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  1. #41
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    That was the day that His mother came to visit us. We had bought the remaining furniture we neglected to buy, gave Zytka two weeks off and spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the boat to arrive at the docks.

    3:18pm

    “Men who f’uck a lot get wrinkles.”
    “How vulgar! One for each woman?”
    “Something like that.”
    “Really? They suck ‘em dry?”
    “Precisely.”
    “No, men lie about anything sex-related because nobody questions them.”
    “How would you know? You're not a man.”
    “Common sense. When there’s no demand, there’s no product. Economy is a psychology on its own.”
    “A demand for what?”
    “Truth.”
    “I had a friend from Dibra once who could tell whether a man was married just by looking at his face. He never was wrong in all the years I knew him, not once.”
    “And it doesn’t strike you as odd that he was interested only in men’s social status?”

    3:23pm

    “Sorry, I’ve got boogers. I have to blow my nose.”
    “You got rid of them?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thick… or not?”
    “Umm… what are the thick ones like?”
    “Not watery… slightly more yellow.”
    “Nope. White, see-through.”
    “I thought you were sick from staying out so late in the cold last night.”
    “I don’t usually have yellow boogers. They’re either white or see-through. E. had hers green when she was younger.”
    “The white ones are the ones when you’re sick.”
    “Ah.” Pause. “No, the white ones are when you cry.”
    “The transparent ones are when you cry.”
    “But these are the colors I’ve seen in mine. Next time I’ll show you.”
    “They’re missing pigmentation.”
    “Green boogers are interesting.”
    “I don’t know where they come from.”

    3:37pm

    “I’m cold.”

    “Don’t squeeze me so tight, you’re breaking my glasses.”

    “I don’t have another pair.”

    “OK, well, I do… but I don’t like them.”

    3:44pm

    “Tell me something.”
    “What do butchers call surgeons?”
    “I don’t know. What?”
    “Colleagues.”
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  2. #42
    Citim Postuar mė parė nga Leila
    Devijim:

    Nje cift ishin shume te trishtuar sepse kishin vite qe u mungonte nje femije. Nje nate vjen nje dervish qe kalon naten ne shtepine e tyre dhe i pyet pse jane kaq te trishte. Ata i shpjegojne hallin dhe dervishi qesh duke u lene nje molle dhe nje porosi: molla te qerohet dhe ta ndajne te 2 midis nj-tj dhe lekuren t'ia ushqenin peles. 9 muaj me vone behen me nje vajze, pela me nje mez. Dhe keshtu e mbyll vajzen e cmuar ne nje dhome qelqi, nena shterpe ne bark e shkretetire ne gji. Nje mengjes dimri vajza u zgjua dhe pa pertej xhamit boren qe kishte mbuluar vendin, dhe mbi bore 2 pika gjaku harabeli. "Ka gje me te bukur se gjaku mbi bore?" uleret vajza e mrekulluar. "Po, ka," i pergjigjen sherbyeset, "eshte dragoi ne maje te malit." Pa degjuar prinderit, vajza mori kalin, nje pale kepuce hekuri dhe u nis ne maje te malit. Dragoi i mori ere: ere bananesh, trendafilash dhe CK1. E ndjeu vajzen para se ti trokiste ne dere, e mori brenda me te mira dhe pastaj e urdheroi te qante mbi nje kazan qe kur te ktheheshe nga gjahu te mund te shuante etjen. Perndryshe do e hante (dhe per ta frikesuar -- por jo shume, i tregoi vetem 1/3 e grave te vdekura dhe te varura ne mur). Vajza mbushi kazanin me uje dhe kripe, dhe pavaresisht se dragoi mbet' i kenaqur, ai nuk e mbajti anen e vet te premtimit :) Detyra e dyte qe i vuri ishte te hante mish njeriu. Vajza ia dha kalit ta hante. Vjen dragoi ne shtepi dhe bertet, "Mish, mish ku jeeeeee?" dhe mishi ia kthen, "Jam ketuuuu ne barkun e ngrohte." Se fundi, dragoi dorezohet dhe i kerkon ta martoje vajzen, e cila i pergjigjet se do e martoje pasi te kete qepur 66 fustane nuserie me fije mendafshi. Naten e marteses, nusja hyn ne dhomen e dhenderrit i cili e urdheron te heqi fustanin e te futet ne shtrat, por kjo ia kthen se per secilin petk qe ajo do heqi nga trupi i saj, ai duhet te zhveshi nje lekure. "Interesante! Askush s'ma ka kerkuar kete me pare," thote dragoi dhe shkul lekuren e tij te pare nderkohe qe nusja ka hequr njerin fustan. Dhe keshtu vazhdojne deri ne mengjes, nje shtrese pas tjetres, dragoi flak tutje lekuren e tij te fundit dhe perpara nuses lakuriqe shfaqet dhenderri i pashem, pakez i frikesuar nga surpriza e kendshme. Me kete rast, 66 grate e varura ne mur u ringjallen dhe u liruan, te veshura me fustanet e nuserise. Atehere vajza qe akoma sodiste dhenderrin psheretin, "A ka gje me te bukur se kjo?" Dhe ai i sjell 2 kokrra shege nga bahcja e tij te cilat...
    devijim i mrekullueshem......
    Te shpėtohesh do tė thotė tė transformohesh prej Perendise, tė ribėhesh ashtu siē Ai donte qė ne tė ishim qė nga fillimi!

  3. #43
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    :)

    A Rose By Any Other Name…

    Even rain means to beautify the island. It descends like a well-trained dainty damsel for whom even fainting is an art. The day after His mother had come to visit, we had a good old fashioned rainstorm complete with all its messy inconveniences – maladroitness in all its glory, like back home. I hadn’t seen such a severe rainstorm since ever, I thought. Yet there was something comforting about it, something familiar which I perhaps had been searching for wholly incognizant of the roots of my nostalgia. His mother is a superstitious woman, not in the fanatical sense but in a more motherly all-knowing way. They’re so attractive, such a type of people. One can’t help but be drawn, if only out of awe, which I had just recently discovered was a very selfish feeling. I told him my mother was not like this. He said he was fine with us sharing a mother. So we do so like siblings of the same womb, mirror images of one another. But sometimes I think she’s mine more. I explained to Him that there is an unspoken allegiance between women and therefore He couldn’t have her, except in name only (for what is in a name?)

