelessness but much more dangerous than AIDS and speechlessness while throttling the European journalists using the knife of IS-Islamic State. Its most conspicuous-actually-pseudo opponent namely Turkish Ayatollah F.G embedded in Pennsylvania would be hiding while involving in the bloody case of slain Armenian Journalist. Such is the infliction from which, for nearly half a century now, I have never been able to be salvaged. I’d like it will be, from now on, different essentially I shall never do anything from now on but pray and work. No, I wouldn’t preferred to begin with an exaggeration. But perhaps I should have succeed in exaggeration any better than hitherto. Methinks having been able to conceive such a plan is encouraging. I mustn’t have guessed what time it was, furthermore I think I shall be able to tell lie about the time in a country where they-Turkish New Caliph RE and grand vizier AD himself-have forbidden that the students in anywhere-at the University, in lyceum or in kindergarten etc. should be taught mathematics or physics-for they were persuaded over Islamic stories that everything is mere story but the Holy Quran. Actually if one has got any problem about the big question linked to the creation of mankind Holy Quran could give enough information about it. And yet one couldn’t help asking the simplest questions: “What about the tuberculosis, vascular diseases, the dents in need to be filled and the like?” Perhaps I shall have time to make the reader to see the ignoble opponents of the new caliph, old Marxist bandits or rather the well experienced political butchers namely the sworn enemies of The PAX Americana. There I am back at my old aphorisms: The opposition parties here are more dangerous than the ruling party of would-be caliph or the most illiterate leader of the world. This awful reality does matter very hard if The European Civilisation do like to finish our smart RT without permitting the enemies both of him and of L’OTAN-North Atlantic Treaty Organisation. Indeed that does matter either the famous victim labelled as dictator viz. RTE should be still reigning here or the dissidents of his regime namely the degenerated Marxist or racists should get the upper hand. For then I shall speak of the things that remain in my memory as helpless diseases in need of helpless remedies. Writing or the helpless remedy in this matter is a thing I have always wanted to do. It will be a kind of petition to The higher Human Rights Court. In any case that was a thing I should leave to the very last moment before I was retired, so as to be sure of not having made a mistake neither within the terms of anachronism nor of projection. In any case that must be the thing I shall certainly do, no matter it could useful or not. It will not take me more than some thousand years or only a moment of the giant gravity induced worlds’ time in the cosmos. My desire has always be clear and shall be henceforward to be so, without being dubious. I have always prayed deeply and worked hard and because of this reason It is obvious that I may suddenly prosperous, at any moment. Would it not then be better for me to speak of my investments downright? Alas it might be any wiser for in this country there are several clans fed by the same source-TURKEY SOVIT viz. The Secret Soviet State in Turkey-as radical Muslims, Marxists, anti-Semitic racists, fascists, and even-strange to say-AYDINLIK Maoists and their pseudo enemy namely PKK. I cared of time only from the point of related to correction for at any moment I might be forced to correct inaccuracies that reason counsels and yet reason has not much hold on us every time. I wish if only all sort of events should run together to encourage me when I face Soviet type oppression by the clans I have already mentioned.

As for present state this country seems to be mine. And yet that of mine overwhelmed the plague of communism but Turkish Soviet is still vivid, jeering the world from over the shoulders of both radical Muslims and fake secular capital dominated, independent lovers and the most dangerous secret Ayatollah of TURKEY SOVIET-F.G/Pennsylvania. I can find no other explanation to my being left here to suffer deeply, standing still agape. Unless it be at the hands of several Saddam type dictators that will be hardly likely to be a romantic Russian Eastern European and obliged to live here. Why should all the powers have changed in their attitude towards The Civilisation created by Indo-European and Semitic People and ornamented by Afro Americans over magnificent art of cosmos, say, our beloved American Jazz? It is better to adopt the reasonable explanation, even if it is not reasonable, even if it does not explain very much the evils of RED KEMALISM and its enemy GREEN KEMALISM having been-both of them-not loyal to the greatest man of progress-Ataturk. A bright distance calculator or a GPS gauge is necessary to show how all KEMALISTS are far from KEMAL Pasha if only I should enquire no further in any case this paradox. They are selling Kurdish Children’s kidneys in hospitals for implantation operations, or in madhouses to play football…I have listened at different minutes of the moment which are elapsing in a lesser time than one minute and heard many suspicious or unusual cries, and strange to say most of all coming always from the universities that ought to be the most peaceful places in the well civilized countries. In Turkish Universities-under the oppression of Red and Green KEMALISTS-the higher rank academic staff, are used to-as a moral duty within their amoral hinterlands swearing The USA or rather the state victimized by those terror and horror agents here, lying down, planning ethnic cleansing-if they are racist ones-not coming to department but going to secret business desks, working for money-not for science-and laughing when they were paid over fake scientific projects by their sworn enemies Judeo Christians or good Gulf Arabs. And when I look out of the window it is clear to me, from certain uniform like apparels and hidden guns, that there is a paramilitary army of The Secret Soviet State here amounting to 100,000 troops, and I am not feeling myself in my house able to rest in security. No, this is just a plain description of the political reflections I witness in the street. Apparently, in what appears from the windows of a plain ordinary house cannot explain me why and how The Secret Soviet State of Turkey annihilated Armenians, Greeks, and Jews in 6-7 September 1955 events in Istanbul. Maybe the Secret Soviet surgeons have castrated some Judeo-Christians in an ambulances sent to the places in great turmoil by Turkish Army, paramilitary troops or Muslim Brothers the brethren of the toppled down Islamic president MORSI of Egypt. All my life long I have dreamt of the moment when, in so far as one can narrate the scandals regarding to the relationship between our beloved USA and The Secret Soviet Republic in Turkey. That moment seems now at hand. I shall plunge into the details while giving a good account based principally on the betrayal of all sort of intellectuals of Turkey. So first of all the stories of leftist, social democrat and even modernist who used to define “the intellect” as the capability of betraying The USA and then, if the term Radical Islamists goes well, their prejudice about all Americans and Europeans: The Heathen. They may plague the representatives of the European Civilization no more, with their abominable betrayal of Radical Islamists and every kind of opponents of those Islamic terrorists. That will be the first report, there is not matter there concerning for both traitors. There will therefore be only two reports: The people living in Turkey love the eastern and western Europeans’ civilisation including that of Americans. The second report says that all would-be intellectuals hate and betray the abovementioned civilisation. That is all very clear: In general elections the great majority of the people would vote in the types imitating liberal politicians while all of them having been the rightist or leftist puppets of the Secret Soviet State. Then I shall deal with all of them . If after all that I am still observing those puppets active I shall take the necessary steps to ensure my not having made a mistake. So much for political tricks. I used not to know where this country was going, but I knew it would arrive a civil war, I knew there would be an end to the long blind road in another saying having eaten the bread of the civilisation and sworn the civilisation makers accusing them of being imperialists.

What politics, my God. It is mating time now and yet I must confess that I find it hard to get used to fantastic ideas as mating without love in peace times unless the old libidinal calls. But the lust is reversed in war times and seems as if it’s love to rape an haggard or God forbid dead woman. Our RT-The Caliph’s most intimate friend-as many people could remember-The President MORSI in Egypt has made a law to legalize necrophilia. Turkish Ayatollah namely the chief opponent of Caliph RT finds that way not well charted and little hope of availing all over the world including his Islamic nest in Pennsylvania. But I have high hopes. What am I doing now gaining the consent of the World’s Intellectuals? I try to remind the reader that all chosen psychos like Egypt’s toppled down MORSI, all caliphs and their rivals except innocent RT leading radical Muslims to rape dead girls and F. G/Pennsylvania or rather Ayatollah F. G abiding in Pennsylvania to give the toxic virtue of asexual life into the veins the innocent lads wriggling in the hermetic rooms of The GULEN Mansion of superstition in a modern district of The USA…One could see clearly that it’s the phase of briefly presenting my state before embarking the main story even if this would be a mistake, weakness or excess wisdom of mine. Pardon me! It is a weakness apparently but The Genius could indulge in both mistake and weakness. I shall write with all the more ardour afterwards about Turkey’s Secret Soviet hiding just under the one millimetre of the soil of Anatolia and Trace, and naturally in Constantinople to back-clandestinely some chosen-psychos in Syria, Egypt, and Gaza Strip etc. History is therefore on my side, at least the contemporary events. For I shall have to become earnest again to give the death toll of Palestinians shot dead by their Palestinian chiefs of terror. Imagine now a number that could be great enough after divided into hundred. What is that death toll since the debut of the third millennium? I don’t know. And yet after divided it into one hundred I find at least one hundred, and I suppose the Hamas militants did shoot thousands and thousands Palestinians after reaching even the slightest suspicion that they might have been spying for any foreign country. If I start trying to think again the oppression in and around Anatolia I should remark that the butchers might be proved more innocent than the victims they tortured, killed, fired etc., etc. I must say there is something very attractive about such a prospect inflicting my heart: I am to feel for some opposition groups that hate innocent Americans or Russians much more than their executioners who hate Americans and Russians too. But I am on my guard as Russian romantic pen. For the past few years I have been finding something attractive about everything in the pages of The Literature Network wherein every occasional interlude is to be lucrative than those of Shakespeare namely the tree full of literature fruits thereof I shall not deviate from any further than I might. So much for Shakespeare of whom I feel I cannot make any mistake. O Gosh…

When I have been pitying the victims I often amused myself with observing the most loved leaders of the victims who were indeed equal in injustice to the oppressors. I tried to invent a new theatre school shoving no innocent people amongst the rival characters but the victims in similar events bound to be lost the events had begun. And succeeding in amusing myself really. Now imagine that you were the president Barrack Hussein O. in the confliction between not ridiculous but awkward caliph RT and his coward enemy viz. Ayatollah F. G and backed the Ayatollah keeping him overfed with dollars he had stolen over tax due to his dubious colleges all over the world and being in safety having been hiding in Pennsylvania. But what is the last thing I remember from that notorious Ayatollah’s dirty speeches: “ Down with the capitalism, long live Islam!” I could start from the paradox lying there. Wouldn’t be Barrack Hussein O. too lost in the war of destruction directed by two rivals each of them having been wilder beasts. I was promenading upon the observations and reports related to them. I have certainly, have been walking through humanist reports in the all ways of life, except the first few years while I have been writing about the love affairs between the humans or genies-or rather between a genie girl and a Russian gentleman here. But at the end of the book I accomplished I did not know where I had been or what my thoughts had been. And yet one could expect that I needed must remember the tortures to eradicate the Kurdish people from the near geography the Secret Soviet in Turkey would like to dominate, to getting rid of, to eradicate innocent Kurds. Yes eradication and yet by what means? I remember an official murder. The gendarmerie use to kill a Kurdish little girl using not a simple gun but mortar. The little girl has been evaporated leaving only some particles from her little body, and after the official murder the mom of the little Kurdish girl has been forced to pick up those body parts from the dry branches of an elm there! (See in GOOGLE: Turkish Second Soviet State is the terror…) Little Kurdish mademoiselle CEYLAN lived unhappy but hopeful in her short life, and her very young days were more varied, such as her parents were afraid of kissing her pink cheeks not to make the red army, and green militants of the caliph RT or dirty green followers of Ayatollah F. GULEN. None did know her way about so tragic then. Indeed she has lived in a kind of coma as every Kurdish children who should be appreciated the only friends of all Europeans. The loss of consciousness for her after having been chopped by mortar fire was never any great loss because she has tasted having being devoid of owning a certain dead body but blood smeared organ particles. But perhaps she was stunned with the enormous blow of mortar fire targeting at her directly, on the head, in the chest, over the abdomen and within what else…? Perhaps she would vaguely remember a forest of elms her memory having multiplied the only elm before the cottage she lived with some hundreds. All that belongs to the past? No before some years. Now must I establish new themes for it is the present. No I must wait in vain the slaughtered little Kurdish girls to avenge…This country isn’t an ordinary land. It’s the remnant of The Ottoman Empire where of the people we called as “Turk” in The Europe makes the majority of the population. I have made little observations in the provincial parts of its but the districts near to Constantinople seems quite extra ordinary to me. The truth is, if I did not feel myself being salvaged by the European culture, I could well believe myself dead running into the inflamed corridors of the hell. But I feel at last that the westernized commanders-like the respectable, great general ABDELFATTAH SISI-are to be running to rescue us out the hell of the radical Islam instigated by fake secular, would-be westernized red or green fundamentalists in turmoil which would not be the case if I were in the hell wherein no turmoil but a flaring order should reign. Beyond the Islamic hell, the sensation of being beyond it was not stronger with me last month. If I were rejoiced with the good tidings in the month of May-2015 having been foretold to me that in June-2015 I should feel myself hopeful about the future as I do to-day, I should have mocked who would try to rejoice me. The state of my mind find hopeful thought reasonable so the reverse would have been surprising. When the commanders here have completed their mission of westernizing both red Marxist and green Islamist intellectuals in Turkey as General SISI had pulled it off in Egypt, the ordinary people would feel the time is drawing near for embracing civilisation. That’s not strange nor funny that all ordinary people would prefer to see the European Civilisation could be lived all over the world, I have not made a joke. There is a phenomenon in and around the mosques very eager to be westernized as Europeans and the Europeans have never looked into the mosque from that point of view. My notebooks not are lying in a corner, saved in an electronic heap within my PC. So with its mouse I can tick away umpteen boxes in number, and through its windows I need not must crane to back to the future. I do not see any complications or aftermaths of coup D’état in Turkey today where I’m sojourning and would like to settle for good because the great majority of all voters here are Pro-Europeans loving civilisation, humanism, and peace. And yet the brain all intellectuals of this country had been washed already by the secret Soviet State in the way of seeming anti European if they would like to be appreciated as real intellectuals namely anti-imperialist and well educated persons. The people are near to ask them, “if The Europe is bad why did they The European’s methods to teach anything to you or to train? Let nobody ask me “Are they near?” because I do know it’s so. I do not see either any reason to instigate the non-organized Muslims in the street against or to make the people that they are perpetually using the credits of the well civilized countries first of them having been The European who explored the vaccination chance introduced by the most virulent viruses of the nature, and invented the semi synthetic penicillin! Instead of those bare realities of the life methinks some queer things go on there in the universities sometimes, red communist, green-radical-Islamist or fake secular academics are queer. Perhaps these are abnormal. They could offer love for money to the research assistant ladies very frequently, and if they are rejected they would fire those innocent ladies off shaking their big shaggy head against them in order to teach them a little lesson of morality, huh? I never had so much perplexed as then when I witness such impudent incidents. So let me divulge in that sort of misdemeanours without fear of contradiction in the broad daylight. But at night they might be doing worse things than I saw, for I never have a special light to illuminate the dark windows of the offices occupied a lot of debauchee professors. I would like indeed having studied the cases of young ladies put before the door of the universities for not accepting to go to the bed with the academically very big magnates here. But as the one and only scholar MD in Social health I cannot find any way to serve the innocent people in their psycho-somatic problems among those academics of sheer lust. Gazing at them one night I suddenly saw myself in the primitive universities of the capital city of the Ottoman Empire. Isn’t it possible that there were abusing of boys under 18 for there couldn’t be any girl in their-so called-universities? What else? Finding jobs. They are varied but always very hard. And all sorts of jobless young ladies told to leave the university bag and baggage. They come and perch on the pavements near both to the Bosporus and to the palace of new caliph, asking for job! It is not touching for the policemen of Caliph RT or his rival F.G. They rap with truncheons on their heads and the secret Soviet too never give them anything.

They are not sewer rats. They attract my attention to the fact that not only I am left without liberal thought, lacking of liberal belief here I always looked after! This is how oppression is done here. All the doors half open: higher education, finding healthy food, watching unrigged football matches on TV or in a stadium, voting for a liberal who is actually a rogue... An unhygienic hand puts a dish on our tables, makes us clothing more or less and left us there under the anti Judeo-Christianity-black-propaganda for that purpose of either rebuilding the Ottoman Empire or reviving the fake secular Reddish-Green KEMALIST State-both of the under the control of the secret Soviet State of course! After taking away the dishes they oblige us to listen Turkish pop music not similar to that of Americans but to the fart of the *** of the humans full of the intestinal gases. And what about the serials in the barbaric TV stations on air as the symbol of anti-human ideology: Then one would be sentenced to see the faces made of faeces smiling or pouting alternatively. This is done on purpose for us every day, at the same time probably to block our way of thinking freely. When we want to eat we go to the kitchen and when we are tired of thoughtless hours they make us to watch TV to learn how one couldn't prevent pulling the thought off. They have thought of everything. The girls of the country ought to be naked in the name of secularism or to wear Islamic scarves and veils bed, no matter under the blanket or in the street, whose number would increase and diminish as the Islamic and fake secular champions come and go. I and the like are not humanist nor animal lovers because loving humanity couldn't be realized without being the friend of animals. The members of the party in power came bustled about in the way of being a member of The EU, and then turning 180 degree an angle and enquired about our needs to get in Islamic State (Terrorist IS organisation) or in Shanghai Fives but President Putin wanted not to see Turkey in that organisation. The Caliph-RTE did not understand neither Putin making fun of him nor Barrack Hussein showing a baseball stick while talking with our full witty semi ignorant caliph. Enough of regime and crimes. Of my childhood...All I know is that I was born in this country my grandparents shouldn't have guess that their children would likely find themselves here. I call myself a migrant, but I cannot prove it for the Polish, the German, The Russian etc. should accept Islam as their new religion for the sake of revival... Perhaps I am only a friend of all religions understanding the ten orders of Judaism. It is ages since I counted them at every time they have been violated, the repeated violations I witnessed I mean. I remember the first school-day of my life the year of my birth from the point of self-inner-conscience and cautiousness directed-from the outside of me-, I have not forgotten that, but I do not know what year I have begin to keep diary like writings. But I think I have been watching and writing for some very considerable time. For there are a lot of self directed reports watched and kept under the protection of my own manuscripts namely various events based on oppression having given a sort of melancholy to me, within the long boundaries or semi iron walls made by secret Soviet in Turkey, that I have moulded in unbiased documents to remember as bitter pages of the people I share the same soils now. Documentation is not to be learnt in a short time but after having learnt whole experiences could flow before one's eyes in a flicker of one's lids that might make everything to be told in a moment as fluently flown as Aladdin's one thousand and one night tales, Okay? Come on then: A few words about myself perhaps maybe seem dreary. And yet I dare say the story of the people in this land is what must be called as postponed Gulag Archipelagos' shadow on the barren steppes of Anatolia. There is really nothing to do now to compensate the results of the dramatic event of young ladies once have started to devote their lives to scientific researches but have been fired for not having devoted their sexual situation to the whim of lust induced apatite of their professors. After so many a seasons maybe I would not have been able to introduce the reader the photos of those lady victims for they have already tasted ageing and been taught that 'old age is no blessing' as Dostoyevsky wrote down within the pages of his book-'The Notes from the Underground' more affectively anymore. But I would not much given to nostalgia shielded through my Russian veins, the muscles of my arms that they are still in position, and can exert a great force. It's very easy to dominate them: nostalgic matters-written or learnt by heart, and the muscles. Touching the letters and signs of the clavier is sufficient to exert my power in that case that is part of my life, and I would not like it to cease it while The Literature Network is seeming so much vivid, I mean the vividly approaches would not seem to be decreased anyhow. The mission of narrating every Soviet type torture is on my shoulders, that is to say keeping my eyes open will suffice for my work under the sky of tortured mankind. The main events I have seen and heard linked to the Secret Soviet oppression and torture here are very drastic. From the point of senses those of mine are full trained and put under my power. Beastly roaring or being silent as a snake or the statements stale and ignoble are being injected into the great majority of the Muslim people who love European civilization. What's the need of some injection here? It's must be needed for The Secret Soviet would like to make the people mentioned above a prey for the red Marxist or green Islamist terrorists. The Secret Soviet wish if only the pro-European people shall not speak of their sufferings so that cowering deep down within inflictions the people will feel nothing. It is there the Pro-European Muslims dying in silence for they have got no mass media organs as the Turkish Ayatollah F. G viz. the most secret Islamic terror chief abiding or rather hiding in Pennsylvania . While a lot of things would be seen, be heard when they would cry the Pro-European Muslims should remain in an aching silence. Here in this turmoil my thought struggles on, it too make me having been read, as it always ought to be. The Secret Soviet knows where I am to be found but the age we live wouldn't leave them to use my place as any kind of means in giving me any harm. In the age of internet they cannot give any harm to anyone who cannot be quiet. Such would seem to be my present advantage in writing the aches of the family. The man's name is "Turk" instead of the truth that he was a Kurd. And yet he cannot have a Kurdish name as his father did. Kurdish names? But a lot of them are Indo-European names, huh? I do know his name: Khali. He will not need another name. His friends call him Khali. Everybody know what friends they are but I don't know. A few words about the man cannot be avoided. The Constitution of Turkey prohibits calling a child's name in any language Turkish. So Khali ought to leave his name in the childhood!

