Barbad farahani
Montag, 13. Januar 2025
حرفی که ما میزنیم اینه، شعر که ننوشتیم، داریم دو کلام حرف میزنیم.. میگه پول نداشتم، یعنی پول تاکسی نداشتم، دختر سرهنگ هم که نبودم، ولی تو کوسکش باری رو خانه امیر و وزیر و وکیل و کبیر باید میرفتم آبرویت را بابام میبردم
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Courage to work and bravely crossing the bars, overcoming the hurdles and pushing the pillars of horror is the breath of love, the door to the heart remains if you remain longing for his heart
In the 70s at the age of 24, my uncle DAVOOD bought a house with two floors and a yard in southern Tehran, through bookselling and antiques trading, his knowledge was unlimited, it started: he smokes opium, he smokes heroin, he is addicted , he is a bad person. Ultimately it was all because of this: no one in the family had a son like Davood. nobody is from our tribe. all were poor until the age of 50 or until today
Son of the bitch in Iran, has become an organizer too with the Iranian government, instead of reducing this fascist country to powder after 25 years of holocaust secret camera system, Iran blackmails Austria to continue the action. That is also the reason why I am alive, Dirty fucking luck in a dirty fucking miserable situation
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