    She immediately conformed to our schedule and joined us daily for breakfast and lunch at a restaurant just across the street from the butcher shop. Walking together makes people fonder of one another, more so than living under the same roof for years. It could be that home, being such a personal refuge, will make one dwell onto themselves rather than what’s around them. The closed-in space does something wrong to us. I suppose walking with someone forces one to become more extroverted.

    An old man trying to walk past a tricky spot on the gap between two buildings distracted me as I was revisiting my old childhood fantasy of living in a glass house. Unable to avoid the slippery mud he walked right through it, carefully but quickly stepping on some stones that were nearby. He then proceeded to slip and fall suddenly and quietly. Some gasped and watched on as his awkward attempts to get up prolonged his agony. The rest, those closest to him, spared a second to look at him and quickened their pace. Eventually – even a second is too long, I walked up to him and got a hold of his wrist and shoulder with both hands to pull him up. The most pointless thoughts come up at the most improbable times and just then, while still trying to hoist up the stranger, it occurred to me that I hadn’t said “Excuse me” before I left His mother. Looking up for a moment I detected a hint of amusement on her scrutinizing expression which resurfaced my old and long forgotten anxieties. It has been one of my core convictions – that good deeds, at best, are justifications for one’s (other) shortcomings.

    She has this habit of watching me in her little stealthy all-knowing way, giving me the impression that she’s analyzing me and is maybe slightly amused by me. His family having undertaken the peculiar task of “raising” me collectively is all her doing, which would be condescending if it wasn’t for the flattering testimonials she divulges at my absence. I can’t say that sometimes I’m not amused by her, as well, more than ever when she’ll stop me from lifting something heavy, be it suitcases or lifting the pot to drain the spaghetti. She thinks I’ll break somehow.

    A Delilah to my Samson

    "Don't you think your hair's gotten a bit too long?"
    "Yeah."
    "You're better off cutting it. Just the edges. Don’t you think?" God love the woman who won’t give me orders.
    "I wouldn't mind cutting it all off but it seems to have magic powers that keep your son alive."
    "Hė?"
    "I mean He'd actually die if I cut off so much as an inch."
    "Don't be silly."
    “We’ll experiment. I’ll cut off an inch and if He never notices, it’ll be our little secret. If He does notice, we’ll say it was my idea.”
    “But wait… He won’t be too mad, will he?”
    “Naaaahhh…” Yes!
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  4. #44
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    “You know the whole problem with the world is that whole bartering system, the mother of all evils. But it’s a necessary evil.”

    “It sure would eliminate stealing.”

    “There’s that, I suppose.”

    “Because look here, nobody would feel the need to. They don’t need work, they’re working within their own homes, and as a result they already have their own food.”

    “You’re proposing the annihilation of the only way we know how to live. Chaos! It’s a system, albeit full of faults, but it’s worked for us.”

    “Worked for us how? Look at the world. We’d be better off without it.”

    “No, we wouldn’t, my dahling revolutionist! What if you come from some exotic place where they have exotic fruits I love and I want them? I really, really want them.”

    “First of all, my sweet one, you wouldn’t know those fruits for the obvious fact that you wouldn’t go to those places. You’re better off this way anyway because you can’t wish for something you can’t perceive. There’s not a lot of mobility in such a system. Kapish?”

    “So what? Travelers come back with all kinds of exotic things. And you know about my cravings. I would need to trade something with these travelers, whose occupation is traveling to these interesting places all the while I’m just a dull homemaker with tomatoes and oranges in my backyard. Whoopee. They wouldn’t scatter around exotic fruits out of the generousness of their heart unless they have a reason to be generous, such as the desire to please their loved ones and… well… I can’t be everyone’s ‘loved one,’ at least not without starting a whole new sort of trade… of the oldest kind. And that's not to say that everyone would actually do it for a fruit, but it's an example. What else would one have to offer them?”

    He laughed and squeezed me painfully.

    “Ow! But that’s the only way I can get my precious fruits without clubbing them upside the head and taking it from them, and that’s not only stealing but murder as well. See how things escalate? Had it been assault, they’d know who to get revenge on and I’d never be safe. See, we need trade; it’s not some bullshit system that could change, or an option. It was built out of need, not as a different way of living. Any other system would be to go against the grain, against human nature, social Darwinism. You know… human society progresses through competition? All that stuff.”

    "Yeah, yeah—"

    “There isn’t a thing one can’t exchange… at least I think so… for the moment… haven’t been proved different. Maybe I’m wrong... I’m easily swayed just as long as the other side offers me a valid argument, and this is a reasonable fault… is it not? I wouldn’t want to be ignorant just because I’m hard-headed, you know what I mean? Because that’s beside the point and the point is I hate to be wrong, but not as much as I hate being wrong forever. So correct me and often. Ow! What I mean to say is that a relationship is an intimate exchange. Conversations, too. We’re trading thoughts right now. Well… so it’s settled then. Should the system collapse during my life time, I’ll become a traveler who eats exotic fruits. No, no. A pirate! They don’t need to make a living. Travelers do.”

    “So you’d be like a kaēake, then.”

    “Sure I would.”

    “They’re rebels.”

    “Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

    “And they steal.”

    “Overstating the obvious.”

    “But that’s what I meant to evade without the bartering system.”

    “Didn’t work for me. I’m a pirate, thanks to you.”

    “That’s not rational. You—"

    “Rationality limits you.”

    “According to the crazy man.”

    “… whose name was Nietzsche!”

    “Thankfully, not everyone feels like you.”

