THE CYPATRIOT IS SCARING. Is a tall person, has crazy hair. Big dimentional eyes language wise. Classical artist, with a bit of love and hate, spice and powder, both but never black and white. However, awarding that all that might be noodle serve lenses I have on my tiny pupils... kind of .... the Cypatriot carries a certainty of colors within his multicolored homelessness. First time, when me and him encounter, I think: he is living in the boat station. was a rainy day and I assumed when later we drank from a canister wine that this is life business for him. Anyways; it developed into an assumption of him not being able to fluctuate coats (but who am I; 1 coat), then I assumed and I assumed and so on. Turned out to be wrong. Him owning beautiful house. The russian and me were one moment invited and there is an hilarious amount of plastic; all this after I saw him with all the pretty hair in the Russians room on a picture. Must have been a beautiful past. I rather tell of his shadeful blue. I think he likes cats. "Like all Turkish boys." Me and him casually talking about writing, whatever, and then he shows me his arms full of letters and words and cryptonisation. (of course I know all more about me then anybody) BUT me: wild wild (wired). Is a silly place we sit, when I say this. Also, silly people around us. I think, we like each other because everybody we know went away on Christmas, but Christmas is also now a wile ago, and then we started writing our story, him in cracked letters, me in crushed stories. I would be dare to use any anything to say nothing.