He was perpetually a tedious man. He was not good at his lessons in Turkish School for not the new caliph RT nor his bloody rival the notorious Muslim cleric F.G would have smashed the brains of the teacher to make them not to see the use of them. Khali attended his classes with his mind occupied with the fear of gendarmerie, or blank. Gendarmerie had must been ordered to give a good trash to every Kurdish student regularly so all of them would attend the class with their mind elsewhere. Khali and his citizen friends liked sums for they had nothing to count, and liked geography of great Kurdistan but not the way they were taught. Why? Because the teachers had already been taught that there was no land belonged to Kurds on the maps. Adding to them everything that he liked was the manipulation of concrete numbers. All abstract calculations seemed to Khali idle in which the nature of the numbers forced to be imagined or briefly of numbers based on 'the irrational' were not specified. What a tort it was. He was the second child of an industrious and healthy parents. He often heard them talk of what they ought to do in order to give a better tidiness to the ranch and earning more money besides having good animals to sell to the content of their hearts. He was getting happier and happier each time by the richness of these progressive plans and not surprised that they led the family to victory. His father was an expert in solving the problems of the ranch. He used to say to his wife, "I really must find better procedures for taking care of the animals having come from Holland, may God be pleased with Europeans, and have accommodated quickly to the harsh conditions of the mount climate here." He added, strongly, " our old milking technique was awaiting before us to be improved." His wife would answer, "And if we do any more work Khali will be more successful in his higher education in the future." And Mr. Halo-their family name was so- had to allow that he would indeed be well advised to forego his rest after Friday praying. "Our children at least are grown up" he would remark. And their health was not so poor that he could not help their father in Saturdays and Sundays "What a creative idea," said his wife, "working beside you the I mean the children? Essentially it won't be a secretarial work of some kind but any sort of getting exercised for obligatory military service..." He would say, "They will look after the garden, huh?" The life of the Halo Family's was full of designs, of which one at least established the humanitarian reality of a garden with roses and with its paths and lawns ultra cared for."Think of the price of price of living as a Turk but having been born as a Kurd so we ought to put aside a good amount of American Dollar facing the probability to our son-Khali to The USA for higher education", would say his mother. And in the silence which followed Mr. Halo applied his mind, with the earnestness the money he has earned, to the high price of postgraduate education in Texas High Tech which shall likely has prevented him from supporting his family in greater comfort. And yet his family were seeming ready not to accuse him in their turn and to do all they might. But he was easily persuaded by himself that he could not do more without exposing his family to the risk of poverty after. Think of the touristic expenditure we save to visit Constantinople, said Mr. Halo. And the Abraham T. SES concert's bills, said his wife. Nothing remained but to envisage a greater villa or rather a greater kiosk. "Thanks to the God we aren't cramped as it is," said Mrs. Halo. And it was an understood thing that they would be more and more busy with every coming year until the day the children got married one after another. Could a kind of equilibrium be attained in parent's living and making the children to live? Of course yes! After setting that sort of equilibrium the house would be being emptied little by little. And at last they would be all alone, with their memories reminding them their neighbours' children killed by The Secret Soviet in the mountains embraced by the Northern Kurdistan moors. It wouldn't be time enough then for the victims to move. They could be off to the KOBANI or ROJOVA, they at their last gasp. They would take a cottage in the strip partitioning the Antioch and Syrian Kurdistan lands. And yet having no further need of moving for good they all died, they could afford to buy a new life but their villages had been set to fire already. If they had survived their children, grateful for the sacrifices made on their behalf by their parents would come to their assistance. All was being talked in the atmosphere of well controlled imagination that these conference like talks usually ended. It was as though The Halo Family drew their impotence in curbing astronomic treasures as Bill Gate to reach being richer. But sometimes, before reaching that stage, they paused to remember the birthdays of their children considering that in the near past the gendarmerie could make chops of the Kurdish babies with blind bayonets as one of the children of their most intimate neighbours had been killed officially. "What age would he or she-they are not able to remember the gender of that baby martyr-now?" asked Mr. Halo. His wife provided the information, it being understood that this was an official execution. Maybe the slain baby was wrong doer. Mr. Halo took over the erroneous figure of the killers-the members of JITEM/see in GOOGLE please-, murmuring it over and over to himself as though it were a question of jurisdiction instead of the State Terror of The Secret Soviet in Turkey. And at the same time he sought in the appearance of his son some alleviation of what he had just heard. Was not the slain baby a nice meat bag of the state? Khali would look at the sweating face of his dad disappointedly, and yet trusting to him in spite of all. Was it over the cruel oppression of the secret Soviet or by the time of Gulf War the secret state was forced to command a Kurdish baby murder? Khali at times stated wearily his regret that his father should not be more eager not to be unjust-or rather frightened to death and forgot the word of justice-then before the members of his family providing him with the most secure place for him in the way of divulging the righteousness as The Jesus Christ had done while he had been dragged to the cross and ascending-according to the holy Quran-to the heavens. Khali's mom-as every mom-said that It would be better for him to make his homework. And his dad approved his wife as if starting from a given theme their minds laboured in as unison as a chant from The ottoman palaces. Ottomans had got in Constantinople palaces no prolific compositions properly sung in various tonalities but yawning the same, worn out, sheer unison melody . They had been used to perform the musical notes in much the same way as the workers would make use of signs, or of their portable lamps.

“The most important thing that would be, at that baby’s age”, said his wife, “is not to die or to be killed”. They did not know how they were committed to a situation to understand her verdict reasonably. Yes it was something that went without saying and yet the mom of Khali must have learnt that a baby could only be killed and it could not kill or escape from being killed anyhow. It was therefore impossible she should be unfitted for any verdict like that. She apparently thought of a baby as a professional defence body for preference. Mrs Halo insisted, “We neighbours will rather not look after all babies of the province when we try to survive. And her husband replied, “I see all babies rather as paramilitary troops not only to defend themselves but all of us as well.” What silliness… And yet the Kurds call that sort of silly talks playing with the laws of The Secret Soviet for they won’t wonder if they do know that their talking either about themselves or about the other people is to be listened to by means of bugs. Shall they be capable, to the end, of carrying on with defence against being the eardrop subject of the secret state? They feel the dark clouds of ethnic cleansing gathering, and the solitude preparing to defend themselves, by which The Halo Family know itself might not be nice but mere ignorant. Already they don’t forget what they have said even it was silly. That is how to play. The children of the family shall not know where Mr. Halo comes from, nor what he hopes in reasonable ways. Perhaps he had better abandon his life for the sake of his citizens if was not for the feeling of parentage so he must simply be on his guard, reflecting on what he or his wife have said before the family could go on or coming to an halt each time The Turkish Soviet threatens, to look at themselves as they are. That is not just what they wanted to sustain and yet there seems to be no other solution. As for deciding what a way to be reasonable they should open their eyes, look at the heap of their dollars gained over the sweat of a family keeping care of a ranch under the arbitrary mortar attacks here or there, to give them the orders they know they must obey…At times they have tried to reflect on the beginning of their pacifist struggle with The Secret Soviet in Turkey. There are things too they do understand best. But nothing to signify. they can go on holding out the dirty remnant of The Ottoman Empire, The Secret Soviet State. Mr. Halo had many friends as in the proverb friends are plenty when the purse is full. He was on good terms both with his poor or rich friends, actually they love him. Furthermore when he state terror hits the Northern Kurdistan there will be seldom solitary. He run and love his horses well, was to be shown favoured in horse racing , and yet he never sneered at the losers and sometimes even applaud them with pertinent eulogies. Loving horses and dogs…They would ask him too many question about the animals his deep affinity of having many pets and their kittens, and pestered with such questions frequently he would cry, “Haven’t I told you I don’t know why I love animals! Much of his free time he spent confined in ranch works he play cards in a little coffee tavern often he did not get home just at the dinner time at night. He submitted with philosophy to these hobbies. But he would not let himself be a sheer addict or fanatic. Once upon a time an exasperated Turkish red Marxist general-or was he a dirty green Islamist or racist on-colonel threatened him with a cane, Mr. Halo snatched it from his hand broke it! The Halo Family must try and discover, when they have time to think about liberty, liberal thought and liberal belief. It must also be asked quietly, why The Halo Family was not exiled or expatriated or even slaughtered by The Secret Soviet when they so richly deserved to be because of their huge money and big estates. For they might want as little as possible of darkness in their quality of being too much wit and industrious Kurds availing over their family history. Being industrious and rich in a land occupied by lazy and perfidious gunmen wouldn’t like this little darkness covering the merit by which they were working hard and became rich. The army of The Secret Soviet must not have thought no more about it and they could go on. But they know what darkness that would disturb red-Marxist-KEMALISTS is, it accumulates upon militarist and nationalist mentality, thickens, then suddenly bursts and begins to slaughter Kurds. drowns everything. they have not been able to find out why they were not exiled as successful Kurds. They shall have to leave this question open. They will try to be glad not to analyze the bizarre changing in the bloody habit of The Secret Soviet State in Turkey. They shall make haste to put a safe remove between the Marxist or/and Racist even Islamist KEMALISTS type incomprehensible indulgence, they shall make it live bloodily as though it had been punished according to its deserts after the collapse of The Soviet Empire-USSR. They shall turn their backs on this little cloud, but they shall not let it out of their speculations. Besides some curious deductions might give harm to their happiness. One of their happy days the Green Islamist Soviet led by F. G abiding in Pennsylvania will astonish the world to put the RED KEMALISTS generals over the denunciations by GREEN KEMALISTS of the secret Soviet State behind the bars without trying them and make them at least confess their bloody crimes they had been committed against all Kurds-innocent or guilty. It was thanks to Mr. Halo’s brain power that enabled the family observing queer events with all the prudence they have got not let everything to hazard those surprises and, in defiance of the facts and against his better judgment on behalf of the Kurds. But they could not endure the look in their own eyes reflecting from the antic mirror in the saloon of their luxury house… That was awful too. The Halo Family loved their cat-Brownie, the dog-Admiral, ad their sheep and oxen, say nothing of their interest in wild animals and in and around of their garden all plants from thistle to rose and raised eyes to the sky day and night, to see the bodies there. And they did know how to look at all these things, the looks they poured upon them taught them a lot of the absurd richness of the cosmos regarding to the species about them. Instead of the tasteless cocktail of ingredients-no matter either living or non-living-of the life couldn’t make them to confused the trees with one another, and the trees, and could not tell one crop from another crop. He did not associate the jonquils with the balsam nor the charcoal with black stones. They were sometimes tempted by the knowledge of the strange things in the world, say the wars, sometimes beautiful, that they would have about those all his life. And even from their ignorance of the genuine Albeniz Guitar pieces they drew a kind of joy while jokingly accusing each other, “You are a simpleton!” But the loved most the flight of American drones and could distinguish it from all others in protecting their lives in the hell of The Secret Soviet State. A light has just gone on in all windows facing the east, south, west and even the north in summer times from all sides of their house across the vast moors, and briars. At every years old Khali would be the same, the household should accept so. Eventually every Kurdish bodies from babyhood till old age could earn their living, said Mr. Halo’s wife. So I was, said Mr. Halo. But in the view of his Turkish teachers loyal to Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN the signs-concerning Kurdish Youth were rather those of diabolic impure and not worthy to be being dealt by. All Kurdish friends of Khali used to be bemused in class dropping their jaw and breathed hoarsely through nowhere but the mouth. One ought to be an eyewitness that the Kurdish Youth having been slaughtered instantly by Islamic terrorists-IS Militants backed by the Caliph of Turkey namely TAYYIP ERDOGAN It is not easy to see in this debacle whereof main expression is compatible with weird thoughts. As for their ideologies actually one might qualify them only drams and their dream was less of humans than of the astray dogs and cats in the street for they would survive through something similar their own lives. But it would be more than enough to stop up the nose neither of theirs nor The Kurdish Youth for both of their jaws to sag for ever as a sign of forlorn. But it should be the time the world should be more active took for safety of Kurdish Victims in KOBANI. The Halo Family don’t like those tearful eyes of their children weeping for the babies burnt by Islamic terrorists backed by Turkey’s new caliph RTE. Arch! The babies burnt in KOBANI just now and then. They remind The Halo Family of an old Kurdish Province DERSIM that had been set to fire after an awful chemical war thereof all victorious commanders whom should be even applauded actually as Turkish Nationalist Reds or racist communists…The Halo didn’t seem tending to forget which they know wasn’t a small thing. From the other side they were easily frightened then. They know those little phrases that seemed not so much unacceptable to let considerations broken, and to pollute the routine speeches out of standard tongue. Having been rich is not more real than being shot by the paramilitary troops of F. G. viz. Turkish Ayatollah or to be slaughtered by the Army of the Turkey’ new caliph R.T. They all adept in sweeping their crimes under the carpet and going on with the best camouflage to hide the blood they shed from the eyes of the world, and could rise up out of the pit and know no rest until they drag the corpses of the Kurds eradicated in the most actual of the newest ethnic cleansing down into dark depths of the history. But The Halo Family were on their guard now for the time being. They understood that they had not learnt the art of thinking under the blood raining fulfilled by Turkish Nationalist Islamic Terrorists since The World War I.

A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

(New Romantic Russian Novel)

PART I

CHAPTER II

[
**][
**]From those fears, angers and disillusions The Halo Family’s soul emerged fortified and vivid, which confirmed the father Halo’s impression that they would not let themselves to be the victim of lascivious speculations. They ought to earn more money, they would say. They were getting on, getting on. They told each other that they would be a good marathon runners, and “Let forget everything but work” said Mr. Halo, “and now we’re on our team.” Their industries attacks in investments on the cattle take up all their time, “But” said Mrs. Halo, “Turkish Islamic and nationalist terrorists and the so called secular and well camouflaged fraudulent Turkish intellectual mafia of The Turkish secret Soviet State could put hand our moneys and throttle us over IS-Islamic State-or Marxist GEZI PARK anarchists. And “he is always last to give up the work”, said Mr. Halo. “He would be fond of working,” said Mrs. halo, the long exerts in the moors would do him good.” Then Mr. Halo smiled , at the thought of his family’s great endowment and the good things they did until now. And sometimes he was carried away to the point of saying, “It might have been better to have put himself to a trade whereupon it would be usual, though not dreary! They were getting on. Nothing is less like they than the beheaded Christians-murdered by IS backed by Turkey’s caliph and his rivals F. G and his pineapple friend A. D-The Boss of D Media, reasonable cooperation useful in struggling all for nearly one hundred years to shed the Judeo-Christian’s blood, avid of the least benevolence, The Soviet next to the USSR since 1920s to the goal of darkness. Here truly was the air all The Kurds would have needed, a lively authentic air, far from the injected murk that letting Turkish Islamic Fascists and their secret culprits-Red KEMALISTS to make ethnic cleansing in The Balkans, Syria, Iraq, and even in Caucasia. And yet they shall never go back into the semi alive carcass except to find out its reborn time. They would rather want to be there where they were a little before plunging a possible civil war, close for the last time the old hatch on top of them, say goodbye to the scene where they had lived. The Halo Family was always rationally hopeful and romantically sentimental. But between now and then they have time to frolic around the dinner table, bravura induced, in the brave company of theirs they have been used to always, always searched for, and which they would ever have been longing for. Yes, now their mind was easy, they, as an aside, would know the game was to be won that they have lost till now, but it should go without saying that it’s the last that counts. A very fine achievement they must have hoped, or rather would, if they did not fear to contradict to every reality. Fear to contradict every reality! If this might continue it could be themselves who should lose the zest of holding out against the enemy of The Jesus Christ-MESIH viz. The saviour. They would abstain from resembling to the wretches famed in fable, crushed beneath the weight of their victory they won the war. And they even would feel a strange desire came over them, the desire to know what they would be doing, and why. Unjust things? God forbid…So they should have been near the goal they had set themselves. And on the threshold of being the last winner. Very pretty indeed in the summer holidays…

(THE AUTHOR CAME BACK FROM KOBANI CONTINUING TO WRITE)

At every years old Khali would be the same, the household should accept so. Eventually every Kurdish bodies from babyhood till old age could earn their living, said Mr. Halo’s wife. “So I was,” said Mr. Halo. But in the view of his Turkish teachers loyal to Turkish Ayatollah F. G the signs-concerning Kurdish Youth were rather those of diabolic impure and not worthy to be being dealt by. All Kurdish friends of Khali used to be bemused in class dropping their jaw and breathed hoarsely through nowhere but the mouth. One ought to be an eyewitness that the Kurdish Youth having been slaughtered instantly by Islamic terrorists-IS Militants backed by the Caliph of Turkey namely R.T. It is not easy to see in this debacle whereof main expression is compatible with weird thoughts…..(See both above and below please!)