    “Except kaēakėt and pirates.”

    “Criminals, you mean.”

    “Hey, suppose you were the leader if such a system allowed it. Would you put me in prisons or dungeons for that? For being a criminal?”

    “No, I’d hold you as an example of what we do to criminals.”

    “What do you do to criminals?”

    “I screw them.”
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  5. #45
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    Incentive qe ta mbaroj me pas. Ika se me pret agai per nje dreke misterioze.

    “They say a snake is a hundred times more powerful than we think it to be.”

    “And women?”

    “Maybe a thousand times more powerful than she seems.”

    “Who knows. Exercising healthy skepticism once in a while can only do one good.”

    “What are you reading?”

    “Medea. Have I told you about it before?”

    “Yes.”

    “No, I couldn’t have.”

    “I remember her name coming out of your mouth.”

    “Oh. If I have told you about it, I couldn’t have done it justice because up until now I had forgotten half of the details.”

    “Pa hė.”
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  6. #46
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    (Tė prėnė, ore, tė prėnė! lol... mos thuaj me "cicė!")

    “There was Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripides.”

    “Fate, law and the…?”

    “The black sheep, respectively. Euripides was a recluse, lived under a cave, and criticized society. He wrote Medea, which broke all the rules, all the prerequisites for a dramatic hero.”

    “Because she was a woman.”

    “And a foreigner, and smart, and powerful. It starts out with Peleus who killed his brother and seized the throne as king. His brother had a son named Jason and hid him. Eventually Jason grew up and demanded his throne. Peleus makes a deal with him and sends him off to get the Golden Fleece which would prove that he deserves the crown. This is a whole story on its own. The crew, the Argonauts, was fantastic; every great hero was there to assist Jason, including Hercules, and they have all these great adventures together. They get to the island where the Golden Fleece is located and then the king of that island puts Jason through a series of tests, as well, but his daughter Medea had fallen in love with Jason and helped him through the tests. The night that her father was going to kill Jason, she saved him and ran with the crew back to their ship where her brother ambushed them. They kill him. Imagine that! Medea killed her own brother and cut up his body into pieces so her father would stop chasing them and collect his son’s body parts. You know ancient Greece with the proper burial idea, like with Oedipus’ sons.”

    “Who would you kill for me?”

    “I’d set up a genocide for you with no remorse. So now they went to Jason’s homeland, a city that starts with the letter ‘I’ but I can’t remember it.”

    “Is this how you’re going to tell stories to our children?”

    “I don’t know. It’s a good thing you’re my first child so I can experiment and make all my mistakes on you. Peleus still won’t give up the crown, so Medea convinces his daughters to kill him in order to make him immortal. And of course, Peleus dies and never becomes immortal. People find out and exile Medea and Jason. Now they’re in Corinth, and Jason, being the ambitious social climber that he is, betrays Medea and marries the princess of Corinth without telling Medea. He was able to do this because his marriage ceremony to Medea wasn’t official. And this was OK because marriage was always a political and financial arrangement. This didn’t make Jason a bad guy, but he did promise something to Medea and he’s backing out on his word on a technicality. Very spineless of him. And meanwhile Medea has lost everything, even her identity, to be with him. She can’t go back to her father, she can’t go anywhere. But she’s not a psycho. She’s very logical and eloquent, especially when she makes the whole speech on women conforming and marriage and love and how her status was even more despicable than the rest of the women because of her past and her being a foreigner. She has expectations for having sacrificed so much and, expecting the special treatment for what she went through, is furious when betrayed. And she makes a great point, too. She says that it’s better to be average, it’s better to be part of the masses, to be careful lest your head rises above the rest or have it decapitated. In other words, don’t bother being better or wanting more of yourself. King Creon, father of the bride, wants Medea exiled because he hears how angry she is. Why shouldn’t she be?”

    “What was Jason’s reaction?”

    “Cold, detached, patronizing, condescending, holier-than-thou telling Medea that he forgives her for badmouthing him all around town. He’s one to talk of forgiveness! And then he rewrites history, and tells Medea that she never helped him in anything, that he did everything, that she was simply an instrument of Aphrodite who favored Jason, that Jason did her a favor by taking her away from her homeland and bringing her into civilization. You see an obvious divergence between Medea and Jason. Medea is much more logical and moral than he is, while Jason is irresponsible and chalks up everything to women being inferior. And you wonder what the hell was it that she saw in him when they first met.”

    “It’s fairy tales. It’s expected.”

    “Fairy tales are telling. Anyway, Jason justifies his marriage to the Corinthian princess as being a smart move because his children will be his heir when he’s king, and he can provide for them and Medea, as well. He also claims that the world is better off without women.”

    “So he’s gay, then.”

    “Ancient Greece, baby. It was normal; women were there only for babies, as for companionship and mental stimulation men turned to one another. I guess they felt like equals and there wasn’t any reason to be patronizing with someone who was their equal.”

    “And she had nobody.”

    “She had the chorus, which represented the women of Corinth.”

    “Did they know what she would do?”

    “They’re conspirators to a point, united by their sex.”

    “See what you women do when you get together?”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “Go on.”

    “Medea convinced Creon to let her stay one more day and she cooked up a plan. You know you said we don’t need trade? Well, the king of Athens couldn’t have children and Medea promised him that she would help him and his wife to conceive a child in exchange for protection from her enemies and to provide her with a sanctuary should she need it.”

    “He’s not risking war?”

    “He is, but he needs an heir badly. And now he can tell Medea’s enemies that he’s bound to his promise.”

    “So he has more honor than Jason.”

    “Only out of necessity. People are never good just to be good. Let me tell you about the princess.”

    “She’s a spoiled little stupid brat.”

    “Who hates Jason’s children as if they’ve done something to her. He has to beg to keep them around instead of exiling them with their mother.”

    “Well, he is spineless.”

