I discover my family lied about my mother’s funeral so I wouldn’t fly back for it. I’m beginning to think they aren’t nice people.
I’d ask myself, How did I get here? How did this happen? then remember, and forget again, and carry on like everything was normal, which of course it was.
Alberto did something to displease a Russian customer, who, as a sort of warning, mimed slitting his throat.
His most recent relationship had been with a pre-op f-m sex change, but Yaron grew bored and ended it.
Waiters tap their fingernail impatiently on the table and remind you, sternly, that the bill doesn’t include a tip, even as they hand you the menu.
I have a memory of a group of us dancing on a pontoon on the lake one Friday night that I think about if ever I need to reduce my blood pressure.
On my birthday I go to an exhibition. Its themes are: death, separation, misery, gloom. Everything but fun. Perfect!
It may have been my sympathetic manner, it may have been the badge that says ‘Cock’ that I wear on my lapel, maybe it’s Maybelline, who can tell, but Ido soon began to tell me scandalous stories about his busy sex life.
He said he’d had a headache, and had to pack, but I knew that it was love that had made him a liar.
Unusually for Israel, this Land of Blutos, he had no beard, no stubble, no hairy chest. He said, “Let’s go in,” so in we went.
Maybe everyone thinks it’s his costume for Purim, a Bacon painting of a Screaming Pope.
You are cute and cute and enjoy the beautiful hugs of life. And I actively love kissing hugs and blowjob pussy flowing.
He asks me if I know Little Britain, and shows me a picture of the year he dressed up as Daffyd, the only Iranian gay in the village.
I notice a couple on a third floor balcony of the Royal Beach having sex. We watch the distant, bobbing figures for a while.
My mother’s in hospital to have a toe removed. Is the operation called a toe-ectomy? A toe job?
The man said, ‘I hate Jews.’ Alvin said ‘Ok’, and continued showing the property…
Outside the Kabbalah Centre, by Diezengoff Square, a man eating a felafel approaches me. He has long, wild hair and a huge, wild beard, like Ben Gunn, or Roy Wood from Wizard. He has, obviously, never been convinced by the merits of conditioner. Much of the tahini from his lunch has been redistributed in his… Continue reading Beggars’ banquet
She uses French butter to make croissants, and pulls a face at the idea of Israeli butter. Less fat, she tells me.
Then, shockingly, he said how he wished Hitler had finished the job he’d started on them.