A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

[
**](New Romantic Russian Novel)

PART I

CHAPTER II

[
**] For the sake of ventilation "You'll have us in a palace like the AK-SARAY ", said Mrs. Halo. "And yet It's not been a good investment for the new caliph," said Mr. Halo, "In the last general elections the Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish Muslims gave a good lesson to both Ayatollah GULEN and The New Caliph-R. T." In the moment he would left the house, with the letters from KOBANI-ROJAVA his leader bag , on the prejudice that he could read them in more safety out of the house, no, without a word reminding the members of the Halo Family that if Turkish gendarmerie might capture the letters from Syrian Kurds let it should be fulfilled in the open air thereby one could invent a lie that one stumbled upon them, their bundle, on the pavement. Once clear of the back yard of the home he could hide them under a stone after having read them god knows how manyth times he read through them. It should have been the season when the shepherds of his cattle might find the long bright days are too long and enough for all there is to do. And often they took advantage of the son to have a sun bath all over the legs but under knees. The impending afternoon would also be long enough to renew ablution and to pray in the parish, say, in a sanctuary instead of the home where he could fall asleep-out of melancholy not happiness-at any time. Yet he would want to think of the helpful soldiers of coalition forces who had rescued the Kurds from the hard oppression of Saddam Hussein who had hating Kurdish babies been used to kill them with chemicals when they were in sleep at, say, the time of dawning. If the truth be told there were no time for sleep for Kurdish babies for the secret Soviet State in Turkey did not want them be sleeping. Saddam, The New Caliph of Turkey RT and Turkish Ayatollah F. G. must have evaluated the biological catastrophic phenomenon-coma as something necessary for Kurds if they should be living. The living Kurds. They were always more than the dictators in Turkey, Syria, and Iraq could bear. They would rather be watched in coma and would go to the heaven without inflicting the dictators with tedium. Then they could kill their little children with mortars tearing their breasts, shot the muscle fibres of their hearts and the steel parts of the bombs should take their place. Mr. Halo would feel within his heart the glow of shrapnel's steel with all its frenzy, but thanks to Israelites and Americans he know it would set them on fire no more. The Gulf War stopped everything and Kurds should wait the happy end. Old despots of Turkey ought to stand on one leg after the last general elections, motionless, their bloody eyes closed. The turmoil around the border between Syria and Turkey seemingly has made the days swimming over frozen water in a burning weather linked to such dreary postures. The little girls would soon be running in the rose gardens like clouds drifting the blazing feature of the sun till they would make the earth shadowy and convenient for babies' sleep as long as they would please. Kurds are in love with the European stock because their young ladies are all Blondie and sweetie. They are from or beloved Russians to The World's body guards-American troops are using the arms that have provided with them by the Indo-European type scholars, including both Hubble, Newton and Omar Khayyam who lived and invented. The Halo Family also have begun to try and learn genuine civilisation and secularism thereof have been exhibited-and yet based on sheer hypocrisy- over the international platforms by Marxist, liberal or Islamist Turkish would be scientists all of them having been fake, quasi and the like-usurping the sheer ideologies as superficial lies . For having been tortured by Turkish Gendarmerie perpetually The Halo Family too must have tried and invent. The Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish Muslims had manifested already that from the point of all Turkish political parties civilisation is not the truth but a mere apparatus to beguile The EU. Yes! No matter. The Halo Family have tried. While within them the angel of earnestness padded up and down, caressing the brains, singing in hearts. The Kurdish Family members have done that. And all alone, say, having got no contribution from the side of visible Turkish State under the command of the secret Soviet State that should be able to be well hidden, to play the clown. Yes they have pulled it off all alone, time after time, often motionless, and at times standing still waiting. That's right, waiting without groan. they could make progress. They turned around themselves till they were dizzy, and they clapped hands, ran making circles in the house of luxury having got a miniature private gymnasium, shouted, saw themselves in the mirrors, enjoyed self winning, saw themselves not losing hope, rejoicing, winging by their own enthusiasm. Then suddenly Mr. Halo threw his beloved son Khali on the claviers of their German made piano requesting him to play the pieces which he was taught by Madame G.-a Norwegian lady came to hold against Turkish Gendarmerie-the butcher of Kurdish Babies-if there're any from his childhood to change his father joy to howling. The other people would have pursued him, caught him, kissed his cheeks, hounded by him back into the round. For Mr. Halo was already in the toils of earnestness this play has been the disease of the family. Perhaps they could have lived after all, without feeling any sorry, and time to time they wondered why they wouldn't speak of all inflictions which used to surround them. Of course, to relieve the sufferings had got its simple formula: Be helped to live and help others to live, and tried not to use problematic conceptions in the world of words. After the scandalous murder attacks of the secret Soviet in Turkey they would live if the official bloody attempts might leave some corpses behind them or not, they began again, to help themselves for the sake of living, causing others to live. How natural all this was. They had no time to explain the spontaneous causes of trying to live. They could begin again and again instead of seeing that they would live little by little with a different aim, no longer in order to survival, but in order to be more and more successful. Their life was full of inner and natural nuances that they had not sought. When they struggled out of their mansion they were to suffer from a kind of vertigo, not letting them to go back home, then they wouldn't fail to fall into the work for the sake of earnestness...

[
**] Backing to home, for looking at new projects for progress in business they should be waiting for them always, who needed all Kurdish Families and which they needed that took them outright in his arms warmly and told them to stay with progressive money making drafts always which gave them their place and make them not too much alert about the fake secular, racist and Marxist commander either under the command of Turkey's biggest boss-KOC Family or native- native but abiding in Pennsylvania-Ayatollah F. G. or even new Caliph R.T that watched Kurds like The Elder Brother. According to Mr Halo who suffered every time from the endless evil of The Secret Soviet State that held the bridles of abovementioned anti Judeo Christianity bosses in hand, and left him facing whom have offer suffer and seldom contented with oppressive gendarmerie whom he has never seen before. There one might be forgetting oneself again. In occupied Kurdistan-occupied by Turks, Syrians, and Persians suffering shouldn't concern Mr. Halo only is every Kurds, far beneath them and who envy Kurds resistance against mischief of terrorist states keeping under occupation. Of Mr. Halo himself one could never tell, any more than trying to live. How could he have pulled it off when never trying to name his adventure? To show himself then, on the point of vanishing, at the same time as the stranger in his motherland? Then live, long enough to try, behind his eyes-closed-or before them open to the end of the frenzy while especially the eyes closed. What an end? Work and sleep of course. The cattle. The Halo Family had a taste of experience of the inadequacy from the view of change between rural and urban areas had not escaped the excellent happiness under the roof of their happiness. They had mastered, on this subject, making money and playing with considerations yet drawing closer to the truth, only truth: ling in a soil occupied. The shepherds. Mr. Halo would visit them very frequently. And yet he can't ask anything concerning their social problems for they should fear that the gendarmerie could have followed him to listen secretly for what would he might be worrying. After his visiting they-assembled through the moors- would be watching him depart, in a hurry, as though the time scarcely was enough to go back. He never stopped- maybe stood tottering a moment-then suddenly was off again towards the home. While he was finicky when he'd go back to home his mental faculties should work singly or limping, drifting, as though tossed by the waves in a torrent. It was like a big, dried leaf plucked by the wind from the place where it had fallen. There could be no choice of imagining he and other Kurds could be in safety within the borders of the Northern Kurdistan occupied by the gang state-The secret Soviet of Turkey. The Halo Family would have infringed their little rules in talking hot political matters, disapproving some of them or drawing near to the well known evil subjects dangerously concerning state terror swinging over Kurds like a blood dripping sword . The family was not far wrong in thinking that they knew the details of some murders, and could speak of them at any moment, without fear for everybody knew them too. But Mr Halo, as an well experienced Kurdish citizen ought to make sure that their innocent agenda on daily state terror might attract stately rancour that could be turn into a great peril to threat the routine happiness of his family. From the other side the garrulous style of his hard talks should be conceived as well as a cheap victory because of the trembling position of the new caliph-RTE. For the time being The Halo Family would learn that the image of being-or rather seeming-open minded was carrying the chance to change the torture by secret Soviet in Turkey over which Mr. and Mrs Halo and their children have lulled themselves till that time was not in need of completely changing.

And they should be sorry if they let slip any unique occasion which seemed to denounce The Halo Family to the gendarmerie the possibility of something suspiciously like a true statement against Turkey’s Secret Soviet State that clandestinely-like a mafia gang-all sort of people from politicians to artists, artisans, scientists and from atheists and gays to the Muslim clerics, pilgrims , mullahs, whores, respectable commanders and simple bandits and the like. Mr. Halo might feel he had failed in his duty to denounce the secret Soviet of Turkey! He wanted this matter to be free from all trace of turbidity and be clear. I want, when the great day comes, to be in a position to enounce clearly, without exaggeration or underestimation All dangerously chattering of the Halo Family as interminable prelude had brought them to energetic human behaviours and left the family members to be rich and intellectually strong in the way of personal progress. One couldn’t presume it was an obsession. They see then they had attributed to themselves certain vital importance objects as freedom had been no longer in Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish people of Turkey’s possession, as far as all Kurds could see in the last general elections. But might they not tear and grasp their right of life pulling behind the brutal Constitution of that secret Soviet state? That would not surprise the world because the inter family chat sessions around the dinner table should be stronger than the murky associated boots of gendarmerie… And yet Kurds in Anatolia should talk on the boots of gendarmerie. And The Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish people should show the hypocrisy of the well hidden Soviet of Turkey behind its fake democratic masks. What masks? Those used by leftist, rightist, atheist, fundamental Islamist, modernist magnates In Turkey, and to the best of the Halo family’s knowledge, there was no officially yet frankly liberal body amongst them; only some piece of public poll not capable of intervening between the secret Soviet and innocent people possessions regarding to freedom. Mr. Halo referred to the old fraud of fallen Ottoman Empire in this vaudeville. A propos Khali had noted on the other hand, in a huge heap diary scribbles, the occurrence of the most shameful incident of the Mankind’s Music History that have quite forgotten which at least something to threaten the “Listening Freedom” of all humans apt to strike every chords in the humanity’s memory. His family did remember in horror, panic, nausea, and shame swearing the Turkish Secret Soviet State: “Shame…shame you old hyena-the killers of Greeks, Jews, Armenians, and Kurds at last! They remembered that once The Halo Family had listen to Abraham T.SES’s divertissements on the Schubert’s themes. Turkish Secret soviet State has heard about it or rather has been informed about it. The secret Soviet used to shoot the musicians making melodies not similar to the braying approved by the state, and they shot Abraham T. SES who has been treated the in the USA for he was suffering quadriplegia after having shot in Istanbul. Never mind, that divertissement would be theirs no matter wherever it came from. That sample of my musical murders were derived from the same source : Under the wild, rapacious control of Turkish Soviet one could Kurdish music people could play Shubert on piano, or sing a Kurdish folk song, and yet to reconcile the most powerful points within the notes classical western music notes with Kurdish type songs’ tunes had been prohibited since the death of Ataturk after whom the Secret Soviet discovered the westernisation of Kurdish culture might be dangerous from the point of the state! That awful attack-shooting the Kurdish singer Ibrahim (Abraham) T.SES at head reminded Khali me of something, and “of what?” might be summarised there: The racist and anti-Judeo Semitic killers had lynched another Kurdish singer namely AHMET KAYA wherein the killers had been backed by a magnate businessman viz. D MEDIA’s awkward BOSS A. D. say nothing of the trick that Mr. DOGAN used to be bragging that he should be treated respectfully as the greatest friend of Germany. Phew! What a swindler Secret Soviet State could be not beguiling only the uneducated Anatolian people but The Europeans as well. And over such dangerous remembrances would make The Halo Family to understand the peril’s darkness and sophistication, so better they should think of it instead of letting it than it should have touched them directly. They resolved, they shouldn’t know “how”, and force the evil, gang type state undo it. They would rather send all evil probabilities into the hell over internet friendship with European stock people to be resting in peace and over working at the clavier to denounce the secret Soviet State’s murders targeting at the Kurdish singers on purpose. They should speak of it again and again perhaps, when the time came. They should say, the European culture could hear them if they work hard while doing job and at the study table where their upgraded PC has been placed already.

Mr. Halo told himself too that he must have made better speed for true lives do not tolerate slowness-or rather slouch approach-in the case of radically bad circumstance. It is there the demon-The secret Soviet State lurks, like the most cute warm infestation in the folds of the bowels of The Europe and The North America. The time to spend in the way of richness was not limited from the point of the Halos’ agenda… It is thence that one fine day to share all living creatures of The Mideast viz. the spring of “Greater Middle East”, when all nature should smile and shine, the old oppression would let loose the minds to think and to pray for ever. The Halo Family’s situation was truly delicate. Fine things, good tidings would be waiting them in the future, and they were not going to miss any tweeting fortune through fear, fear of falling back into the old Soviet type-semi military-oppression, fear of not being rich and happy in time! They would not be fearing indeed of being tortured again-or rather forever-for a new century, in a last misery of being rundown by any infection caused by The Turkish Soviet, poor apatite and baseless hatred. The form of having been tortured had been many in which the Kurds would seek relief from their poverty. Ah yes, either virtuous singers or good listeners of The Northern Kurdistan were always subject of relentless ordeal especially in the spring promising times in Anatolia. Turkey’s Secret Soviet State had been organizing abominable attacks at Kurds in the Northern Kurdistan namely South-eastern Anatolia. for the past two centuries. If any Kurd could venture to survive the gendarmerie and special army troops would force them to eat newly defecated excreta. There would be no more chance for the captives, prisoners, detainees if they were Kurdish people from every age: the babies born before a few time, octogenarians, the youth and adults. After all it is not important not to finish all Kurds, there are worse things than them: The Huns’ new generations the gang state would be obliged to carry from The Central Asia to settle over the vast lands of Kurds. But would that the point of eternal solution? Quite not likely because in Turkey there were zombies like A. D.Germany’s very intimate friend who would be insisting to use the sub-logo in his Newspaper-HURRIYET that “Turkey belongs to only Turks!” . All one should ask that who would be the last in the ethnic cleansing, as long as it lasts? Could the citizens of Georgian, Albanian, Bosnian stocks shall have living for instructing a new life after all Kurds were eradicated, that is all, one should know. All one should ask is to know, before The Humanity would abandon in the way of survival. Whereas their lives had so well begun: enjoying, clapping every breath of theirs in Anatolia as a great success in wilderness, then suffering, rotting and being done away with. Only thing in their future should be what one might call taking a refuge in your Bulgaria or Greece after all… According to Mr. Halo the secret Soviet did not thitherto make up its mind to finish ethnic cleansing. But he fancied it would weigh heavier in the Northern Kurdistan-South-eastern Anatolia. “ Kurds’ spirit, when it came back, could fill even Constantinople with its din, though the secret Soviet’s steel nuke could move no more than a creeping baby’s watery body, and Kurdish youngsters ought to open their eyes and gaze unblinkingly and long at the future after the spring time in the Mideast. So the most voracious attempt to eradicate them-that would humanity gaped, might hit first at the old mischief of the secret Soviet State, then at the novelties having been invented by the Islam induced terrorists or the culprits of Islamic State-IS. So there should be a reasonable collaboration between the Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish people making the greatest majority in Anatolia and the minorities viz. liberals, Jews, Christians and the like that having not been misted and smeared in the first century of Turkish Republic. If Kurds should like to breathe on the neck of the secret State-Turkey’s Soviet it would be destroyed, toppled down, decayed, petrified and even putrefied. But it would be carrying too fidget induced hurry. It was such a period when The Judeo-Christians loved Kurds and they backed coalition forces brightly. And yet the secret Soviet state under the command of-probably big businessmen and the eternal chiefs of paramilitary yet official forces used to install the grenades under the cradle of Kurdish infants. In approximately 80-90 cases the parts of the some days old babies’ bodies were to be picked up by their mothers and the pets like dogs helped them to collect the blood stained organs or organelles to be put in coffin as a whole. If there were more Soviet type mischief album to divulge that would come back to give endless inflictions to humanity, those who were to be taken as responsible couldn’t be Kurds but gendarmeries. Those clouds of ordeal could be swept easily by Sovietised orders from the labyrinths of Ankara, having been uttered by the wind of official wilderness all over the old lands of The Ottoman Empire. If Kurds hadn’t the patience to wait Turkish Soviet would see the richly mustered truth: Civil War between the fake and genuine-a little in quantity actually-circles Islamic Law demanding mobs, between Kurds and Turkish racists and between the Anatolian patriots and Thracian potato belief groups. But they had. Now that they have to look more attentively at the fake secular soldiers and the guards of the caliph-RTE who apparently helped IS-Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. Awhile the Kurdish villagers would hear the whining and flickering sound of death of their mules for because of the sheer outrage Soviet’s gendarmerie were killing innocent animals of theirs. Frequently they close their eyes and the moaning of the mules that have been being shot from Secret Soviet helicopters mingles with their breath. Though they have closed their eyes blood stained images was running in their heads, trying to escape from gendarmerie, wishing to be able to be flying as crows, colliding with each other, crashing, and repeating the same themes in imagination endlessly. But beyond being the targets of machine guns there was a great calm amongst Kurds on the contrary of the external depression of the sheep, cats, dogs, pigeons, mules and yet there would be no difference between the calmness of the humans and the anxiety of the beasts for really there might the possibility to be troubled by anything together. Human or animal who would turn the head a little to the other side, they should seal their mouth having found their eyes fixed on a new drop of blood God knows where it has dropped. For the mules’ nose, crushed against the soil both new Caliph RT and his rival F.G claimed that the animals haven’t been killed by gendarmerie but they committed with suicide because they were feeling their owners-the Kurdish villagers nuisance, and that tort seemingly not old yet new. Probably the mules were not killed after the machine guns firing from secret Soviet State’s gendarmerie helicopters. The dead mules must have think that they were forced to escape from their Kurdish owners for the reason of all the tumult was the existence of Kurds in Turkey’s Kurdistan. According to the Turkish Ayatollah abiding in Pennsylvania the mules must have a kind of good rhythm with the gendarmeries machine gun rattling concertino while they have committed with suicide over their nozzles’ friction on the earth, and they even must have been chanting a kind of little tune while they killed themselves-the idiot Kurdish Mules. (Even if The Explanations viz. preaching of Ayatollah F.GULEN are silly all Christians should listen still to them in FM radio stations in ALANYA.)

THE CANADIAN MENNEQUIN

(THAT COULD HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FOR KURDSRIGHT OF LIFE!)

Her nick name is "Tiger Sun". She has fought against The Islamic State-IS- terrorists and been wounded seriously then went back to Canada in the last weeks! How bearable all that was for her, my God. Her beautiful leg is almost facing the peril of being limpid, like the shot down birds. She would part her lips..now... Shall she press the pillows in her mouth to curb the exclamation of the aches she is suffering from? The search related to the ach based reflexes should end for the part of every inquisitive persons. It is ended. The worldly life is buried in the world just now and everybody should know that they would find their place at last. Evil awakens everybody, victoriously and yet calling the good to finish it. Humans are conscious about radical Islam, and seemingly the mankind from the very beginning knew the well civilized human would be happy one day. But she is wise. Why and how? Then it's to be remarked that she is a great humanist the best thing she would be to let the humanism go as far as it could do till reaching to happiness. And what must she do after healing? Probably will not go back again to the front, to the war fields she never longed to love, to the smoking of explosives all astir with turbidity in the white and clear air, but as for the bloody chaos she could manage, through her own talent to explore the beauty perhaps, through the love she nurtured in the ways of humanism, or through a pretty inquisitive pettiness. All the enemies of innocent Kurds are at the field, the sun warms the rocks in the daylight and the nights of desert make them glittering as an icy snowball. Yes, she leaves not her happiness in the war field where she was wounded and now she goes in to write down the Kurds unknown rights of living as well, and this task should be rendered without making any burdens for her. Perhaps The Turkish Soviet have judged her ill, but humans don't think so, and have not judged her at all. All she wants now is to make a last effort to understand, to begin to understand the enemies of humanity, how such fundamentalist Islamic terrorists could be still giving harm to the people. Yes, it is a question of understanding. Of what then? She does know very well. There she goes nonetheless, rightly. Day and night, storm of heavy guns and sorrow, and the universal debacle of the soul. That time she sees that the Kurds are good people. The last word is not yet said between her and them. Perhaps she simply would want to hear the old philanthropist call. Just once again after healing... Okay?