    “Medea made a magic robe and a crown for the princess as a gift so that she will not abuse her children. She makes this whole show to convince Jason that she’s changed, that women are emotional and irrational and worthless. Basically she plays into Jason’s weaknesses, and Jason is very self-involved; he loves to feel like a hero, no surprise there. She has her sons deliver the gifts to the princess, and as she puts them on to admire herself, the clothes go up in flames, which was all part of Medea’s plan. Creon comes and hugs his dying daughter to put out the fire or to mourn her, and is burned along with her. Medea then proceeds to kill her children for two reasons. First, they risked being punished anyway for giving the princess the gifts, so they’re conspirators.”

    “Who would punish them? Their father? The princess and the king are dead.”

    “With a father like that, you can expect anything. The second reason was that this was her way of hurting Jason because the children belong to the father. Wherever she went, she would have to give up her children. So she killed them and left Jason without an heir. She took her revenge one step further. You can imagine how Euripides’ audiences squirmed on their seats when they watched all the troubles this woman went through and how she was repaid at the end. And maybe they’re a bit afraid, remembering Clytemnestra throwing the net and murdering Agamemnon with an axe. The decay of society, the unfairness, the hypocrisy, the double standards that bugged Euripides and his audiences weren’t award-winning themes back then. He was a misunderstood, starving artist. Well, I don’t know about starving, it’s just an image.”

    “She could have killed them to erase all proof of their union.”

    “Yes, that’s the third reason. Medea has semi-divine ancestors, her grandfather’s Helios, the god of the sun. He gives her his carriage and she leaves the scene. And there is this great dialogue between her and Jason about their marriage and the children. The children being dead, Medea can start over with her life, seeing that nothing remains for her in the life she thought she was building with Jason.”

    “One of Jason’s faults is that he can’t relate to women. Jung says ‘an undeveloped anima.’ It may not be calculation on his part as much as it’s ignorance.”

    “That doesn’t help his case.”

    “He projects his ignorance and lack of growth onto women, and they have to bear it. It’s not fair but he doesn’t know better.”

    “I think he does.”

    “Come, let’s sleep.”

    “…”

    « Goodnight. »

    « Gjumin e ėmbėl, tė pafsha nė ėndėrr. »

    « … »

    « When will you tell me a story? »

    « Once upon a time, there was a princess named I—»

    « Heard it! »

    « Once upon a time, there was a… »

    « Heard that one, too! »

    « … »

    « Tell me something nice. »

    « You’re nice. »

    « That’s nice. »

    « … »

    « I love you. »

    « Me too. »

    « Have you ever gotten the urge to walk up to a total stranger and
    announce that you’re breaking up with him or her? »

    « Shut up and go to sleep. »

    « You never question anything. »

    « Mhm… »

    « Except me. »

    « That’s right. »

    « You’re nice. »

    « I know. »

    « Show me you love me with your foot. »

    « … »

    « You didn’t have to kick the bed. I would have been happy with just a little twitch. »
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  7. #47
    Unquestionable! Maska e Cupke_pe_Korce
    Anėtarėsuar
    24-06-2002
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    1,602
    Imagination unleashed, huh? Damn, I'm so jealous of your avant-gardism....as always ;)
    Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

  8. #48
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    25-04-2003
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    Je shume provokatore :) I like that about you.
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  9. #49
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    Citim Postuar mė parė nga Leila
    “Medea convinced Creon to let her stay one more day and she cooked up a plan. You know you said we don’t need trade?..."
    "You know how you said we don't need trade?" Ehh... nejse. Serves me right not to revise.



    The Mother, the Son, and the H. S. (His Shpirti)
    “… therefore the Mother has never been without the Son, nor the Son without the Shpirti.”

    Newly equipped for the next few weeks with a goody bag from the U.S., I held off exhausting my new resources, a hoarding of books, magazines, and DVDs, amongst them Blow-Up with Veruschka, until his mother had left us. It was a long week for all three of us who went to great lengths to make it entertaining for one another. Although she took pride in the sensible things and saw herself as a practical person, it was a well-known secret that she couldn’t live without her husband, which wasn’t a sensible thing to admit especially at her age when she should know better. There were never any obvious acts of love between them, probably no private passionate declarations to one another either, but everyone in the family took extreme measures to not get in their way.

    We studied each other and Him in relation to the “other.” He, for His part, seemed oblivious to our schemes. Under one roof we seemed to become one, as our only priority was to consider one another first. No toes were stepped on, but this didn’t stop her from sighing with relief for every biblical script I could recite; it meant that I hadn’t fallen prey to my Islamic past. I assured her that my family’s religious past had nothing to do with jihad ideology and that the scripts didn’t dictate our lifestyles or mentality by subtly slipping in stories into our conversations of how my grandfather would serve pork to his unsuspecting fanatic guests in Elbasan, and how the men in my family found it ridiculous to allow their women to wear fehrexhe, not that they’d want to wear it anyway. They saw it as a backwards thing to do and very un-Albanian. We were forbidden to have others read our cups of coffee, meddle with or encourage magic, and to wear nuska, although, the rules being less strict for me in particular, I was given one over 13 years ago, right about the time when He left Albania, a coincidence that turned out to be very meaningful to her. We had missed our fate. Three years later, I left as well. Three years later, he followed me across the seas unknowingly, and three years later still, we finally met. This, too, was a significant coincidence for her but I’m not as superstitious as her. In fact I’m not superstitious at all.