[
**][
**]A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

(New Romantic Russian Novel)

PART I

CHAPTER III

[
**][
**]The wounded mannequin. She found daily life easier after coming from the front , that is to mean make ends meet in both earning money and spending time. There were the men, the women and children. a boy or girl as usual. No bombing attacks, no fleeing motherland, no tear more than the saliva before delicious Canadian delicatessen. There at least was something that might admit of no generalized controversy and yet peace first of all. In all the ways of that war story ehe fathers were known as henpecked instead of they would be powerful soldiers, football players, mafia members, scholars and the like. Great friend of humans-the wounded Canadian mannequin, and big she was indeed. She had married anybody or not the virgin Christian soul was still with her. This might be her first or second marriage. She had the love embracing all Kurdish, Jewish, Afro or Wasp besides Russian children here and there. Her family’s grown men and women must have taught her what humanism meant, wanting for nothing more than bringing up a beauty availing on her body for she’s a mannequin, and her heart. They helped her maturation, each one according to his or her means, or the task of the moment, out of gratitude towards her but for whom they had never seen in her private album of photos, or saying, with indulgence, If their task had not been aided her she’d have been someone else. Big mannequin has got peerless teeth in her mouth and all of them shone like pearls when she smiled as if she was regretting to pout strongly. Then she must have highly been thought of as a smile champion and a lady Hercules to disjoint of bloody hyenas namely the terrorists of The Islamic State (IS) and greatly sought after, without exaggeration, in that capacity. For her fee was the prayers of Kurdish little girls whipped by the executioners of IS and Secret Soviets, and she had even been known to demand no more, in return for her bravado viz. valiant services of hers in the front. How plausible all that was. The victims salvaged by her in the war field often spoke of her smiling power with great respect and excessively sensitive tenderness. That she liked to do will not be seen again, The Kurdish lads used to say, once she has gone; she must have heard this in stronger words and yet wouldn’t like to emphasize them while talking on war and heroines as her. Her great days then fell in June 2015. Onwards she waited patiently didn’t be too much eager about returning to her motherland . And yet backing to home should be something as the principal event of which is unquestionably similar to the Saviour’s birth in the land of friction, battling, revolt, conspiracy, and confusion etc. while wondering if she would be spared till then. Then she’d be in synchrony wounded. And at the thought that she, the great mannequin, was on his way towards that distant motherland where it-might be-nothing was in readiness for her coming, and that in spite of her fresh age she was not still needed, and her mission preferred to those of older-or rather more experienced-people men or women, then her young heart vibrated out of a proper rhythm. From these expeditions she reached Canada at last, joyful and excited by the long road and the emotion of days to be spent at hospital… And for days afterwards she could speak of nothing but the Islamic Terrorists’ State (IS) she had just chased like hyenas, and she would give big information about the world of IS devoid of both being human or beast, and it wouldn’t be her fault if the world was not aware that hyenas who have no belief, no ideology but that abominable crime viz. throttling Judeo-Christians and Kurds. But they did not dare confess the truth, for they should be afraid of Pro NATO Muslims. Yes, at fresh age when most youth boast and brag, as if to make old ones to apologize for still being lulled before the crimes against humanity, she was keeping silence and her position to show only pleasure of finding the chance to hold out against those hyenas. And even her young friends had abandoned all hope of bringing her to make a show as a heroine, by means of her vitality for she knew what she would do to her if she did open it to them. And she even insisted on her making things non exorbitant for her, in ways that often appeared to her well balanced as a mannequin. Big Mannequin had pearl like teeth in her head and they were super white for she didn’t smoke nor had got a cigarette-holder, while regretting too much beer also. She was highly thought of a lady crusader warring against IS-Islamic State oppression and Secret Soviet’s mischief in Turkey. And at the least show of crusader on her part she would run to the hospital and will come back soon with the battle and go on with beating Islamist terrorists until they came round to a better way of thinking regarding human rights and the rights of women. All this by the way. And to return to the Islamist Terrorists, BOKO HARAM in Africa continued to abdicate Muslim girls namely its near and dear ones, of the evenings of full moon, while the lamps burned low, and raped them after the inner lights went off in the evening. Then all their ignoble conversations was of the hymen, so unlike the other in every respect, so quite unlike, and yet at bottom the same: hymen. For all hyenas would be alike, when one should get to know their little ways, struggle, horror, blood, cry, struggle, bleed, squeal and faint away, in more or less the same way exactly, a way that is all their own and could never be imitated by a genuine hyena. Canada. Canada was under the holy halo, flooded in war times with peaceful interventions and in the peace full of humanism. It was not possible to find a way to put it otherwise that it should give up its mission. And the medium did not belong to the front of hawks anyhow, but to all pacifists living near to Canada-The Mannequin’s motherland or anywhere at a distance or in the most remote part of land as the Syrian Kurdistan wherein crocuses of affinity and narcissi of sympathy in extraordinary profusion, at the most appropriate time. The wounded mannequin remembered that there were relative ease at fronts waiting nightfall smoothly, Big Mannequin turned loose the collar of her hospital shirt. Strange to say the gift of war she rescued Kurdish babies would possessed by The Mannequin when it seemed of no help to her when it couldn’t have come humbly, without a trifle of ostentation to camouflage it, and it was seldom her own exceeded exerts. Clapped into a tiny offer on the day of her medal’s arrival, while she was in the hospital, it remained on the little drawer until the day of her departure. For The Mannequin’s fans persisted in dreading for the enemies of humanity IS terrorists, though every passing moment proved her right in trying to sooth the effects of parade exercise. Daylight and fresh air she dreaded for her fanatics too. And it was finally an intelligent one amongst them, wise and strong so that he could carry the mannequin on his back in platinum box, having tied his ribs, and even glued anyhow in agility but without haste!

[
**] It was needing of course praise and even eulogy the while for ingratitude must have been accepted something to be protested, at the top of all voices. For she could not or would not understand that The Mannequin-she herself was not to blame who has wounded her beautiful leg, but she herself ought to be applauded in a way of gaiety or rather at least unduly. And she would be persisting in her bravura who has overwhelmed a dead world full of Islamists' terror airless, waterless. Her wound was only a reminiscence left from the front. Here and there the patients were lying in their beds as water would do in crater under the shadow of overgrown lilies. Or were they plain thistles lost their ways, and what about the lichens. And nights of three long 24 hours she could not escape from the dazzling lights without being fed up that show she had not wished. The show should do on under the dearest of lights with pastel yellowish dots on bright yellow flowing lights. That's it, big appreciation of her nation or rather the civilisation thereto she belonged. How long would it have lasted? Three days and three nights or three days totally? Yes, no more, not much more than three days. Old sky of Canada was silvery with its special daylights still. In the old days she used to count, the numbers on the placards of the vehicles up: three, sixty, fourteen and the like. Then she would watch little-primary school student-visitors complaining not to be able to count her medals with other things too, the golden pens showers, the silver bells, the sparrows that could chatter from dawn time the time of nowhere, or with everything, for every reason, for the sake of chattering. That passed the war, she was war, and she devoured the war. In the excellently clean hospital The Mannequin had her place for signing her photos for the fans near the window to see and tell the people in charge to provide her with new copies or rather standard photographs if there were people still rushing into the entrance for seeing her. Big Mannequin and her assistance to convey her demands to the civil servants in charge of extra services could not leave their place lest the fanatic lovers of the star should come to catch her hand, then go back to the point they would have quit. The case of the heroine mannequin might teach the stars that escaping from anywhere could not be sufficient to reach a better place because the main work of fans should be tracing their idols even to the WC. or to the bed they would rather make an instant love with magnates or ordinary people except a butcher of IS...All jokes aside Islamic militants should to be left alone even if this expulsion might make them wilder, even really wilder than the beasts. And yet there wasn't so much work-besides signing photos-at the hospital, so much time so she could offer a peaceful hand to the IS-Islamic State-terrorists if she could dare to stretch his milky fingers to the those hyenas all suffering from sexual hunger. If any "Blondie" pausing an instant before them- charged with task to sooth their wilderness, or working amongst them, anybody might jump up her arms that-no doubt-would be unable to sustain his great weight, and letting that beast fall he should try the same thing again. Then she would begin to toss everything in her embrace about in a way difficult to describe, and not easy to understand by hyenas. It goes without saying that such queer movements resembling fight might make those beasts at once a maniac killer and necrophilia based raping heathen...The memo layers of the battle-The Canadian Mannequin took in part to defend the Kurdish Children's rights of living-field: of a wounded leg shaking with ache, or the parts of her uniform turned into rag in need of getting rid of its dust. And how rapid was the trepidation of the human extremities-arms, legs and what else hands dipped into blood pools that there seemed to be no moaning instead of the usual one. And yet there were the same time angry unanswerable questions, such as, What's the use of future? Her hair came loose and fell about her face. It was thick, blond and dirty, for she had no time to take a shower, and her face was pale and thin and as though dimmed with worry and rancour. Her lap would be sufficient there what should matter if her fanatics crane their heads to see her breasts, and even then try to touch the nipples they might call the headlights which invite the souls to clasp, to wring, then sadly resume their labour of obtaining her signature, reposting the libido flames and changing their position, drawing nearer to smell the same perfume together vouching its unique perfectness. taking its sacred smelling apart from those of the mankind's environment that would pollute the natural environment. But this could not be assumed as an ordinary pantomime and if there were be some ejaculations they couldn't have intended for heroine... For three days and several times a day she kissed the cheeks of her fans and took her photos-by means of her mobile-indoors and outdoors sent them-via internet-to the Islamic scholars and clerics of the IS-Islamic State-terrorists. Soon after they castigated her accusing that peerless pearl-The Canadian Heroine-of immorality or rather impudence. Yes according to Islamic terrorists all mannequins should be assumed committing with adultery They all ought to be seen as the creatures living without the least conception of sacrilege while the IS butchers-throttling the humans without shame or rather having got no value of humanity. Frequently the people who didn't know her came, deliberately insinuated through the corridor-where she was sharing her time with fans-in groups even in huge crowds then she keenly cared whether she was observed or not, whether the observed was what she was doing... It was urgent and could not wait, no, and she dropped everything and began to talk quickly besides using the advantages of gesticulate. Actually she never fell silent and stood still a moment, on the contrary hardly she has come to an hat before resuming whatever it was she had been underlying f or setting about some new task to rescue the Kurdish babies from the pounces of Islamic State terrorists or racist Soviet State's paramilitary troops oozing from Turkey. The Mannequin couldn't have remained alone seemingly from the window across the street, and the bowl of pasteurised milk on the table beside her bed in her hospital room. The sleeping time has been being forgotten in these summer nights for she had scarcely winked her eyelids during the last forty eight hours. She would apparently like her room dark in spite of the door and window open on the great outer light hindered from penetration there somehow. Instead of the illuminating designation through some mysterious openings one could see a poor bundle of light poured into, lit up the inner walls covered with luxury-washable-papers hued in violet, and tending to be died or left non-diffusing.

The main theme of her hospital days, remind the fanatics of The Mannequin that coming from and going towards nowhere has been broken, entered a proper background construction attributing to meaningless details some significant determents and to survive to be died one day devoured by the fame making also dying from the point of her future. And at the least abatement of the inflow the world would grow darker when heroes and heroines should shine brightly, and the world's being darker should continue until nothing was invisible any more. Over the shoulders of bravura the dark might not stay triumphed. And The Mannequin, her face turned towards her fanatics their affinity so resplendent that it hurt her eyes, felt her at the crest and all about her the unconquerable exclamations, applauses, and she licked the adoration induced kooks on her face. Sometimes abruptly she turned to face the real reason of that situation, letting it wrap and pervade her, with a kind of invention. Then she heard more clearly the sounds of those at work of men touching her hips , the women shrilling, the director of the hospital cursing her lovers, say crazy and impudently patriotic. But silence was in the darkest of their heart for they could not be out of thought as the hyena type terrorists of IS-Islamic State. And the bustling or the visible alarm-clock announcing the dinner time was as the voice of that party which, like the illuminating dark, or rather the dark of illumination would one day triumph too after her treatment came to an end, and then all-availing throughout the hospital would be still and clearly bright-of darkening light- and all things at rest till another hero or heroine would carry thereto wounded in war of protecting Kurdish babies. Finally she took from his pocket come souvenirs she had brought from Syrian Kurdistan, gave them randomly to her fans. But it sometimes happened, before she decided to do something as that, before she went rather, for there was no decision, that a bibelot showing Saddam before and after hanged, the Green Canonical Laws written by Kaddafi in the sewers taking advantage of the open end serving to sporadic showers. The Mannequin would venture into the room at times, and no sooner had she crossed the threshold than she paused, her wounded leg hooked up... Then, reassured, she took steps-what steps likewise or otherwise- a little further, not timidly, but in accordance with wrath gushing DE PROFUNDIS-from the behind of her conscience. Yes it was a jet black wrath for she was similar of George W. Bush who was hating grey hatred, perhaps the grey reminds him of chicken. Actually far from being little chickens The Mannequin was a hen and ex president Bush a ****; both of them mature! The Mannequin got to know her well and, it seemed to her fans, to be well known by her. If he rose to their cheeks she did not fly into a flutter and yet finishing it directly. But perhaps there were several chickens amongst her fanatics, all grey and so alike in other respects that the eyes of The Mannequin, avid of resemblances, could not tell between them. Alas! Sometimes she was followed by some shadows in the corridors but they were only the workers of the hospital she was hospitalised : the first a janitor, and the second a lady in charge of ironing the bed sheets, even the third, fourth, bearing some tasks no likeness to the other, and but little to one another, in the matter, say, of instant problem solutions and the like. These provided her with more confidence than the fanatics who had led the way showing dry sympathy and come to no service. They useful shadows focused and slipped away in an instant in the fading lights growing dimmer as they advanced, and finally vanished. Shadows? Then safety first, instead of some shadows were of the people in just charge of it. They were the official body guards of The Mannequin fearing IS might have followed her hitherto. And yet the probability of something to make them to betray her presence as a heroine, so they-she and her most intimate social circle members around her began gradually to scratch their heads in anguish caused by suspicion both inflicting and growing to her content without relaxing their common fidgetiness. But often the suspicious shadows came alone-or rather one by one-or one of them escorting the other that one would prefer it, for that is a thing that will never be evaluated as free of danger, though it might well have been occasionally, without much frequency. As for The Mannequin all that was necessary, in order that it might be known whether there was only one or one with others, say, more than one drawing near to her. But after all what use would that-giving sufficient information about the shadows- have been? For it was quite possible there were several non-shadowy dangerous people, and it might be only a few of them were in the habit of sliding as shadows should do if the light source would be mobile. And yet the experiments shared through the internet by means of mobile phones should be worth making. Essentially it was quite possible there was only one shadow: that of The Mannequin who must have clinched that shadow based obsession under the influence of war. And yet that obsession were a thing that should never be neglected there...

Actually all must have been if it should regarding somehow her security-two times already-known. For among other mannequins of the world who must have been protected against various perils, some were dead and the others have forgotten. And when it was urgent for The Heroine Mannequin they have had to be focused on this point making it more complicated or clear, and every mind set at res before it was too late. Then she would felt sorry she had not understood security as she understood podium always to profit by it. The importance that those hours were one day to assume, for her, those long hours in that modern hospital where, neither the show went on quite indoors nor outdoors at times. For a while she waited to be on her feet again, and in motion, and while waiting noted many things linked to safety. Among the things involved that big, anxious, even poisoned by IS-Islamic State terrorists were poisoned positions irresolute on the stable surfaces with atrophied hip shakings sexually. And so she went, all unsuspecting, with the a distinctly fond impression of having been present at everyday TV Channels of great importance. She ought not to stoop to go in through the narrow doors of TV studios because the cameras had to carried to her feet with their little winches, electric cable chain and mobile sockets etc. The extra shadows born of the great camera lights that bordered the stream of sunbeams near to her bed a chaos of gnarled buttons could be heard. And so she went, often unnoticed, in spite of his strange walk after having been wounded, she halted and suddenly started. If The Mannequin had understood the security problem of both podium and battle field she would have chosen another life for her and made more war less fashion show for from far off or from nearby emergencies would have occurred then. From behind the podium down the street directly was being impossible anyhow whereas the mannequins did not try to detain themselves or even call goodbye to see the truth: the friends wouldn't be resentful at her leaving them in a way that seemed so lacking in friendship. So mannequins knew the fugitive friends of theirs meant no harm. On the contrary the same quitting should be accepted as betrayal if at the time they could not help feeling a little hurt. This sort of feeling was quite dispelled a little later behind the podium, when they found it a wound to be bleeding forever. On the table of cosmetic she would have found crumpled papers containing a few little notes cursing her might be everything of haberdashery carrying her skirts to mind. And those terrible reactions, but oh how useless responses they would be. Nevertheless humanly reactions had to be shown indelicate way of giving a friendly message, dissuading the friend too from the view of point of warning having left dignity untouched, and having been prevented from it regarding this as an affront, in the way traditionally friendship required. But it would appear on reflection that The Mannequin's departure from the front-after having been wounded- could seldom have escaped from the reality: war would be more adequate for building beautiful friendship instead of odour, moaning, bleeding. For at the least moment within sight of Canada-her motherland, were it only that of a famous mannequin taking to wing within good relationship with other mannequins who would raise their heads and stared with wide eyes to her as observing a beautiful ape. And even far from away the podium, whereof the milky knees of thumbs were visible, and yet nothing could happen without the psycho-biological knowledge regarding the sense an sensation of mannequins they were not apt to identified regarding to the human's efforts and social fruits while all those who passed along the cosmetic show line and whose remoteness might reduce them to the size of a pin's head. Adding to it it's impossible to divine mannequins whence they were coming, where they were going, and for what purpose. Then they presented good tidings to one another, for they often worked at a little volume creating great distances apart from one show-body from another and from the audiences-or rather the visitors came to see the new fashion and the bodies in charge of its representation.

A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

(New Romantic Russian Novel)

PART I

CHAPTER IV

[
**]Turning towards the event that had been important from the point of her having got her leg wounded by IS-Islamic State’s terrorists, and for it was a unique one, she found the staff of the hospital bowing themselves down to the earth before her-The Heroine Mannequin. And at the first spell of the rest of all events observed by people of Canada. Her photos were about the table or elsewhere, each instant smiling of hers gave her version of what had really happened in the front. And if at first they-her fans, were not in agreement about what they had listened to about her heroic story, they talked it over and over again until they were, in agreement or until they all would have resigned themselves to never being the fanatics of The Mannequin. So it was therefore difficult for public opinion to understand the unseen forces making her much more famous, even the bigger part of her struggle against the global Islamic Terror hasn’t been told or the episode was in the deep shadow of the untold realities, even supposing her to have been capable of gliding, for her movements were rather those of one floundering in a quagmire. And all raised their heads and watched her as she went on with signing her photos for her fans and telling her story lived in the battle field recently. Then looked at one another, before stooping to the her beautiful face again. And on that face the world saluted the rights of Kurdish Children to live on the old earth where they would be playing as their ancestors had done-had played perhaps with a little smile or rather without moaning under any social torture each loving life perhaps if the others felt the same thing and making the resolve to ask each other to go on with the play at their next meeting. But the face of The Mannequin as she stumbled because of her wounded leg, shone more brightly now in the shadow of the timid appearances of her fans that could not be named easily. Then in the brightness of her milky hands waving erotic to some extent-of course, and the face of The Mannequin was keeping as always the gaiety, or rather full of expressions as a luxury wall paper. And when she halted it was the better to think, or to be the closer to pouring her experience simply without her voice had ceased that told her to go on. Then with her sparkling eyes she stared towards the skies, similar to her beauty, and to her abundance in help, and to caress the little wild many-coloured flowers of humanly happiness within the heart of her fans. But that situation were not to be short-lived, for she was still exerting utmost energy. When she stopped, as just then, they wanted to make her to talk again, and noiselessly should strangely be more correct than the loudly as an adverb, yes they would began to do the same thing before she resumed. That mechanism worked in “ whose turn it is” form. So that she seemed having been the silky captive of her fanatics, and she have had to repeat the same style in each résumé. Then in a chair, in that din, as if promenading in the moors on stormy nights, she could tell the last word before the debut of his sentences from the beginning to the end of any paragraph in a cycle if the was some outcries as the groaning empty tanks. Each fan had its own wonder, just as no multi indifferences could be alike, and when the medium embracing her was still she would heard her heart beats afar like the iron balls clashing somewhere. Actually there was nothing, not even the sands colliding with the breeze in The Sahara that no sound did manage to be heard as a cry. The bustling bodies’ mid-days too should give content to being perceived as still as the throne of the ancient Egypt’s death deity. Those she amused herself with identifying, as she was in the hospital. Yes, she got great amusement, before his treatment came to its end she would be enjoy that so-called silence there. The sound she liked best had nothing than the voice of her fanatics. It was the tweeting of the birds, at times, or the sizzling of clusters thereby the emerald-designers would produce, like generations of jewellery magnates just before them. It came down to her where she sit down at the chair, in the corridor so much tidy and soft, at the limit of ear-sensibility, so weak. All in all the sound when heard over shaving precious stones were obliged to be heard swift and even weak from the strange point of humans. They were things that scarcely were, on the confines of sound measuring. So she reasoned then, at her ease that this was it…. Standing before the door of her hospital room semi deleted silhouettes of the ingredients of her useless owning list forced her to count them: window, table, bed, wardrobe, the other immobile to keep shoes, slippers, umbrella, and even the utensils to make a cup of star-buck , and a timber hand with a long handle to itch her back, a sort of hoist God knows to give what service to what organ of hers. She-herself ought to make a list of them in her practical cells of her memory not to treat them with regard but waiting the time to make something for them to end, for her joy to end as every end of joy rejoices us giving good tidings about new joys. And yet her business at the moment is less with these cantankerous objects than with her ears from which there spring two Nordic tufts of no doubt blond hair. She noted then, without avarice, that of recently asked questions seemed in need of have been improved. Oh not that she’s ever even treated completely but for many hours she I has been hearing things clearly. There she could run again. What the doctors and her fans meant was possibly this, that the distances of the world, so long crossing themselves and making spirals which she used to be so avaricious at distinguishing one way from the other, and even from one another, had been dinning at her for so long. The volume of desire perceived remained no doubt the same as before she had to war to rescue the Kurdish babies from being burn alive, she had just mastered the faculty of composing her total libido: to rescue the Kurdish victims in The Mideast’s, and make not love in the caves where the Kurdish families should live summer and winter instead of their lads were too much handsome. The invitation of nature to mate in those caves with of Indo-European stock lads-the handsome Kurdish youth the most innocent souls of the mankind from the point of helping Americans in the region. It went without saying: “Enough is enough”, and she decided to accelerate her leaving hospital . She would willingly attribute her wound should make her to make, say, her fortune to this disordered sense were she not unfortunately rather inclined to look upon her having been wounded as a blessing. Fortunes, blessings, she had a lot of time to pick her words, she was not in a hurry to accomplish the finale. And yet no, she was in hurry. When she stopped, as just she did before a while, the noisy questioning eyes began to scan her face again, strangely loud mimics, those whose were at the threshold of turning into clamour. So that she seemed to have again the best hearing of their silent exclamations in order to hear only. No reply needed! Then in her bed for an instant, in dazzling darkness fed up by an impudent sun too much an attacking thing in The European skies just before stormy nights. Briefly The Heroine Mannequin said to her fans that she could tell then the cry of happiness from that of ache. As for the outcry without any reason, that of wooing of forests, the groaning little girls, and even the grasses they have crouched and the caves that sheltered them. Each baby-burned by Turkish Soviet’s red or green namely the Maoist or Islamist paramilitary troops-had its own cry when the air was full of the smokes spreading towards bloody horizons. But her business at the moment was not to write down the findings of the battle field.

[
**] So she meant nothing that was not calculated to leave her in doubt as to her real intentions. For it was a chance-dark or bright-that could be remembered for the time being as the documents of not a short memory. Her milky fingers glides before the landscape seen from the windows of the corridor she and the crowd of fans stood still chattering instead of the warning of the hospital administration that the end of their patience was near. But from the other side, they accepted that she must have been intending nothing but to guide everybody besides her fans. She did not want to write down all interesting experiences she tasted in the front, and she had to resign herself to them in the end. All dialogues in the field of battle was rendered there in order to know where she have reached to, where she would get to. At first she did not talked exuberantly, she just said something. Then she forgot what she had said. In consciousness of the scientific rule was reminding she of the principle that minimum of memory is indispensable, if one was to tell what one lived really. She told: "Take my Kurdish friends, for example, I really know practically nothing about them anymore. But that does not worry me, there-in internet links-is a record of them somewhere. It is the only way to keep an eye on their-or rather our common-enemies namely The Islamist Terrorists." But as far as she herself was concerned in the same peril and in the same field of battle she was to be as sensitive as her comrades about the war. It was because it was no longer she, she must have said so long ago, but another whose life was just beginning for they helped The Kurdish people to survive. It is right that she too should have her little chronicle, her memories, and be able to narrate the good and bad in a way unbiased. That was her mission. But there must be others, no less excellent than her. Yes, the war chronicles of KOBANI where Turkish Soviet burnt Kurdish babies was quite dark. None can see nothing. She could scarcely even see those events but more terrible ones saw she, and she heard the noise of little fingers of two days old babies as the glided to the heaven over the flames. That was what shocked her and made her to say that something must have changed. Whence The Mannequin might have been... Some questions have begun like this and the answer would be as negative as it could be, briefly: "No never, no reply, never..." Why not? And she heard hear also, "there you are at last", she heard a choir singing that refrain, and The Mannequin should be rebelling: "far enough away for me not to hear it when it goes harsh. It is a Cossack lullaby I know, I don't know how, and when it climbs to harsh peaks of the sound, and when it dies quite away as human's voice do at last, it goes on inside me, but too much inflicting, or making my wounded leg to ache too much , for when it comes on the air to me again it is not together with mine, but behind the battle field I came wounded, or ahead humanity trying to help Kurdish babies at least. It is a sophisticated situation, I know, if I am not greatly deceived. With the babies-I have rescued-too perhaps. I have the absurd feeling Turkish Soviet is conducted by a Turkish Capitalists. Yes, that secret Soviet State has been chanting the same anti-humanitarian and anti-liberal hymn for a long time now. It must have been rehearsing from 1923. It belongs already to the long past, it has uttered for the last time the triumphal cry by which it declares its weird intention: To eradicate both Kurds and The USA viz. the respectful member of L'OTAN / NATO together. Can it be-as being surmised by the Ayatollah F. G. and his sworn enemy namely the illiterate and innumerate Caliph RT- The Armageddon? Week? Thus with the new Soviet-in the garments of Ottoman's soldiers-return to be the laughing stock of the world. If it might, might not their hymn I have just heard in the front coming from the side of IS-Islamic State terrorists backed by Turkish Soviet? Let me confess quite frankly that it is not yet quite refrained within me, could not this hymn have simply been to be learnt by heart and glory of whom who was the first to throttle the Kurds and Americans, and to whom who should have saved my leg after the third millennium in advance in its one and half decade?" Inasmuch as for all the necessities she has not written anything. Why? She must have fallen, etc. And yet she hoped that couldn't give any harm to the truth. She then added only some few lines written down for the sake of pen might worry her before departing from herself again. Since she did not depart from the front but was carried to hospital for her leg was wounded . Evidently she to speak of departure-might be serving to remind the fans of the beauty of her milky knees, ankles and the like. Any written document from herself with the same avidity as a week ago for example could serve hardly neither to the fans nor to her. For that documentary based speculations should be going on, then, for many ten hours, it should be over a week since somebody would warn her of delay. So she should be soon be safe and sound to put the point to the matter. If there would be any wrong thing to be argued again the reason should be detected over her beautiful legs. That ought not what one could have said, and one could swear to it, that is what she' d have written. The last speculations seemed familiar, and suddenly she seemed having written all of them somewhere before, or spoken it, word for word. Yes, she would occasionally be fond of looking for a good style in writing, etc., that was what she wrote when she realized she did not know what she had said, at the end of his hospital days as might be seen above, and whether subsequently or consequently the drafts she had formed, to write forced her to live as she had written... So she went to the front at last! To war at last against Islamist Terrorists IS-Islamic State-no matter die or alive! The Mannequin was going the way of all her other plans. She thought the good tidings should be rejoice Kurdish babies in coming days as she had smelled the liberal perfume of the near future, she really did. And she feared nothing, The Heroine Mannequin feared nothing any more. 2015 summer has been truly at hand. While she was preparing to open a new page in her dialogues with her fans she turned towards the window's panes of the hospital corridor and she saw the pane shivering with breeze, before the little cyclones pornographic to perturb the women's skirts ghastly . It is no ordinary pane, it brings her lights and voices. The humour of Good Samaritan had not fallen to the podium. It took not a long time to find the "Salvation" in the depths of heart. It was on ready as if lying under the bed he slept, dreamt, read newspapers in the morning or made love after some meals. How might such things be possible? They would be possible all over the world, and they shouldn't take a long time to recover it. They had been piercing through our souls from the time of Adam and Eve, but it has been realized in a hard way. So the front days when she fought against the Islamist Terrorists have written a thick exercise-book she could share with the fans in love with her milky hips turning their attention proportionally towards the humanist approaches at the same time while they were gazing her knees with a big sum of saliva behind their lips ready to lick her extremities. She hoped the world would see her out. From that time on she should write on every pages of her war notes where she did come from... Though she didn't know the spirit of "Good Samaritan" she has found it, just like that, the soul the world needed it without knowing. Knowing perfectly well she had no sufficient notes-as mentioned before already-so she ought not rummage in her possessions in the hope of finding one paragraph completed regularly. Naturally let it might not disappointed regarding the incorrect language, nor surprised at the newest English to be born over The Heroine Mannequin. Her adventure was ruled within the terms of humanity. The first days in the fronts were covered with nothing and devoid of symbols or diagrams to summarize her ideology for she had got not anything to be called as ideology but belief independent from the rituals of the believers of the earth practised with here and there over long or brief phrases. Physics, calculations, and other concrete applications induced scientific disciplines were dreary as she had reckoned. They seemed to her to stop suddenly, prematurely at all sense based on beauty linked events. As though she had been discouraged perhaps it could not be astronomy nor astrology would be fitting to her inclination. She did look closely to the classical curriculum that had been chosen by The Eastern and Western Europe. She drew a line, yes, I did draw a line between the Ottoman's Educational system and the of The Europe, and she wrote: "I cannot drew that line for there is nothing at the other side namely that of the Ottoman." Inasmuch as this finding was thoroughly true for the Ottoman Empire should be toppled down soon because of its lacking of any system of educational life. For the time being it should be quite giving its ghost in Palestine and Yemen in history, and so on in the modern times. Without even going on with narrating, writing or symbolizing her time past in the she leapt to the next page then next to that next to it, which was blank for The heroine Mannequin wouldn't like boasting. Good deeds need no to be bragging at all. Then she needed not dilate on her book of war memories and when it came to the newspapers that published a lot of news and articles about her she would merely say that the important people wouldn't prefer to write any proper notes or rather Items using the advantage of having been being too much written even with the colourful shows of photos to cover the main text. But she might well lose the file of memos between now and then, for temporary and permanent and all. The recital on the contrary was an old acquaintance, so she solely must have had it about herself when she was brought there. It had several faces. It was not long nor short. She hoped it would illuminate her situation outright. She was saying she did not depart from herself then with quite the agility somehow. That ought to be in the natural order of things, all that pertains to regarding her lioness heart must have be written there, including her inability to grasp what order had been meant. For she had never seen any sign of any, inside her or outside.

[
**] As for the appearances, believing that they would be less effective than memos in words should be treating them unjustly and be vain. She shouldn't go into the details while narrating the incidents all over the battle field but her beauty would exhibit every trifling things in atom's weight importance. If the Islamic State Terrorists who had wounded her leg could see that really magnificent extremity they should cry, whistle, choke, go down prone, come up, choke, beg pardon, adore, deny, affirm, and lick her feet. Actually after such realistic responses from her enemies she would depart from herself more gladly. She would even have waited for that paradox induced behaviours from them. For what having done? She knew. What she had to do otherwise. She watched from the furthest boundaries of the front. She gave rein to her enemies' sexual pains, their impotence. And in the end it seemed to her, for a second, that she was nearly going to have a visit to let the Islamist Terrorists to lick her feet! The last touches of her treatment was then drawing to a close. The decisive moment was at the hands of MDs when the hopes reposed in her fanatics were to be fulfilled. She had been trained for war from hair to thumb, knew everybody: her docs and her fans. And Mrs. Nurseries, whose adoration to The Heroine Mannequin grew warm in the times of her coming in and going out of the hospital, and they would have prayed for her success too. Kneeling at her bedside, in her night-dress, she would have introduced her thanksgiving silently if it was not for the crowd of her fanatics. "Oh God grant me be successful, grant me be victorious, grant my friends scrape through!" When the first medal was gained there would be others, after every battalion show, several times in a life. But it seemed to the Mannequin-the heroine that those would be less terrible than the first which was to give her the chance to be wounded. She was giving a struggle for the medal, for the many medals. For she and her warrior friends felt that a more or less normal if not coward fighters, once admitted to the front of the task of struggling against Islamic terror professionally, was almost sure to b-with the medal of course- honoured after officially certified, sooner or later, apt to exercise them. One day, The Heroine Mannequin, should go back to the front, no doubt, so. she wouldn't sell herself in dry a chat with fans killing time in vain. A thief of the time? No, a good soldier shouldn't give up any second for even a mini second might suffice to be shot, and the same rule was valid in the podium as it would be in examinations, she whistled to herself. She took off her heart showed her cold part within her other identification as being a good, heroine, beautiful mannequin. " Leave me alone...so far...my dear friends" she warned the people in the corridor then. The rules linked to discipline conceptions of hers was almost hidden through the muscles of her heart containing the hard instructions for use either in the front or in the podium. The Heroine Mannequin. Suddenly the chairman of the department arrived at the miniature meeting area-the part of the corridor before The Mannequin's room in the clinic. Her treatment would be realized earlier than usual. But did she know what time would she be sent to home? Lightning, both dazzling and fading shadows were availing there. She was surprised to see the man, at a distance, in the green uniform of surgeons and she having been in the midst of the young looking fanatics, waved her hand to him. Her body was in the hole of the crowd, and she he had dug for her presence, which had protected its boundaries during the treatment. The chief surgeon came out of the bright staircase wiping his mouth as if he just has had his breakfast, and joined the group of The Heroine Mannequin's. The Heroine Mannequin parted her lips to salute him and held up the file of her photos for him to look inside. But he, instead of looking at the photos, looked at her showing an exaggerated adoration. He named the priceless existence of her at the hospital: The Angel of fight. Might it not be better, she said, to let her having heard it the day before her yesterday, to give him time to use the chance buttering her up? "You are right," he said, I'd not thought of that." "Or even two days before," she said, to give him time to change the power of his fingers while pinching her boobs if it should suit him. The birds beyond the open window of the corridor part they were occupying were singing that the author of their novel Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF was the same person-The Chief Surgeon; yes the birds, their yellow beaks agape to show they had been created not to be singing only, and yet lying impudently to make the writings of the author adorned with silly exclamations, which the chief surgeon or rather the author ought to correct. He wrapped with expert hands the messages of both The Heroine Mannequin and the birds in the hospital garden wrapped without using tissue-paper but the tulles of time. He was not pleased to be known for either the author or the surgeon should be hidden. The Chairman of the general surgery clinic would be the most fitting title for him for he had been writing the story of the Mannequin whose feet or knees or boobs he would love to lick as an Islamic Militant if not an Islamist Terrorist, and it would certainly suit him much. This conversation there whereof she and her fanatics have been chattering was renewed instantly . She asked, "Might it not be better if we just say good bye each other so that we could have meant it for getting round one day, if the time passed as we hoped? "Then we should do so at once," said the chief surgeon, "otherwise there is no point in it." To which Mr. Surgeon has made an attribution, after a silence, to some objection, and then, after a second silence, another objection similar to the first. He first objected that his patient-The Heroine Mannequin, should have time to break off, or lose that friendship, before her departure. He secondly objected that his patient, if she received the all positive results immediately, and assuming she neither broke nor lost friendship with them, would have time to get so used to it and, by comparing it with the hospital type relationships of relatively the most condensed friendship, so familiar with its defects, that its warmth would no longer survive. "I did not know mine was an inferior consideration," said Mr. Surgeon. Mr. Surgeon placed his hand on the shoulder of the nearest fanatic and sat gazing at that fan for some time. Then he buttoned his green shirt-its collar and left the meeting. The heroine Mannequin, cried, Mrs. Surgeon, came back and finished his speculation with a gesture of waiting! From the underside of the staircase they all listened to the steps distinct, fainter, too much clearer than mute thoroughly.