    The rupture of the (heroic?) triadic identity we had adopted during that time period served as the catharsis of her whole stay. We were all relieved to finally purge ourselves of that layer of necessary congeniality and eagerness to become once again egocentric, our true natural way of being.
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 21-04-2006 mė 14:52 Arsyeja: coffee cups or cups of coffee?
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  10. #50
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    25-04-2003
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    2,556

    Boreas & Cesare

    Boreas took care of the butcher’s shop during the weekends, while Cesare helped all week with reduced hours during the weekends. Boreas would always misquote Nietzsche or some other prominent personality, claiming himself free of any ideologies, and then chewing Cesare’s head off for not respecting the sanctity of marriage enough to not make any cynical comments about it. I teased him by poking holes into his beliefs, which is a virtually unproductive task to take on but it gave us a good laugh here and then. “Nietzsche once said…” something that Boreas had missed; “How do you feel about that, Boreas? Surely you agree, no?” And of course he’d say something unpleasant about women meddling into men’s business, which was to be followed with an equally hostile reply on my part about women being able to wear pants and men not being able to wear dresses. “You are not as free as you want to believe, my dear Boreas! So you found a pseudo-intellectual approach to religion. Yippee! While you freed yourself of an idea, which is God, you made yourself a dead man’s bitch, be it Nietzsche or whoever you’re filling your head up with nowadays, which is not a bad thing to be considering the alternatives but you can’t even fart without questioning how they would do it. You take everything to heart. Ergo, you’re not your own person. Bless your little heart; you’re still good, albeit cumbersome. What is freedom, anyway? Come to work tomorrow in one of your wifes’ dresses, please. Oh, let us match tomorrow!”

    When we were alone He’d tell me to soften up on Boreas. People explode for anything. It matters none if the opponent is not serious.

    “It’s interesting that I have to soften you up and vice versa. We’re guilty of the same crimes we accuse each other of. Anyway, as long as he’s married, the only message he’s getting out there is that his marriage is miserable. It’d be one thing if he wasn’t married, ‘cause then he could talk and not make himself look stupid.”

    “It doesn’t matter. In his mind he’s being a man.”

    “Well, then, how pitiful! He knows nothing of the people he quotes. Serious-lee! I can hear them rolling over in their graves whenever he opens his mouth to speak. Does the dumb nut read philosophy only so he can sit up all night and memorize only the woman-hating citations that he’ll serve us the next day?”

    “Would you be surprised if he did?”

    “Guess not. But can you imagine how the world would be according to him? Men would turn gay. Being gay would be a normal manly thing to do, especially to good friends if you sleep in the same tent during wars. It would probably become the true test – no, act of love and friendship among men.”

    His expression told me everything. “Now you get my point. And it’s not like I’m homophobic, but they are and yet they don’t understand the world that they’re striving to mold. The guy thinks misogynistic quotes are like cigarettes that’ll make him cool. Criminals and men like him deserve to produce only sperm with X chromosomes.”

    “Funny. So others will screw their daughters. You’re so cute.”

    “That’s not the point, but that’ll sink their noses. And it’s such a funny curse because it doesn’t have to get them off their high horses, but it does, through no evildoing on my part; it’s a matter of how they perceive having daughters. They do it to themselves.”

    “Is your head so far up there in the clouds that you think men love their wives as much as I do you?”

    “Of course not. Marriage was invented as a contract. I’d be happy if – no, I’d be content if they loved their mistresses. A woman. Any woman, even if she’s the wrong woman to love.”

    “My little troubadour.”

    Cesare, for his part, would indirectly avenge women in his devious, quixotic way. On Saturdays, when everyone knew that the store would be filled all day with people constantly waiting in lines while gossiping with one another, he’d put twice the amount of milk in Boreas’ morning coffee when Boreas had already announced that he was lactose intolerant. And Boreas, not having a clue of what was being done to him, would later leave the counter full of customers complaining of diarrhea while making towards the bathroom.

    Cesare is a character. That’s as best as I can describe him. Once, he was cutting meat furiously and his knife jerked up bizarrely and snapped right into his stomach before falling to the floor. He wasn’t cut but that didn’t stop him from screaming like a girl, lifting his shirt up and asking anyone who was willing to oblige to look over his imaginary wound because he couldn’t look at blood.

    “Cesare,” they’d call him, embarrassed of the scene he was making in public. “What are you doing? Let go of your shirt! You’re a butcher, cutting up animals all day long, and you can’t look at your own blood?” They continued to tell him he was making a big deal out of nothing, that, yes, they would check him out, and that no, there was absolutely nothing the matter with his belly, as Cesare’s nostrils kept flaring ceaselessly from having seen his life flash before his eyes. And all day long, Cesare would sigh and breathe, “Pu-pu-pu-pu!” about his near-death experience, and with his shirt still up would call on people around him repeatedly, “Boreas! Oh, my God. Did you see that?”, a ritual which only ended when he went home. And even then, Cesare could be seen walking down the street with a lost look on his face and a confused step, all the while shaking his head nonstop. This about sums him up.
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 01-05-2006 mė 11:45 Arsyeja: neat! fonts... what a wonderful creation
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  11. #51
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
    Postime
    2,556
    Citim Postuar mė parė nga Shpitiruk
    Ti me vertete qe din te shkruash, po une e paskam shume te veshtire te te
    kuptoj dhe pse flas anglisht. A mund te me perkthesh fjale per fjale kete fjali
    se po mundohem ti jap dum dhe spo mund.?
    God, I'm flattered. Only one post qe kishe nen belt and you dedicate it ALL to me. Duhet te kuptosh se mallengjimi im erdhi si pasoje e menyres se vetme te jeteses qe kam njohur, dhe kjo eshte ndarja as in SHARING (s'e ke idene se sa kam dashur te isha femije i vetem). Pra une kam kohe qe s'kam patur dicka vetem per mua (except tampons), dhe qe s'ka patur nevoje ta ndaj me binjakun tim -- Humdinger (yes, we're sick like that; you roll with it... life, I mean). Hame nga e njejta pjate dhe pijme nga e njejta gote. Edhe ne restorant, perlajme gjysmen e pjates tone dhe i shkembejme pjatat me nj-tj. Ose i vihemi te njejtes pjate ne mes dhe vetem per mungese kohe dhe prej urise se tmerrshme qe na kap (atehere kur kap), perdorim 2 luge ne vend te 1.