A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

(New Romantic Russian Novel)

PART II

CHAPTER I

[
**] I then climbed out of the hole where the heroine and her fans, and the chief surgeon were chattering went out of it. Drawing closer my appearance in the mirror I saw the surgeon writer there. Then all became clear to me. I was still weeping for the mules that were lying on the soil after being shot by machine gun fire of Turkish Soviet Gendarmerie, and as had to be expected accused of " beastly suicide" without shaming that they're mere animals and they might have got no right to commit with suicide. Their bleeding or rather punctuated forelegs were 'stretched out straight and rigid, the twitching hinds drawn up under the belly' after they have thrown their bodies into the most heart-rending agony on their Kurdish owners' soils occupied in 1920s by The Turkish Secret Soviet State. Hyenas, crocodiles, their crimes against the living creatures and the righteous hippopotamuses' wrath cursing them even rescuing unlucky kittens of all sort of herbivores from those natural murderers by means of their enormous and amorphous mouth, and super teeth, under their the bulging eyes, composed of vengeance as a striking head. I have handed up to the bystanders the bitter and very dramatic deaths of Kurdish Children's tale over a wounded, heroine mannequin, and that task of mine is similar to providing the innocent young Kurds with shovel and the spade to help them in climbing out of the holes of the Mideast. The tyrants-Saddam, Turkish green Soviet Leaders, Caliph R.T. and his rival Ayatollah F. G., The bosses of fake secular, red Soviet KOC Holding and The HURR... Gazette namely A. D. had ordered that at least 40.000 should be killed, dragged the by the legs to the edge of the holes they would have dug themselves and heaved in the common grave type holes, on their back. If some of the legs, bulging from the earth to the heaven above the level of the ground some gendarmeries should have banged them down with the rifle butts. The new generations of the secret Soviet's gendarmerie would be handed the butt of the rifles to smash the brains of Kurdish babies, and cover the aperture of the holes covering them with soil after they thrown the mini corpses into them. I would like fill up the holes so and yet after I finished my miniature foresting in spring. On the contrary of my humanist approach both Islamist terror agents, Islamic intellectuals and the prototypes of modern-yet fake secular intellectuals stood watching the murders and the drama of graveyard construction through these weird holes. Before those humanly sufferings no deep sleep or no slouch calm stole over the world. Great indifference is a dangerous exaggeration. Yes we all have the right to feel better. And yet Islamic Terror should inflict the same aches to both the one slaughtered and the other looking at the bloodshed on the TV station programmes giving the abominable scenery in full colour. The end of a life is always a normal event giving abnormal suffering to whom witnessed nearby. I used to pause to rest when I would see the hyenas stealing the breakfast of the kittens of a lioness or rather the lonely mom, leaned panting on the prey and drawing almost to shed tears. There were great pink gaps in the cultural tricks thereby the Turkish Soviet swindled the East and West Europe. In 1920s this gang state introduced its communist loyalty to Lenin alongside with the threat of starting nationalist terror in the region of The Caucasus if Lenin and his friends wouldn't accept to be the suzerain of the gang's so called state. The secret Soviet States' magnates knew very well the truth of the people they tortured The People especially the great majority of Sunni Muslims had been loving Tsars' justice within the right, respectful, mild administration teaching the modern life and giving modern services to the people. After the Communist revolution the great majority of Anatolian Muslims followed the modernist Sultan-and real caliph of course-SELIM III. And yet the gang state-The Secret Soviet, has managed to conceal the reality from the eyes of The West Europeans and Americans saying that the Anatolian Muslims used to hate Judeo/Christians and their hatred ought to be controlled by the secular army till the great red generals like ERGENEKON pashas claimed that the republic/TC should be a satellite of The red China. After the red generals have found themselves in the court their culprits began to swindle The member countries of NATO introducing the fake caliph R. T and his sworn enemy Ayatollah F. G. as liberal Muslims instead of the crimes-known both by the fake caliph and so called Ayatollah and yet never confessed- of the Secret Soviet's aids to IS (Islamic State)terrorists! While the big Kurdish heroes and heroines fought against the Islamist Terror army of IS no authorities of Turkish Soviet would make The EU or The USA well informed about those realities. They sat by the window of their kiosks or palaces, smoking, drinking, watching the death of Kurdish babies. (As the Mannequin from Canada would know even some babies were burnt alive by the secret Soviet's Gendarmerie. I, now, am imagining that I sat down before that heroine mannequin who has been wounded in the battle field where she was trying to protect those babies, laid my hand on her wounded knee feeling my head too much eager to adore at least her shoes thinking she couldn't be alone within the boundaries of the European culture from, say, Portugal to Greece, to Russia, and to America. Between my head and her feet I might slipped to a kind of humanist romanticism while her wounded leg would seem as white as marble still. It stood still and I didn't help but beginning to talk again. Now that I should utter warmly: Pray don't say I seemed in good spirits for I couldn't be good as the mule that the secret Soviet accused it committing with suicide...The Halo Family again-the main theme of this writing. Yes, enough talking , it's time of writing from the debut of what is the basics would be here. Khali had heard a word or rather a part of the mostly used speeches-The American Dream. Mr Halo told something about it: in his opinion, it couldn't died of old age. He had adored it, two years before he has seen the lightening of it, on the horizon line between the Syria and Turkey where the secret Soviet should have been hiding still its gendarmerie's way to the slaughter-house might be full of Kurdish people, say, groaning blue collar veterans, moaning grand moms, little girls and weeping babies between a frequency of crying and giggling. So he could not complain of the future for future would be The American Dream... After the interlocution Khali-the son of Mr. Halo predicted that the secret Soviet would drop down dead at the first war with any European stock civilisation, or rather, discipline no matter it might be The USA or Russia. But Mr. Halo was a connoisseur of fake secular or anti radical Islam circles of The Constantinople under the occupation for six hundred years. In the case of international fraud mastered by secret Soviet bowel gas intellectuals' friends from the Europe or The USA that counts, the rest is unimportant. So he tried to describe the vaudeville enchanting the European Culture people: they're looking the European full in the eye, at the gates of the ethnic cleansing heaven-Bosnia Herzegovina and swindling the world that the Bosnians had been slaughtered not Serbians, and said what he saw: the international fraud power could still be made to serve form the point of the Secret Soviet. The Halo Family, The Americans, The Kurds, Kurds and Americans should have been gazed by Islamic Terror State's butchers before they have been beastly beheaded with a blind dagger carrying at least twelve people's-women or men-yes at least twelve people's blood drops dried in obligatorily in ellipsoid stains whereof the cores should be creamy or shaped like newly dropped jelly matter, and the victims-Kurd or American-should have returned the butcher's gaze. If anybody ask where is the yard of the slaughter-house one could answer it without any toil: the region where The Kurd lives. As Halo Family's story is unfolded the slaughterhouse will have been loomed larger speedily. Thus the site of the IS-Islamic State-or the slaughterhouse for humans shifted gradually from the abiding place of the victim that led to the slaughterhouse for human thence to the holes used as grave. Yet a little while and the victim would have contended to be throttling. And yet the look in the victim's eye, Mr. Halo insists, would be like a prayer to the butcher to forgive the throat the Islamic terrorist was going to cut. Even the eyes of the victims that had thought of committing with suicide would be covered with sores, Mr. Halo reiterates and in the case of Kurdish or Americans that had been beheaded by Islamic Terrorist one should let oneself thoroughly be deterred by frankly and humanitarian sores. story he kept his eyes fixed on his son. Time to time Mr. Halo kept his eyes fixed on Khali-his beloved son. There they sat o the sofa traditionally built and yet gilded upon every protruding part of it; a round table before them, in its full brightness to reflect their richness the famous capital and revenues, and estates of their lucky Kurdish family. But especially the Ayatollah F. G. abiding in The USA/Pennsylvania who cried and bubbled the name of his sect's god, speaking over some hundreds radio stations all over the world, listening-stealthily-a lot of famous pillar of states including of all the Mid-East Countries, and by means of remote tribute has been robbing Kurdish rich people lest they would be forced to flee their native lands. What's the matter in taking care of a secret Islamic Terror chief in The USA is the reality countering another reality from the point of weakening a fake Caliph, say, uneducated and untrained, instead of the distance far from each other. The USA surmised, seemingly, that the pseudo Ayatollah F. GULEN could have influence the polls in general elections but that project has fallen flat, and the so called Ayatollah GULEN hasn't managed to steal even 0,05 % part of the votes The heap of votes was dwindling, the economical paradigms shone strangely in the chaotic light after the people went to polls. Political susceptibility were near to be glowing as fires to burn the Kurdish babies again in the fading light of peaceful attempts made by secret Soviet state. Mr Halo stopped often to rest, leaning on the pillow ornamented with golden strips and looking about himself. "The slaughterhouse like Mideast made the secret Soviet to be used to dig profits from Kurdish innocent blood," said Mr. Halo, "that's where it sold mildew rich biscuits that couldn't be eaten by any humans and bought sheep, cows etc. that could be used in eating their tasty meat, making loafers, and to produce and to sell first quality suits made of the wool stolen from Kurds. Would one, please look at that loafer?"

The next day he would go out and set to work, beside his son. They used to work at times together, heedless of each other. Then either Mr. Halo or Khali would drop his stick-the most familiar apparatus of Kurds for ten thousand years, turn aside and move slowly away. Essentially their shepherd was no longer invisible turning around a hill or descending from the shadows of its crest. The face of the earth is the most apt surface apt to complete camouflage. so one could see the objects no more when they kept to be on the natural doom of any height in earth. For they knew how the well camouflaged, dead or buried tend to be seen, and contrary to what one might expect, the living body to be invisible at the heights in which they resemble the swimmers All over the oceans the dead should be the first to be seen whereas the shepherd occupy nowhere in the horizons while walking at the top of heights. Mr. Halo had made allowance for this when taking care of the rest of the cattle grassing around. Khali and his mother passed each other by in silence when Khali went back to home. She had been to see poor neighbours, to help them or rather providing their families with milk, bread, egg, butter or even dried meat for it was the month of Ramadan which would call the believers to dine together at the time of praying. She was thinking of the heaven that should rejoice them who had served to neighbours. Before her husband too she rapidly passed with a little glance, and in his attitude-while caressing the little lambs jumping or trying to jump more or less, there was nothing to suggest that he had seen her either. Before she went into her room the whole house was put under the lights shower already by the cousins of Khali. They were for a time the guests of Khali, and very happy to live in a rich relative's home that stood as a kiosk at the country side. Their usual place would be before a voluminous, modern TV set mounted on the wall of the big drawing room with its luxury the chimney piece, beside the quartz clock placed on a giant, antic mantelpiece. The gold plus rarely found wood based armchairs, being the lowest parts of the chic furniture items but the carpets, had to remain in the middle to be fitting to move towards everywhere, and the reading lamp on its tripod and could not change its places because of the nail fixing it to the wooden or rather too much luxury laminate floor.She stood with her ornamented basket and as if the light had went off having her hands pressed against the wall, her panting was the one and only sound source until she might turn to their guests to salute them. She rushed kitchen towards the gas oven and turned it up and put the cheese pie into it in a silver colour tray . Seeing Khali she first thought he was hiding there not to listen to the dramatic events Mr. Halo has got used to narrate gaining the-last-unfinished as the starting point... Then her evening thoughts flew to the untold stories of poor Kurds to whom she and her family got used to help especially from the point of providing them with food or rather-UHV based long life-feeding material. She set down the plates on the table and the outer world-poor or rich-went out so that soon there were many dishes on the table adding to the "Today's Soup" and the cheese pie. But suddenly with a lovable gestures her nephews came to embrace her. Now that it was the a bundle of artificial light's shower again in the kitchen the dark outside gradually faded without leaving neither the least darkness nor anything lightened anyhow and Khali's mother, her eye against the windowpane, was able the to serve a faultless dinner to the guests and the household. She could have gone on sorting haricot beans all night and to achieve her purpose, which was to satisfy the soft palate of all using all sorts of mixture especially in soup boiling and dressing the dishes. Nobody on the earth surmise that in the end she would have stopped, saying, "I have done all they can do for their ancestors are from The Europe and their language is a member of Indo-European tongs. For instance the mother in English is MADER in Kurdish. MADER; PEDER; BIRADER are mother, father, and brother in English and so on... " Yes the Kurdish people could not have done all they could have done because humanism would hinder them to burn the babies of their enemies. And yet the secret Soviet State could do everything including to betray I'OTAN / NATO of which Turkey is a member state. Without L'OTAN Kurds couldn't survive. L'OTAN! At the special moments come when one this European organisation desists-what would be an exaggeration-because it is the wisest thing to do... Being discouraged? Maybe but not to the extent of undoing all that has been done. What if the purpose of L'OTAN, in desisting? To desist excessive-rather- exaggerated humanism in the name of humanism itself without getting rid of all that is humanism and of the greater part of what then? Of course the same conception: humanism! Humans-all of them-must have known that Israel also could be managing to run on the strained ropes. Kurds too could know how to do it while protecting their new generations from being done away with whereas there are other tasks as caring the main source of earning their salt namely to take care of cattle, other days, of which they may fairly safely say that they might have finished, though the killers of their babies do not see which. She went to the kitchen and came back, holding her head high and a little to one side, so as not to be seen swimming in pride. In the other hand she took pride of Mr. Halo's big money that enabled her held a great chance to chase the Turkish popular pop music artists or rather so called artists in dressing to show a la mode garments whereas the guests were her nephews, and they were nor so chick as she was in another saying open to take amiss before her beauty they were far from, or might envy her getting angry with her from the sheer envying. They had time to do so because they would be with Mrs. Halo while sojourning there long. Mrs Halo caught the situation often by eardrop, and wouldn't like to have her guests disposed in any position to receive the blow of envying, whether upon their sense or feeling. And Mrs. Halo knew that often one would strike an envying soul to make it envying, without knowing it. If they-the guests-had just seen half of dresses of Mrs. Halo and been the prices of those dear items they wouldn't be able to find the possessions of theirs well they used to satisfied with behind their walls as nibbling at their leaves. And they couldn't be able to congratulate themselves on having succeeded with living up to, and not felt unnecessary sufferings, whereas in reality they have possessed all that troublesome things for the sake of nothing. Eventually such weak balances would occur to be open to infractions most frequently in daily life day or night, from the point of inner depression being felt greater in the night. Guests on the other hand might more stubborn fashion lovers and some have been observed, with the stomach far off being fed healthily, to cut capers before taking under control and even show their great needs for many things a la mode till Mrs. Halo would donate them with precious souvenirs from, say, Damascus, form Beirut and the like. Their male guests are less impressionable and sometimes even struggle against accepting presents from the rich ones, unless they did something to be awarded. Mrs. Halo was considered such matters solvable for she believed that all the concrete problems must have been open to a lot of solutions matching them . "Little devil!" she cried, the spiritual or moral frictions have been progressing resistance in the way of to be eased easily. But Mr. Halo was already far away, trying to take care of the cattle floundering in the nearest meadow grasses. Soon afterwards Mr. Halo, then his son-Khali, attracted by the savoury smell have been sitting around the dinner table. Sitting at the table, face to face with their guests, their eyes having averted from each other's eyes, they would ready to full their empty stomachs. But Mrs. Halo, the mother, would like to be mobilized at every occasion. [
**][
**]But neither Mr. Halo nor his son could approve her excessive mobility, the former because he would have preferred her to eat with everybody at the table, the latter because he held that to consume what she cooked at such an early stage of dining should be her right. Their development in protection of the lady of their home, either of them, it was all the same to her, would be mature more just a little. And Mrs Halo told them to hold their tongues and went on with running from one corner to another to fetch something containing pepper, ketchup, vinegar or olive oil in flagon like cases. All she had to do was to gaze the table and fix the lacking items to be completed. And carry them on one another at times. Mrs. Halo would like also to go to the door, listening the dogs barking, called and feed them too. In the far distance the their kittens remind their existence of Mrs Halo, and she replied them that she would about to reach them too. Mr. Halo and his son called her back impatiently…She’s coming, she said and yet a long time passed before she came. When the meal was over Khali went up to bed, so as to swim in his pre dream peace and comfort before the night mares made by the official murders linked secret Soviet State’s Gendarmeries joined his night rest as in the case every sleeping Kurds for they shared the same night mare. Not that his changing capacity was restrained by modesty but the time of the Jesus Christ would come when He should change the night mares into the colourful dreams. Nor was he, when the family members of Halos was open to the weird imaginations there. Their home is a rich Kurd’s Family, and certain or rather strong refinements were possible at any time The God would like… Al of them, dad, mom and the guests then went up to bed, for a particular reason. feeling security in dreams-lf not sleep-and refresh their souls worn out by the wild attacks of Turkish Soviet’s Gendarmerie. They would have gladly slept with the common hope that The Jesus Christ would come down to earth and the duality of wolf and lamb should live together. Yes the Kurds of The Eastern and South-eastern Anatolia too believe in salvation by The Jesus Christ, They don’t mean their rescuer over the term Father but the breath of the God who would have the Kurds moaning under the oppression of gladly slept with their specific American Dream, the time was long past and gone when they would have seen even the secret Soviet butchers gladly slept with a salvaged spirit. Salvaged from the quagmire of bloody murders… And something should hold them back. And they did not seem eager. But the Turkish Soviet was still young. Blood shedding then was in the air. Mrs. Halo the only member of the household who had the greatest desire both to sleep and to wake up with the same dream: Peace! She saw it coming with hope not indifference. Frequently she went out having escorted the tomcat of The Halos. Alone with her cat Mrs. Halo sat watching the dogs eating the big bones-for the thin part of the skeletons of avis might wound the oesophagus of the canines-of grilled chickens. She was crouched beside her dear cat before the range of big dogs gnarling-God knows for what reason whether out of grudge or zest-in a mom characterized attitude of satisfaction. After coming back to the dinner table she told herself to eat and began to eat the remains of the lamb, out of the service pot, with a spoon. But it is hard to look steadily for any standard life at The Mankind, even when you are resolved to for suddenly they might get interested in you and saw you as the most convenient object to be looked steadily they stood up or sit down, even having been lying at another place briefly likewise engaged in that process as you did there would be no chance to name your position: observing or being observed. Then in taking back your attempt there should be only one way to escape from being observed namely hiding somewhere or getting the best way of camouflage capable even to conceal you from your eyes. But seeing oneself still so sad that one’s cheeks would be wet with tears. What gaiety. If they wouldn’t watch Turkish programmes-run by secret Soviet state-Kurdish programmes run by the same enemy of humans’ intelligence gang on the TV? No, it wouldn’t be the same thing as they would prefer to choose their mother tongue induced news, music, political comment. “Halo Family”…The Halo family, the family of Halos, Mr. Halo, Mrs. Halo, Their beloved sun Khali… Does it matter about the Halos? Yes, yes particularly Because while one wouldn’t be with them the one could be lost in The Great Mission of Kurdish People carrying liberal thoughts to the part of The Mideast neighbouring to Turkey. How one’s plans could be getting on, one’s plans, one had plans not so long ago. Perhaps the world has another ten years ahead of it to see The Great Mideast embracing The Great Kurdistan. The Kurds! One should try and go on all the same, a little longer. If one thought elsewhere, one wouldn’t be able stay there.