    Ah, po... perkthimi. Nuk mundem te ta perkthej, per mungese te pasurise se fjalorit tim Shqip. Por... me pelqen te mendoj se jam njeri zemergjere (pak rendesi ka se si eshte realiteti) dhe si e tille, MUND te te perkthej emrin e dyqanit Grek ne NY ku nje bjonde (vagabonde, e lyer dhe e perlyer... lol) me kembe ne forme kryqi beri shopping te premten e kaluar (e ke parasysh, trashaluqe qe nuk i bashkohen kycet e kembeve por i ikin one east and one west... dhe si per fat te keq, to add on to her misfortunes, ajo nuk e hedh njeren kembe perpara tjetres, por leviz me nga nje hap ne secilen ane si patok me Down syndrome). Natyra ka sens humori po aq sa eshte e pameshirshme, dhe medeomos ia ka bere kembet e tilla si per ti kujtuar asaj dhe botes burrat e shumte (nje nuk i mjafton) qe vdiqen mbi kryq per mekatet e saj. Dhe sa here ajo hap shpellen, kryqi i saj sherben si paralajmerim per viktimen e rradhes -- KUJDES! DANGER ZONE! Ose te pakten si lutje per shpirtin e tij te prehet ne paqe.

    Dyqani: DIAFORA IDI = ARTIKUJ TE NDRYSHEM. Treat yourselves to a bon-bon, my dears... or should I tempt you with something that won't irritate that yeast infection? How does smoking in a green Jeep sound? Nje femer e lezetshme mban te shemtuaren afer per moral kur t'i krahasojne meshkujt perbri njera tjetres (e shemtuara trashaluqe, nderkohe, shpreson se nje dite nje cike lezet will rub off on her). Ve re se si ajo nuk i tregon "shoqes" se vet with the inferiority complex about her HORRIBLE, WRONGFULLY mismatched lipstick with BROWN LIPLINER (brown?????????? why would you commit such monstrosity??????) which is the 1st no-no; because it's in her best interest to have an ugly step-sister forever envying her. Rub-a-dub-dub away, now.
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 02-05-2006 mė 01:44
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  12. #52
    ................
    Anėtarėsuar
    19-11-2004
    Postime
    1,110
    I LOVE THIS GIRL...jo kėmbė "x"-en, por ty agapi mou ;)
    Hey ... do na falni, se po shkojmė tė...flemė neve, se kaloi mesi natės kėtu !!
    Really I LOVE YOU !!

  13. #53
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    Eh, kalla... ti je me i keqi i te gjitheve. Te me falesh (if there's anything left to forgive) qe i marr fjalet e tua with a grain of salt... or two. Por mos harro se kur fle ti eshte ora ime per te bere "roje"... si Psyche qe shikonte Kupidin e bukur kur flinte aq embel and her heart went out to him. E kuptoj se si mund te jete ndjere kur priste monstren dhe llampa i zbuloi nje engjell. Ne ato ore te nates ka nje shpjegim rracional per gjithshka. Pastaj zgjohet perbindeshi-drago dhe fillon furtuna e te dashuruarve te Dantes as your fire breathing swirls us round and round (didn't Franscesca & Paolo fall in love like we did -- by reading to one another?) As you're reading this, kam pershtypjen (judging from past history) se you're squinting your eyes as you try to will & squeeze my words out si leng nga nje limon i thate, all the while I'm lost outside of the window, staring at the not-so-special tree outside our window, under which Ugolino is feeding off of Ruggieri's daughters. Oh, but if he did...
    H. N. jote (H-ė N-ė as in moon)
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  14. #54
    Unquestionable! Maska e Cupke_pe_Korce
    Anėtarėsuar
    24-06-2002
    Postime
    1,602
    ai eshte i keqi? you don't even know what "i keqi" means. ;) Listen to this ok?
    All my life I have been killing rats to cure the disease. Foolish! Why can’t I just kill the disease? Rats are funny. They insist upon going down my basement despite my consecutive refusal, and when they can’t make it down the stairs, I am the one to blame for their misfortune. In my own basement! my property…they dare accuse me of blurring their vision. Can you believe it? “Listen, you idiot. I told you not to try; I told you the stairs are too steep and there is absolutely no chance that you will make it down there.” “Because you don’t turn on the lights” – they proclaim so confidently. Why should I when I can perfectly see through my own darkness? Let’s be honest this time: is this my problem or theirs?
    And then, this anatomy business is driving me bananas. According to their sophisticated mind, I should appreciate the fact that extrinsic anatomy is beautiful, and if possible, subscribe my vocation to it. “But I find it utterly repulsive! I’m so used to looking under the skin –I exclaim furiously—any attempt to deviate from this path would prove unworthy to me.” They don’t understand no shit (excuse my language), and I’m so sick of reasonable explanations. I’m afraid they have succeeded in making me believe the world is a rat’s hole, full of filthy rats which run around as if by an earthquake, and if I won’t be able to kill them all, they will start eating me alive. Believe me my friend, in the real world, killing is not a fun sport—it’s a necessity.
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Cupke_pe_Korce : 06-05-2006 mė 21:55
    Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

  15. #55
    ................
    Anėtarėsuar
    19-11-2004
    Postime
    1,110
    Njė vajzė e vogėl, foli papritur, me zėrin qė tė bėje tė mendoje se dikush e sulmoi dhe fliste ashtu e frikėsuar. Kokėt kthyem ...asgjė nuk kish ndodhur...ajo i fliste tė jatit, me dihatjen e lodhjes nga biēikleta.
    Qeshėm tė dy, sepse tė njėjtėn gjė menduam...menduam se rosat e egra e kishin sulmuar.
    Po sikur aty buzė lumit, mes pemėsh e lulesh (duke puthur njė ildė) rosat do na sulmonin??
    -Come on...rosa janė, jo arinj
    - Rosa janė vėrtet, por janė shumė...
    -Prapė rosa mbeten
    Njė puthje ta vodha duke qeshur...si duket...nuk isha ngopur !!