[
**]A PC MOMENT OF SOLZHENITSOF

(New Romantic Russian Novel)

[
**]PART II

CHAPTER I

One should never hear oneself rebuking, afar off, from one's far mind, giving information of the Halos, one's mind wandering, far from there, amongst the ruins of Kurdistan. Then Mrs. Halo was alone at the table for the others finished their delicious meal. She sat down by the chair thereof her cat gazing Mrs. Halo waiting if only she should finish eating and her cat itself take her turn and turned off the break not to let its apatite flare up as it always did before devouring its plate out of grudge as because of it might be as its great and voluminous apatite. When Mrs. Halo thought the hunger of her cat she would had cooled it sufficiently for she knew that her cat suffering from obesity a little. When her cat was consuming its dinner she stood in the proper erection of her posture, bent towards it to satisfy with its satisfaction and yet having not bowed forward with her hands on the floor, before she stand up again. Her day of aiding everybody over, and day dawned not any other toils within her except to watch TV, sipping her tea rigged with lemon slices till midnight. The diligent pains of an ordinary life was amusing her. Sitting, moving about, she bore them with great enjoyment. Then wrestling with night life-as having awakened by the pressure of urine, turning left and right or vice versa in bed. Regarding to the pit of this unending happiness her sigh should have taught that the good and bad days or night of luxury life ladies toil would be going up unendingly, a day to be being missed when it was night, a night that to be missed when it was day, and sunlight and in night under the genuine crystal chandeliers' dazzling illumination shower, cheerfully, for the light the ladies had been told about, and told she ought to understand outright, because it was not like those they should be taught as the summer time couldn't know why its sun ought to be setting down like the sun of winter would pull it off, to their attending to the guests at the dinner table if the guests would even be, say, their relatives at the most last sitting up straight on the chair if not standing up not saying of bowing down over the table, with little sleep but much more sleep than it would be in her bed. Often they moved about any proper place viz. a room, the home the market-place and the like... For years then it had been going on ordinary numbers times ordinary number or more. Mrs. Halo told herself she was at the pre- menopause, but half heartedly. She had been told that the night in the bed would have seemed less night when things were bad as menopause or love to be worn by time, and the night couldn't be night even if the sun had gone before the stars were shining because the stars might not be shining too. She stood gazing up at herself. there is only one warranty linked to her body saying there could be no guarantee. It was all the ways that had one moment rejoiced her, and solaced her at another time. She would go to the well of chance and grasp the chain of mood. The bucket of daily psychology was at the bottom, so it was in such a lottery mode. Not her decisiveness as it would be in the case of her husband could stray along the sinuous links of feeling better. Her mind was an exhibition of formless questionable paintwork , and, might make it to flow in mud mingling and crumbling by means of limply way away... Sometimes she seemed to have to deal with her son's youth revolting, that minor worry, then lying asleep in her bed, to be wakened for a glass of water. Hearing her mother moving towards the Frigidaire , he was on the point of getting up and help her or rather to thank her at least. But it was only the next day, or the day after, that she decided to tell Khali what Mr. Halo had told her, namely that he was going to scald him and would not back his word. Then, as people do when someone even insignificant dreary events, she might have summoned up such memories for remaking them together as they had been left in the shadow of memories not to be remembered at all! Vital importance circumspection. One day she took counsel of a Russian Good Samaritan on the subject of bravura. The Russian good believer's grand dads had migrated from Ireland and reiterating the same motto: "That must have been when one was still looking for someone to be faithful to Teacher-The God. Then she opened wide her eyes so that all the friends and guests of hers might admire her limitless depths of her happiness near to turn sadness for it has started to be seen really having got no end, and introduced the happy one a monotonous future phosphoresced at all not open to be spoken. Why? Because only the open ended things could be told. When she clean the dining room her face was to be so close everything that she felt the little drops of fresh water instead of hot air and sprays of cokes, and she too, no doubt, on her. She could see her still in the rooms like that, the fit of exerting past, wiping her sweat on forehead, and herself, with downcast eyes, pained by her soiled skirts. For the time being that she was no further use for cleaning from the very beginning. She was happy, at the other side she had a cat. But all she had to offer in that way was a swift voice nightingale. Mrs. Halo used to try and teach it his son Khali-when he was a little boy-to say, "May God be with us!". These prayer little Khali managed to repeat well enough, but the celebrated restriction was too much for Mrs. Halo's son. This annoyed not him whereas he didn't love to be out of sportive slogans first and then political mottos or rather ideological fragments, he has kept nagging at utterances learned by heart before beginning all over again. Then both Mr. and Mrs. Halo flew into a rage and retreated to their armchairs to give a cold shoulder to little boy... It were very fine years, with every convenience, play and sing and run and mischief deeds. He was even forced to overwork, learn the names of all persons around them even if they would prefer to call him bad names, such as Khali-Halley and so on. Sometimes, through her sub-consciousness or rather her libido namely the windows of sexual ripples steering all individuals towards social share facing one's mate apparently! But that offers nothing for she was married and needs no more to do with her basic wish to prove anything. Or so she would say. On the weird day-20th July 2015-Islamic State's terrorists used a female butcher viz. a suicide bomber to slaughter 31 Kurdish youngsters, and wounded more than one hundred friend of the killed ones. The awfully bloody Islamic Terror attack proved that the suicide bombers were being trained in Turkey too under the government of dandy Caliph R.T. besides the Bosnia whereof Turkish Ayatollah F. G-abiding in The USA-ought to be seen within the hinterland of that Islamic maniac having been the sworn enemy of Turkish Caliphate for he was after n being the World's Muslim Emperor over his 1600 colleges all over the world. Actually aggressive atheist, superficially modernist or KEMALIST Soviet State has holding tightly the bridles of both Hyenas suffering from rabies and nationalist-F.G. and R. T. E together-without knowing-and in bickering on purpose.

One of his dearest friends of Khali was killed in a suicide bomb attack in Urfa by Islamic State’s terrorists just yesterday-20th July 2015 Monday. Poor Khali would have been feeling cramped. Khali-lost his beloved amicable one-used to call his “Super Lamb” i.e. the lamb of The Jesus Christ ready to be sacrificed after the father had been crucified. He did know who was the owner and teacher of the Islamic terrorists-The Secret Soviet of Turkey, and yet couldn’t define exactly, perhaps because of the Kurdish expressions. he could not help but thinking while talking Turkish that the notion of modernism of a nomadic horde couldn’t be adapted to that than of the liberal world for the modern women of modernist-KEMALIST-Turkey would like not to wear any panties say nothing inside of the super miniskirts of theirs in order to be adopted by the Europeans. They must have thought their big TUBERCULUM PUBICUM OS PUBIS that would be seeming under the wavy skirts at times could make the red communist or green Islamist butchers of the secret Soviet State viz. the teachers of IS militants could make The Turkish Nationalists’ murders either having under pant, pink panties or having not at all-to be forgiven by The EU or The USA. What a criminal tedium :Now think! Anything but wind to exhibit the skin near to genital area of Turkish Soviet’s modernists might be useful in the way of having got the liberal word to forgive their secret Soviets murder teams those directed by R.T.Green Islamists, the others governed by F. G. and the nationalist/racist paramilitary troops paid by KEMALIST commanders. Islamic terror would be also a means of cheating The Europeans because both the modern aspect and contemporary behaviour induced KEMALISTS whose women would trying too much to show their pubic region for assumed as being the friends of The Europeans and the racist and Islamic militants could not be differ from each other, and there were no different groups within the Turkish intellectual circles as surmised by the liberal-civil world. That was never persuaded Mr. Halo that there was anybody loving liberalism as the main truthful ideology of modern times besides The Pro NATO Kurdish and Turkish people who should be going on with looking for genuine liberal leaders to be voted in at the polls… Khali’s relations with the student friend of his who has died after the attack of the suicide bomber has hit the several hundred students last day. The life span of Kurds were of short duration as could be appreciated by the skill of Islamic Terrorists. Khali could have put up with every Muslim urchins-no matter they might be Turks, Bosnians or Chechens-as a friend, but never, never an Islamic Terrorist. unfortunately instead he found Islamic Terror too much disgusting, as IS militants, those whoresons. Occasionally he tried, for a time, to lay hold of a queer spirit among the anarchy or terror tending inferior people without any positive output as if the samples were all plague-stricken and had been designed not to be dissuaded from accessing anywhere mild if not good but everywhere as they would have been intruded on Khali through side infringe and connoting, making his heart palpitating with horror. He found good or rather healthy deeds amongst good people and yet with the bad or rather insane too he hasn’t failed, even if it could be by a hair’s-breadth. That must have been the way with Khali then. But the point is rather what is the way with him now. When young people were still be slaughtering by the Islamic Terror of Turkish Soviet whereof the modern leftist or rather pseudo anti imperialist but genuine generals in the past how could he have escaped from being filled with awe. The house of poor or rich Kurds is full of horror finally on the day 20th July 2015 in SURUC/Urfa the cradle of Abraham’s teachings DE PROFUNDIS. What an huge paradox. And he thought he had it all thought out. If Khali had the use of the dead bodies killed by IS backed by Turkish Secret Soviet would try and explain the eternal evil of The Secret Turkish Soviet that owned F.GULEN Gang, its sworn enemy-AK Party of R.T, The fake friend of The EU and Jews-A. DOGAN, red generals and green polices. Perhaps the secret Soviet State had the knowledge of innocent Jews, Europeans impotence that emboldened it to use method of killing the most intimate friends of new civilisation makers in the Mideast-The Kurds. All relentless butchers of Turkish Soviet hanged together, Kurds are in chains. Unfortunately Khali didn’t not know quite what step they were on, perhaps they were at the threshold of being done away with. Turkish secret Soviet was apparently trying to shut the doors banging in Kurdistan, and to take the steps on the stairs going to ethnic cleansing. The noises in the street were coming from the weeping Kurdish mothers who have lost their children, had to be enlightening the liberal world, on this subject. All Khali know was that the living youth were there where the Secret Soviet’s Islamic suicide bomber has made chops of the humans’ body, in Kurdistan and around it. It followed at least that the Kurdish young victims of 20th July 2015 were not in live any more, and they couldn’t, say, at least sometimes see the sky. After all Khali felt himself in a kind of empathy to understand the Greeks, Jews, and Armenians who were tasted the most abominable ethnic cleansing in Istanbul (6-7 of September 1955) whereof the victims were to be the street in reality more inflammable than a wide hell or a volcano’s aperture with all other sparks opening upon it. But the noises of the uncivilized mobs covered their cries rising to the God up from a satanic land. Were the steps climbing towards Kurdish families including that of Khali? Perhaps there were other IS namely Islamic State attacks backed by secret Soviet State bitter than those of the victims bombed in 20th July 2015, why not? In which case the question could arise officially to the land they were on, there is nothing to be gained by Khali’s saying but the news that the halo Family might say rising up from Urfa to the vertex of Turkey’s Kurdistan, the steps that secret fascist quasi modernist HURRYET Gazette announced that were climbing towards Kurds, could they really do so? Khali had no proof that they could do. To conclude from the terror, horror, and the like that Khali’s mom was a prey to the Kurds’ near past pure and simple and yet stained by torture, ethnic cleansing, and blood shedding would be her fate however a step she hesitate to take there should be no use of escaping from half dreams-weird of course if nor hallucination-inflicting more than the real things . And Mrs. Halo did honestly believe that in her house there were people suffering from the same shadows coming and going and even conversing, and caring multitudes of fine babies, or defending their parents against motionless making to keep moving about from one place to another, to prevent their forming the habit of old age habits from the most part of the view motionlessness, fearing of the day lest when they wouldn’t have to move about unaided. Inasmuch as all the murders considered she would be hard set to say for certain why exactly they were, in relation to what exactly Kurds had done. And when all would have been said and done there should nothing more like a step that gaining any human right than a step that loosing or even that paces to and fro forever on the same level.. One could mean for one not only in ignorance of the position of one’s people and consequently of what one should be to expect, in the way of reaching to more thought, belief, and life rights, but at the same time more than half devoid of the. There should be naturally another possibility that couldn’t not escape Mrs. Halo, though it’d be a great disappointment to have it distorted. Actually that was that the Kurds were dead already and that all continued more or less as when they couldn’t involve in the matrix of their lives. And seemingly the neighbours and friends lost in an abyss in the mountain they knew, or even in the sea they didn’t know. In which case all the trouble the victims have been taking for some time past, for what purpose their relatives could not clearly recall except that it was in some way connected with the feeling that their troubles were nearly over after G.W. Bush punished the chemical murderers of Iraq namely S. Hussein and his family members. But her angel-sense told her she had have not yet quite ceased to gasp and could rescue the wounded students as it summoned in support of this view various considerations having to do a lot of things for example spending on poor students lying at the beds of the service of urgency whereof the system of nutrition and elimination would make a big problem for both the patients and the health service team. Whereas in reality all that was perhaps nothing but her melancholy.

[
**] Let's take for example the light that reigns in the caves of human brain and of which the least that can be suspected negatively, really the least, is that it is against uncertainty or rather against bizarre. The Kurdish Good Samaritan-Mr. Halo enjoyed a kind of light night and day, fervently, often it might be tending to the pitch dark outright perceived as the light because the secret Soviet is the one and only terrorist State organizing suicide bomb attacks thereof one could fancy one was to enlightened and accustomed to it, before one found oneself here reading the terror in Turkey's Kurdistan officially organized by the Turkish Soviet and castigated by the same secret Soviet state. Example? There is cicada horror, horrific incidents as examples. Mr. Halo used to be, at times, in big darkness turbidity and at the threshold of losing his wise thoroughly because of the lies of Turkey's secret Soviet regime that would insist that The Europeans were playing all bloody plays in Turkey. What a tedious hypocrisy by the secret but main state introduced from the very beginning and seeming to be go on forever. Mr. Halo and his family should be waiting with some impatience for dawn to break, having need of its light to see terror based government's sins in certainty.1. According to Mr. Halo and his family both great bodies' parts and little things which should be scrutinized occasionally were difficult to see to in the dark. So they as every Kurdish family sure enough little by little that the dark ought to be lightened so they could be able to appreciate over their-historic-bitter experiences the objects they required to catch on. But the light, instead of being the dawn created by The EU in the beginning years of 2000s, turned out in a very short time to be the dusk under the effect of IS-Islamic State. And the whole moon of liberal thought, instead of rising higher and higher in the sky as Kurds in Turkey confidently expected, calmly set, and the useless dark of regional night fell flat again. Then the reverse, as one might say or rather one would mean even the limped democracy of Turkey has been closing in the twilight of mental dawn. Mr. Halo must have confessed to never having experienced, and that goes to his hopeful plans of a new, rather contemporary life, he meant that he could not bring himself to declare that he experienced the same bitter events before... The Halo family after sweeping the dust of suicide bomb attack of July 2015 in Urfa-The land of Abraham, passed by that subject and entering upon another, They felt it was their duty to say that there were no, never, light in Turkey's Kurdistan, never really light. The light was there in The Europe-out part of all Muslims' heart where one could find bread, peace, humanly discipline and freedom that could make the air of love sparkling: love for all music from Arabesque by Tchaikovsky to Bach, the granite walls of ancient Greeks' sanctuaries to the silky Mosques of ancient Medina. The secret Soviet of Turkey had been glittering not through genuine crystals its cheap mica, and the light offered by its scientists has been against the light of civilisation, but it did come through the windows of the Europe and swindled The European Intellectual. So that there all confusion has been reigning between the relationship of NATO and Turkey, One ought to say in that subject that when The Republic of Turkey has banned the Arabesque music composed by the European musicians secret Soviet's fraudulent forces concealed the bitter reality from the eyes or ears of the Europeans. Some of the Jewish, Greek or Armenian composers too were convinced for example that at the modernist Turkish Soviet intellectuals wouldn't put up with the darkness of Arabesque Music and yet should like the bright melodies through Classical Western type sound till they were all expelled from Istanbul for they were not Muslim. Who made them to flee Istanbul? Of course the same second Soviet that banned some famous composers like ORHAN KENCEBAY to sing in the state radio or TV studios for they were liking ancient Egypt or India seeing them just as the founding fathers of Human Civilisation alongside with the Greeks before The Christ. The secret Soviet's cradle was the same as that of Saddam Hussein, and that cradle was similar to those of Mao, Stalin etc brought by means of the dirty lullabies whereof musical notes the Secret Soviet of Turkey would prefer to listen to... The music penalties-compelling ORHAN KENCEBAY-to die of faim or flee Turkey have been rendered by secret Turkish Soviet State's modern directors-what directors, huh?- under the umbrella of KEMALISM and westernization. All modernist whores had been carried to the most important posts in Turkey. They were telling to Turkey that Turkey had had to back even to award prostitution everywhere and to ban Arabesque Music for the sake of being admitted to the European Community. Turkish Ayatollah F. GULEN opposed to appreciate whores but vouched fervently the condemnation Arab Music within the which European admittedly would not be saying "Turkey is not a modern country. As for the queer caliph-president T. ERDOGAN he tried and created the modern and Muslim intellectuals of AK Party did much, but one needed say no more. Smashing musical freedom did not that amount to simply "Banning Arabesque Music" and yet the fake modernist women of the secret Soviet-KEMALIST-State has been lying that being a real modern female or intellectual female in gender needed only to exhibit the boobs, genital area hairs, and nibbles in the Europe. Whereas in the Europe the women were tasting endless freedom in dressing a la mode but they were not the simplest consumer of fashion solely but they were the creators of the fashion and dressing freedom alongside with men, and that there was never any penalty for different music styles, never... All colours of intellectual masks in Turkey were to prove that there could be exist no real intellectual in the places occupied by KEMALIST-fake modernist apes, the jackals of T. ERDOGAN or the hyenas of F. GULEN except in so far as the kind of blue & white incandescence of stateless intellectuals like the author-SOLZHENITSOF if it may be called a colour? Yes, no doubt one may speak of the same colour shared by France, Russian Federation, and the USA personally none might have any objection. One was going to say according to the music banning plague, but no, it does not always seem to depend on the freedom at all. Instead of The Turkish Secret Soviet State's misinformation Turkey's Pro NATO Kurdish and Turkish Muslims would be very much colourful in American Flag strips tones they even sometimes would be feeling that they emit the colours of American Dream, in the same way as the chrysanthemums in a navy blue vase for example. And my night is not the sky's. Naturally black is black the whole world over. But how couldn't the population of Pro NAT Kurdish and Turkish Muslims-at least 2/3 of the whole population-have estimated by NATO? The Pro-NATO Kurdish and Turkish Muslims making the greatest majority of all voters had been used to vote in for the fraudulent names they had surmised as liberal ones and that had beguiled by Turkish Soviet State over the names of false liberal leaders like R.T. or fake friend of The USA-F. G. The great world of Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish Muslims ought to be visited one by one by the intellectuals of the East and West Europe for they had got no organisation, no gazette-except The NATO Gazette* that could be in GOOGLE- and no formal port opening to the liberal world and yet a sort of apertures of which the luminaries that could be sometimes seen shining afar... And how is it their hermetic world where Mr. Halo too-instead of being a Pro NATO Kurd- found full of toils to make him bowed beneath its burden never could have shed its light on the face of the readers reading these huge astonishment induced information in English? In a word there seemed to him the light of the outer world, of those who knew the clouds, the sun and moon of the civilisation emerged since the very time his ancestors had got acquaintance with. He used to plunge below the surface of European TV stations, and rely on the truth: The Europe had been representing first love before the science and arts thereby the heart would have got the upper-hand while chasing brain!