  16. #56
    failed & quoted Maska e IsiNYC
    Anėtarėsuar
    27-08-2003
    Vendndodhja
    mbi dhe, nden qiell
    Postime
    227
    ...hmm seems i've been out of the loop for quite some time - so much has transpired

    Leila, as always, you do not disappoint ever consider compiling all of this...could be worth something.
    A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything. | Nietzsche

  17. #57
    ................
    Anėtarėsuar
    19-11-2004
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    1,110
    Its (sgjej dot apostrofin te keyboard-i i Humiet) been compiled already. Im merely uniting it piece by piece nga e-mailet that Ive sent out during the summer... like a puzzle (minus the many dot-dot-dots that I use ceaselessly, those I edit). Its value is more abstract than *something*. Sell it I would never! Had I any such ambitions, Id never post it ne internet, and surely Id be more careful with it than Ive been this whole time... Id edit and edit nonstop and still wouldnt think it enough. No... if I ever publish anything, itll be a study or something like that. This is... my garbage... where I ooze my crippled, rotting bishta lulesh infested with ennui by the hotness of the past dry summer air (for Litany is only meant for the summer... winter drives it away, locks it in the underworld, the coccoon of great, albeit lost, heroes). But this isnt to look down on it and be patronizing... because one can find out a lot about a person if they go through that persons garbage (if hes smart enough)... such as what do they eat (chocolate, in my case), what color boogers they have (transparent, in my case), kur ndryshon hena gjate ciklit mujor (psych! as une se di kete but Humie times it like a clock, the weirdo... its just a line from a movie where the stalker goes through Ashley Judds characters trash and she finds out and is terrified and then Morgan Freeman finds out, too, and comes to her rescue or to tell her that hes cracked open the case and that the criminal is after her, and he finds them both struggling in the kitchen floor, with knives flying all over the place, etj. etj.) Sorry mods.... spo bej dot log off nga accounti i Humdingerit dhe me qe ra fjala, ti tjetri me kujto se kam 1 jave qe harroj te te them qe ne skemi humidifier which I need (nqs kemi, it sucks). Ika te provoj my new shampoo. How exciting! (really, no irony... cause you people are weird... if new shampoo wont uplift your spirits, I dont know what can)

  18. #58
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
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    2,556
    I decided one day to remain in the butcher's shop just a little while longer. Zytka took care of everything else in the apartment, which left me a lot of free time on my hands. By then I had learned the tricks of the trade without ever having touched a piece of meat. He would talk while cutting and I would drift in and out, staring at the passerbys who would disappear into the carelessly painted black borders of the glass doors. The flicks of paint slathered on the glass so mindlessly did not rattle them the least bit as they walked on like imperturbable, brave soldiers with enough willpower in them to keep themselves composed at the face of death as the black painted spears pierced them through, only for them to come to life on the other side of those jagged borders walking with confident strides as if nothing had happened.

    A woman with runny stockings came in interrupting our lesson and asking for grinded meat, which reminded me of a sandwhich with meatballs at Subway's that He wouldn't let me have because He knew all the dirty tricks of the trade and couldn't have me put such things in my mouth. It was nothing out of the ordinary so I didn't bother to make an effort to understand the dialogue, but I later came to understand that He wanted to give her grinded meat with some bone parts but at a much lower price. She was taken back for a moment and argued when she saw the meat He was holding in His hand. She pointed rather obnoxiously to the meat that was hanging behind His back, wanting that one instead. It was the same meat, He explained to her (even I knew that and up until then I had never cooked meat in my life), only that the one He was holding in His hand was cut up a moment before she came into the store. If He were to cut up the one she was pointing to, it would waste the meat He was holding in his hand, which was the same body part she wanted. It was bad enough she wouldn't have any of it, but she also wouldn't let Him explain. Like a spoiled little girl, but less elegant for lack of youth rather than that of experience, she slammed her foot numerous times (how many times she slammed her hand, I lost count), with a less steady answer because she didn't really know what she wanted. So He behaved like all jaded butchers do sooner or later -- He screwed her... with a vengeance. He went back and started all over again, giving her grinded meat with bone parts for the full price, not saying a word. She left... happily elated by her orgasmic ignorance, the means to her limping victory. Here was a man who did her a favor most butchers wouldn't dream of doing and she literally said, "Plaē!" and walked away in such a hilarious stance, self-pleased in her humiliating gaffe made worse as one of her drooping stockings made its way to her ankle. He said in Albanian as she turned away, "Mbaje nė b... tani!"

    * * *

    The owner of the store, the sister-in-law of the man who hired Him, came into the store to remind Him some hypocritical, but mollifying to the right parties, phrase that the customer is always right. There had been other complaints by -- surprise, surprise! -- friends and neighbors of the woman with the pitiful stockings. The point was that the owner, never having taken any real interest in her own business other than its profits, didn't understand the business and hung on to such cliches for dear life if she, the successful businesswoman, were to lecture someone on the secret to a booming business -- a good butcher never sells what the customer wants, He had said, but only what the butcher wants. The difference is some will admit it and some will lie. If a butcher sold only the good body parts, the business would go bankrupt, or at best the owner couldn't afford what he or she would like to afford. And with that He quit, leaving the position open for an overly charismatic native who had yet to put a razor to his unruly beard (but to women that's part of the rugged, dirty mountain man charm, right?), who possessed all the clairvoyance one needs to be blessed with if they ever found themselves with a knife in their hands -- the notion that a knife is not just to be jammed onto animals' backs and that people are a sort of animal, too, if Darwin knew a thing or two about what he was talking about. They deserved someone who was more than willing to oblige their orgasm-inducing ignorance that only their much loved and saintly, selfless butcher could provide them with. He didn't just give them the meat they (supposedly) asked for, neither did he stop providing them with exasperating self-doubt over their ever failing cooking skills, and really, why did their dishes come out so strange when the meat was exactly the meat they had asked for? No, he gave them much more -- he gave them a good screw that sealed the deal in such a way that no man had ever done for them -- ēorbėn qė gatuan vetė.
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 06-07-2006 mė 15:49
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  19. #59
    Citim Postuar mė parė nga Humdinger
    Njė vajzė e vogėl, foli papritur, me zėrin qė tė bėje tė mendoje se dikush e sulmoi dhe fliste ashtu e frikėsuar. Kokėt kthyem ...asgjė nuk kish ndodhur...ajo i fliste tė jatit, me dihatjen e lodhjes nga biēikleta.
    Qeshėm tė dy, sepse tė njėjtėn gjė menduam...menduam se rosat e egra e kishin sulmuar.
    Po sikur aty buzė lumit, mes pemėsh e lulesh (duke puthur njė ildė) rosat do na sulmonin??
    -Come on...rosa janė, jo arinj
    - Rosa janė vėrtet, por janė shumė...
    -Prapė rosa mbeten
    Njė puthje ta vodha duke qeshur...si duket...nuk isha ngopur !!
    NICEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE


    EHHH... keto "kafshet" s'jane gjithmone te keqija, ja keshtu ne vjedhje te bejne ta shijosh "mallin" lol
    Te shpėtohesh do tė thotė tė transformohesh prej Perendise, tė ribėhesh ashtu siē Ai donte qė ne tė ishim qė nga fillimi!

  20. #60
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
    Anėtarėsuar
    25-04-2003
    Postime
    2,556
    Ho mi, te mori ca sa ta kuptoje c'shkrojti... lol. Ty sigurisht s'te kane sulmuar pata apo pulebardha te egra -- jo, xhanem, ty te ka vajtur jeta vaj fare... :D

    P.S.: "Une jam ajo teta me fund te gjate dhe nje vogelush per dore." :)


    * * *

    Money was tight at such a frustrating time, as if there's such a thing as a right time to experience financial jams. It seemed that there were so many great deals out there and they were still out of reach even for us. The truth of the matter was that a European supermarket, the Wal-Mart of the lot, had had ambitions in the island and started its autocratic campaign even before we came. It drove all the other stores out of business with its ridiculously low prices that made life just a little bit more bearable for us during our financial crisis. It was the major event of the summer and its sweepstakes were a holiday on their own right -- they enabled the first 10 customers to walk out with everything they could carry for free. Once everyone else went bankrupt the prices climbed back up in the new supermarket, maybe even higher than they originally were (sometimes I find myself play-living the part of the swarm of worms who kidnapped the caterpillar sun bride when I can't remember such monumental details like the rising of prices), and then the big man in charge finally said to the islanders, "Mbaje!" And so they did.

    There was enough money for plane tickets to get back but we never touched it and if our minds wandered in that direction, we secretly chided ourselves viciously. Although everyone has gone through a financial dry period at some point in their lives, up until then I had never held back on eating the most nonsensically expensive out of season fruits. It was not beneath me to pay $20 for a teensy box of 4 exotic berries, no matter how badly we were doing. If money was tight that meant I would simply not go shopping for clothes that month -- with a loophole of unless-an-important-dinner-or-occasion-called-for-it, and I would pick my restaurants carefully. Going to our parents or relatives for money was out of the question and the same went for people who owed us money. We'd eat dust if we had to. We had made a life for ourselves that most people would not think to advocate and thus saw it as our failure if we were ever to do something as innocent as to borrow a cup of sugar or a spatula from them. And with this sort of life came a necessary sense of independence and arrogance from us. Oh, but it was perfectly fine should we ever want 2 or 20 or 200 cups of sugar from them, if only we both stuck to 9-5 jobs and had children and went to their school recitals and pinched them behind their backs laughing forcefully when they'd announce something to the effect of "Daddy hit mommy." So Peyton Place '57!

    Gone were my bad habits of weekly throwing out rotten, untouched food that sat in the refrigerator for so long, all the while I would lay in my bed at night thinking of all the poor people who had nothing to eat -- how (eventually) fitting! Whatever was bought was eaten; there was no "maybe" pile of food that I helf off consuming until it went to the trash. Gambling brought in little profits, enough to put food on the table and to pay the ludicrously high rent, which I was only then noticing. I tiptoed around Him constantly because unlike me, He was capable of taking His anger out on anyone and according to Him, I was fair game if I approached at the wrong time. When I brought up the subject to suggest change on His part, He smiled sincerely and slapped me on the shoulders, "See? You're already getting to know me -- you've begun to understand when to back off. All couples go through this when they start living together," and with that He moved on missing the point I was trying to make. Deep breath.

    When He was in a good mood -- which I had to find out for myself because He'd never alert me of the possible change that may or may not have taken place -- we talked about the job without talking about it. For example, I told him about Upton Sinclair's 1906 fiasco and once He got over the funny name "Upton," I went on to explain how he wrote a book, "The Jungle," which opened America's eyes about the meat industry -- the mice that would fall into the sausages -- "They began questioning the meat industry that late?! P--- i s'ėmės!" It was one of history's funny but sad moments -- here Sinclair tried to show the horrible working conditions of the meat industry toilers, hoping for a change out of compassion and humanity from Americans, but he underestimated their selfishness. Nobody cared about the workers -- they were freaking out from all the meat they had eaten, puking rats' fur out of their stomachs and memory both, and a good portion of them turned vegetarians.

    The phone rang as we were lolling around in our balcony, secretly calculating our finances at the back of our minds but talking about April 1985 -- the black guy who cried openly at Enver Hoxha's coffin the day he died and how the guards had to rip him away from the coffin and the appalling, yet touching, scene. I never pick up the phone, as a rule, so He got up from His seat and answered the phone on one of our nightstands. A man named Henri (as in awn-RRHEE) Something-French called and after much discussion about a very common name that threw them into a heated argument over a right or a wrong person, an interview was set up the next day for an experienced butcher at the new European supermarket, the Wal-Mart of the lot. So Mr. Something-French turned out to be the big man in charge who said to the islanders, "Mbaje!" And so they did.
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

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