http://nato-2013.freeforums.net/board/1/general-board

Who know that the evil of the sun-stopping the thought power of the brain always to be expected but if the country had been ancient Egypt sooner or later the shiny silliness always pass away, and that of The Halo Family. But theirs' too had its alternations, they wouldn't not deny it, its fruitful dusks and scorching beams of that disc of evil in the sky of Mankind's Instinct Love for science and arts or rather arts and science, even first the skill of artisans then the others, but that was not what Mr. Halo should say, for he too must have lived silliness, once, out there, and here ought to be the recovering from that. And when he examined the official ceiling and walls monitored to it he might see there could always be possibility of making light, that of the sun reflected or artificial light but someone would have to give Kurds a sedative shadow, or an anti torch shown in the ministry symbol of national education. "Now come and think again" should he called every soul, " Nationality and Education side by side, huh?" He knew, and Mrs Halo didn't know if the air there was of the kind that might lend itself to the comedy of spending time while teaching of regaining it. Khali, looked for a match in his experiments after having listened to the complaining of his father, and see if he should burn all the licences closed in the luxury drawers of the house. Mr. Halo's laughter too, fortissimo, piano, allegro, adagio, allegro again before ceasing for whole chat... After all a natural silence of course too much loud in Kurdistan! Then that silence of which, they having not known how they could catch on, they should merely say that there would nothing, how should merely say. It came to the meaning that nothing available positively in their daily chat chains nor negatively about that meaningless procedure. Hey, hey anybody at the home? Think human, think! What procedure? Could it be the right word there wherein the cries of victims were to be the base or main subject of those bundles of chattering. Then what. Not softly luxurious arm chairs, beds and the like to lie, to sombre for beginning-their exuberant feelings, to regain throbbing again. One might say it was all in the common head of the Halo family, or rather of all Kurds. And indeed sometimes it would seem to them they were not existing and yet having been felt in a head-The Head of Secret Soviet and that those hills, mountains and abysses of Turkey's Kurdistan, no, that enclosing them the solid bones of officially murdered people. But thence to conclude the head had not been their head what kind of sanguine induced circulation could be existing still for they still might ask the same question of vascular system. The head- no matter that of others' or theirs' must have reconsidered it so, and when all went still no head ought to be in need of beating against the wall, need it?In his full experienced life speculations Mr. Halo had kept off constantly from emphasizing racism through the narratives of his about his political views as an mature man as all mature people would do all over the world, and confined to his projects regarding to enhance his richness having made him a real dollar millionaire... Rather than portraying daily speculative subjects as an idyllic and sensual experience, however, Mr. Halo-The Kurdish ranch based capitalist use of racism to condemn it within his non-blatantly or rather non-unsentimental considerations. By rejecting all Anti-NATO visions of security and replacing them with liberal, humanist, rational patriotism, and overwhelmingly realistic anti-terror depictions, Mr. Halo would reveal the perversions and inadequacies of the condition of The Middle East under the threat of Islamic Terror. Specifically, through his use of liberal thought, free belief, and realism, Mr. Halo illustrated the chronic disease of half of the world: the feminine desperation, masculine domination especially in Islamic Countries, and familial dysfunction, and loneliness that occur within people's lives based on the European Culture. Furthermore The secret Soviet was continuing to make fun of the hopelessness of females and the abusive authority of men in Turkish TV serials. Mr Halo has Introduced by means of home chat classics as "the bad and yet powerful man, the good yet weak woman and the children bought up through endless mental confusion. The Halo family initially appeared as normal while sustaining its, err ,non-isolated, socially structured to foster and nurture both the its members within it, and the poor children within its neighbourhood. However, the secret Soviet State's approach concerning the similar family rejects traditional but open to modernism, and the familial roles were revealing the dark and sinister aspects of a well hidden life identified with that of North Korea. Mr. Halo, married to one of his uncle's youngest daughter who he described as being open hearted, free thought, good believer and in a position not to do as anybody-neither her dad or husband-pleased," possessing a sense of a slightly opposition against any dominance that could destroy the most dear points in the realm of sexuality As Mr. Halo described, "even his young wife hadn't been ready to abandon her fancies, obsessions etc. Sexuality and Its complementary role in marriage by means of her cute personality hadn't been exaggerated in the Halo family, that trump card of young wives. What Mrs. Halo knew that she would do better if she take care of Mr. Halo without disturbing him if she could be able to do it. For at the least show of indifference by Mrs. Halo on purpose

[
**]Mr. Halo would run to the bedroom and would not come back till dawn with the same smile he used to exhibit on wakening might be beetle and beat her until his wife and son came round to a better way of thinking and share the same smile with him. The sexual relations between Mr. and Mrs. Halo couldn’t lack any humanly sense or sensation, affection or tenderness, and progressed the by means of ancient civilisation without harshness, violence, and cold nature of any side. No disharmony would be in their common sensitiveness nor sexual misdemeanour from the side of any spouse. Mr. Halo also In response to the physical, sexual, and emotional happiness Mrs. Halo had created in their family would like to immerses himself in his domestic duties while Mrs. Lambert feeding the Halo’s household with love that could be described within the religious terms only, suggesting endless caressing beyond sexuality, beyond being fond of her son. In times of excessive happiness in the family, Mr. Halo would keep a joyful rhythm with his fingers on one of the luxury the tables and if Mrs Halo shouldn’t allow his fingers he would try it with his big feet in white wool socks to keep his feet warm against the cold touching of his slippers or to get rid of the undesirable effects of tepid temperature to be availing even in summer nights sinuously… However, the manner in which Khali too might respond giggling over the odd objects in their daily life. Whereas the secret Soviet State would be going on with an impotently protecting one, mirroring its own desperation, lonely wild and barbarous frigidity in the case of flowery tunes namely Arabesque and was to be assumed as something emotionally dead. Every member of the Halo Family’s mind was under the oppression of formless giant-The Official Blood Drinker namely the secret Soviet and yet as the other Kurds they were very keen while questioning, “Why all Kurdish ladies as Mrs. Halo was trapped and forced to weep for the victims-their own people who had been slaughtering for a century instead of the domestic works peacefully, happily, smiling? They would be working in peace and yet it was ordered otherwise by the puppet government not depending on the polls but, the hell, on secret Soviet and the cabinet also was unable to escape The Secret Soviet State’s abuse or the day-to-day monotony of mourning for the Kurdish Youth who were regularly killed officially.

[
**]24th July 2015 The Turkey’s secret Soviet States war planes began to bomb the Northern Iraq-Iraqi Kurdistan. Because of their new catastrophic situation making them dismayed and hopeless again apathy was on air. apathy for everything or rather both towards fast and eating, sexual life between Mr. Halo and Mrs Halo, apathy against their son’s libido induced fan club e-mailing with his girl friend and caressing a limpid lamb or leaving it the predicament and so on. Mrs. Halo, Mr. Halo failed to function as both a spiritual being to their family and the parents of Khali to him, if that illustration could be sufficient to define the inadequacy of their existence as humans, say, as Kurds. In addition to inability to reveal their fears and failures or even any successful deed of theirs as being humans and trying to do good things instead of the unnamed war between the secret Soviet State and Kurds in south-eastern Anatolia. Eventually and routinely they were carrying on with utilizing every chance to help the Kurdish families whose children were being murdered or wounded officially still expelling cynicism in their works to help the others that could be described-regretfully-any kind of the agony devoted to existence, a method that is apparent within the deeds of innocent Kurds-one of the most ancient people of The Mideast! Birth and the death that has guided them in that unnamed war The Halo Family has leant that the greatest enemy of their household couldn’t be a medically problem induced birth or any sort of death but not being able to live humanly or animally or even living as plants… The death just after birth could provide any existing body with a life story and it too ought to be the story of a baby or kitten or at least anything to blossom effectively. The deliverance with pain or with joy must need to call a metaphor to mind that the best coming could be expressed to the everybody. Suffering, enjoyment, pain or aching were all aimless in the lands occupied by Turkey’s Secret Soviet of which aim was futile, and ridicule for it was after ethnic cleansing: to eradicate the ancient mountain civilisation Kurdish shepherds or Kurdish cowboys. Yes, the secret Soviet after doing away with the Armenian has dealing with Kurdish ethnic cleansing. The bomb raining of Turkish war jets were both pompous and grotesque not able to reach the secret Soviet’s ignoble, last goal. Impaired morality with its rarely or rather occasionally eliciting unhappy could result only of damaging peace in the Middle East. The secret Soviet wasn’t afraid of The USA but our great, beloved Russia that has got down two Turkish secret Soviet jets recently. That secrecy was coming to the meaning of incessant betrayal. Turkish secret Soviet is grandly adapt at betraying NATO and beguiling The USA: beguiling, cheating. swindling over Jihadist Caliph’s cabinet and offering fraud induced Ayatollah in Pennsylvania as only real solution to enable Americans escape from selling down the river. By portraying The secret Soviet’s ethnic cleansing phenomenon as the catalyst of a gang type state’s betrayal art, the misery of its people and from the most pat of the view Kurd’s embracing death as the only release from life’s pain, The secret Soviet undoubtedly was eradicating platonic love and romanticism for it had been marketing sexuality especially over state’s TV stations using not only the canals assigned for popular programme but those aiming at the production of morality, Islamic belief, and ethic programmes to exhibit the exposition of human inadequacies, and to help astray people to be preached adequately. Essentially how much harshly as one could try one couldn’t make the depiction of real toil of The Halo Family. If any human condition might carry the breeze afar, even the nearest cyclones challenging with crashing roar wouldn’t be able to elicit melancholy. The scene, described here was as a hideous parody of suffocation,” for The secret Soviet State’s Jets burned up the lungs of Kurdish mountains namely the forests of which aesthetic peculiarities hardly could be given in an acutely detailed narration…In the end of that episode however, it stresses the absurd isolation of all humans concerning the horror in the occupied soil of innocent Kurds. Because Mrs. Halo’s humour was ironic, eve, sardonic. It might be it was tending toward masochism it might be tend to focus on survival rather than having got healthy human functions… Therefore, if Turkish secret Soviet’s gendarmerie could be still raping Kurdish ladies freely and full of ostentatious while covering the head light of pseudo humanist, fake modernist A.D. Gang’s Gazette-HURRIYET. Usually among veterans o the relatives of liberal martyrs, as further proof of the Kurdish mind’s disgust with oppressors-the sworn enemy of liberty. Though Turkish secret Soviet’s governors should mock aspects of the human in awfully bad conditions in Kurdistan, and their ignoble approach wouldn’t exhibit at least immoral acknowledges social sciences, aesthetics, ethics might concerns. That comedy, however, was “the satire of the mankind who tries to bear his own society, evoking ideas of hopelessness, feeling nothingness in the world of humans, and contempt wearing their souls for a century. Both bitter drawn in jests and exhibition of pouting, Mr. mourning style utilize the silhouette of the doomsday as defined in holly books in the marked made commanders of the Soviet Security Forces to ridicule him-that natural human lamenting after the Kurdish lads murdered officially that very day-and one of them warned Mr. Halo that lamentation over the victims killed by the state had been prohibited before a century and that law of lamentation is still in power and powerful enough to break Mr. Halo’s tongue; however, the sexual harassment disturbing Kurdish girls was not open to be punished at all! Traditional jest could not use flirtation to reveal humanity’s flaws, but the situation from which Kurds were ultimately suffering that there were not redeemable abominable qualities that lived within the experiences caused by the forces occupying Kurdistan, and by that occupation the secret Soviet carried only misery and wretchedness of each Kurd’s life, ignoring humans’ collective concerns. On the contrary of they have been suggesting a segregated, lonely, and vacuous existence of Kurds. Mr. Halo remarked while watching his weeping neighbours, suggesting that the relations between the victims’ families and their neighbours might indeed have positive qualities absent in the justice of real liberal and modern countries as Kuwait that had been victimized by the deep friend of secret Soviet State of Turkey-Saddam Hussein and the same Kuwait has found good Saudi Arabia at the very side of victimized Kuwaitis. Even the language the liberal and modern countries as the friends of The Europeans like Saudis or Israelis used to describe the act of torture to defend themselves but the secret Soviet in Turkey used to do it in a style characteristically wild and ugly!“But the night for the rebel must be warmer then the hell,” ordered the secret Soviet , “for all of a sudden the war curtain must lifts on a flare of blood based colour, turning its reflux changing pale crimson and white of flesh, then pink that must come from a part of body.” When Mr. Halo finally figured out that the people living in a occupied country might describe their own land as a huge slaughter-house. Yes, the occupant and the occupied ought not loving each other, linking affection to humanist activity. It couldn’t be evaluated as the symbiotic life never as the neighbours’ solidarity nor social coercion.

None knew when the aggression of the secret Soviet’s air raids would comes to an end, and Mrs Halo expressed her wishful thought in the same way longing for their experience, reiterating, “Take off and hit, take off and hit” as if it has had to come to an end. The warmth of blood was at the same time the one and only thing that could freeze the people’s blood. Kurds had been existing in those mountains without the particular warplanes’ power description should provide a sense of optimism for innocent humans’ life under the oppression of dictators like Saddam was lacking total melancholy throughout the major depression socially elicited. However, Mrs. Halo’s initial inability to understand what the dictators were doing to the people occupied by their vague armies It might be hypothesizing that their bombs were to create flares in an attempt to keep warm the poor people especially in winter-no matter whether it would rendered in the nights of summer or winter-and the attacks on civil inhabitants of the region should only present them something with both the pleasant and painful realization that while happiness within the human condition is possible, it is not likely. The war-time realism of Mrs. Halo ultimately forced Khali-her son to flare up his romanticized images that have a psycho-social tendency to mask and gloss over social problems…Though Mrs. Halo’s use of war induced romanticism was undoubtedly non-cynical, it could exhibit human inadequacies before his son allowing for a greater awareness of dysfunctions and problems within the situation of Kurds. By not embracing dryly humanist facades during instead utilizing philanthropy that could expose flaws and imperfections, during bitter times to reveal what it is to be human! Mrs. Halo would carry on with specific speculations of war using the very phrases like “gathering, throttling, and breaking till even the faintest voices couldn’t be heard,” or “whence a people suppose the faint sound ought not be underestimated for sometimes aerial surf or atmospheric gas frictions might be the precursor of one’s last silence. Or else it would be the sudden storm, analogous to those occasionally ruining the coasts of America, carrying to roof of garages upon the cars, rationally where there should be placed on and drowning the cries of the drivers who would be rebelling against that right work of the nature. An a few words of the dying who might face the nature which had been loved by the them who were dying of the nature, so that in natural innocence one might say should be seen as something out of innocence when its lovers were deceasing because of its awful unjust power escorting its unjust tenderness while having permitted to dictators to survive, whereas in reality their cruelty more subversive than that of hurricanes have must needed to cease. And yet it would be difficult to decide if hurricanes’ deeds should be accepted as reasonable things or not… Mrs. Halo dragged towards the vacuum created by the official murders slaughtering Kurdish Youth systematically might have been the reason of her abrupt philosophical hyperactivity, huh? One might ask then, if one closed one’s eyes, having closed them really, as the man in the street could not, but as one could, for there are limits to Mrs. Halo’s impotence in philosophical speculations that she tossed like a straw by the swirling eddies to that way of thought she wasn’t familiar with, and she used not to be in it. Fortunately it is not so much an affair of as hard as closing eyelids, but as it were the Mrs. Halo’s capacity in plunging into the depths of thought at times that should be veiled for the time being, and that could be denied in wisely. Essentially trying to be seen too much vigilant, and vaguely anxious as it should be in every case of dealing profoundly with philosophy should be appreciated first then stopped, Turning in her routine works as the ancestors of The Homo Sapiens backed to their caves in every evening… And yet what should to do in the night without chat, for the sake of rhyme without any cat? Ah yes, she had her little pastimes to ruminate at the very most! Instead the alternatives were at the side of Mrs. Halo, form the point of Mr. Halo’s situation only some vague misfortunes were available whereof both the outcomes of those might end bed or good. For instance the most abominable news paper-for just at the right side of its highlights it went on with crying impudently that Turkey should belong to Turks-of A. D. backed by his German-magnate-business friends must have slipped from his hand, and he found it useless to pick up it from the floor to continue reading its anti-human, baseless news and articles. He could only just succeeded in recovering it after sixty seconds of very bad and intermittently tried efforts. What his will lacked was a little grapping skill that has been given to ant eaters to be used both diurnally and nocturnal. and he were not a tapir in order to handle in the daylight. He should really try and to lose his whole trust in the case of Turkish Jets night attacks on civilians especially in the night. The British Government qualified the Turkish Secret Soviet’s air raids as madness but from the point of Mr. Halo it’s a peril beyond anything crazy or mad or whatever one would call in accordance with least humanity. 27th July 2015. How long this Monday would have seemed in retrospect. The night of Sunday the air raids have continued to hit civilians then the relatives of the victims wrote a lot of letters to The EU but without knowing what EU was that EU. Then they were over at Kurd’s new place for a moment if that new place was really new? There has been the instant question: what the victims’ parents were gathering, sat next to where…In bed for many seconds only seconds and jumping out of the quilt sorrow after sorrow. No letter, not here, not in the offices of The EU! The EU officers or rather officials would have mailed a letter to them-The Kurds! Mrs. Halo might be more cheerful than her spouse, his son Khali also might be more cheerful. And yet they have spent two unforgettable war nights that have been spoilt by the secret Soviet air raids of which nothing will ever be known within the circles of The EU, it is too late now, or still too soon that The Halo Family could not estimate anything related to it. It was something which was too hard as a problem to be solved except that they had got the solution without knowing that they had and the conclusion as being about the whole sorry business while they argued the solution they meant the salvation since that was what they were called then and of the other, for the rest is no business of Kurdish lands occupied by their sworn enemy. Although it might be unutterable, like the calling a goal back instead it had might been carved on the scoreboard already-of course lacking the absolute stability viz. having been open to be diminishing together as new score would appear in ratio, if that shouldn’t mean anything, and leaving behind the words a chaos one should cope with unsteady situation and reach to the blessedness of existence. While those assumptions were going on Kurds were struggling to take their children under the protection there within some ten thousand years old caves. Khali’s P.C. It was the newest planet-discovered most recently-whereof the atmosphere and water could be sufficing to meet humans needs still green and blue-no doubt-having been observed, with oceans, moors, rivers, and hills pointed at by NASA induced publications covering more place than newspapers. When their information sources went quite blunt Khali’s P.C would show them the way for breathing fresh air, and fostering common hopes because little by little they were dwindling, inevitably, and as if the day was fast approaching when nothing would remain on behalf of the peace but war fragments scads to be bridled. So if Khali wrote as speedily as he could it wouldn’t be hard to reach the newest news of the war between the secret Soviet in Turkey and the Pro-NATO Kurdish and Turkish Muslims, and would be able to observe traces of that war. But one should say that how hard the conditions of that war might be leading towards the peace and prosperity for Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish Muslims would be easy. Yes, one might not dare write down the results obtained from GOOGLE because of the ignoble prohibition Turkish Soviet State began to render in internet the last day. Ah yes, The Halo Family had their little pastimes full of big prohibitions imposed by the state. The strange thing they had not any P.C in the past, so they took a chartered trip to France-the leader of the word civilisation for centuries. So they have nothing to worry about the changing horizons and progressive cult of the future taking their important trip and the internet linked visiting on this score. And yet they did worry. Then while they were hunting for world news they made a curious discovery. The soil was being bleached the Turkish Soviet Air forces struck it several blows with 250 bombs and the hitting and sweeping of the air raids gave forth was at once bitter then caressing , too much fitting to destruction, distortion, and deforming in fact.

***

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GREAT KOBANE BY SOLZHENITSOF

This time is no time as it be always. And yet I know when I am living for it is no longer the time turns. If there is nothing to turn we cannot know when we are... Since life is a game, I am going to pray not to suffer from anything. I knew how to play with life or rather how to let the life to play with me-as mentioned several times in Human History-till now: Pray and work. I longed always for work when I was listening to Smetana, to default from office but not to deprave some women in order to go bed and mate superficially, and yet I knew counting types of work was impossible. I know that 'default' is not the word after adding to it 'from the office' and yet I often tried it. So I took a good look all round to find anything to fill for the time, and I began to understand the weird construction-TURKEY SOVIET-of The Secret Soviet State that had murdered Ex-PM MENDERS, and toppled down the Democrat Party in Turkey reading what I saw in tabloids. Alas people explain nothing better than to distort all explanations. All should go well and on the contrary of my first experiences when I had been young while they had not come to me, pleased that someone should want to share any opinion with me, say, directing an orchestra, commanding certain troops or being more active in political affairs of the country-Turkey where I had been sojourned. Yes having been sojourned not being a good-or bad-citizen. Instead of gaining nil as a starting point I was as happy as punch, and was going to perform nothing within the rules of the highest discipline I had been taught by my grandfather by my mother side migrated from Russia. It did not occur to me that I might have to ask any prime minister in Turkey to undress. But it was necessary for understanding the weird mechanism of survival of The Secret Soviet in Turkey. Once I would just ask one of them if she-at that time the PM was a lady-might be undressed for my sake not long before I found myself alone, in the pitch dark, as darker than ever. .

  • Author: PROF. DR. M. E. SURAT Prof. Mesolzhenitsy
  • Published: 2016-05-07 12:35:10
  • Words: 156401
GREAT KOBANE BY SOLZHENITSOF GREAT KOBANE BY SOLZHENITSOF