Saturday, April 15, 2006


recently i went to the Tel Aviv museum alone. most of my friends are busy. they have love ones, problems. im not blaming anyone, im happy or sad for them. but in these times that im alone and no one is calling me to hang out or interested in me, i can't help that lonelyness is whispering in my ear. "they don't love you" it says. "they forgot of you", "it was all a hoax", "what did they find in you anyway". i really can't believe to this day, that anyone can love me. it seems so weird. what do they love in me? how do they love something in me which i loath? questions that are way from answer. because even if a shrill and sharp answer will truely come from someone, my ears are mostly blunt, because it seems erational that someone could love something in me. that's why i really need a hug and an honest word.

i walked in the museum and enjoyed the instalations. all of the time i felt as though i have to talk to someone, to share this with someone. i wanted to talk to someone. life is ment for more then one mind, im sure.

one of the halls was michal rovner's installations. i love that artist very much. she is so talented and her works can really open my emotional gates and let them flow.

one work of michal that i did previously- has managed to change something in me. it truely connected me to one of our people's (and other nations) painfull ordeals. it was known as the jewish genocide (and homosexuals and gypsy and freethinkers and more) . we call it "the hollocaust".

most of the times, my relations with the hollocaust turned from respectfully slight interest to respectfully no interest. i wasn't that much interested. i can remember how in school we were always gathered by the teachers in the main hall to participate in the those ceremonies with the same cliche's, same barb wires drawings and illustration's of auswitz's gate, same pictures of the victims and paper yellow patches hanged on the school's walls, same annoying songs and poems. those horrible teachers always watched on the boys so that they won't behave in an unapropriate way or god forbid - go away. i felt that were forced to honot the victims. like that scene in "the clockwork orange" where alex is forced to watch a movie with his eyelids always open by a mechanical device. in highschool we were taking to a boring day in the "getto warior's" kibutz and went to an entire boring seminar. all of my life i was forced to read and learn and tested on the statistics of killing, and so in my mind the subject of the hollocaust turned into a cold, statistical matter. most of the statistics i struggled to squeeze into my head in order to pass the final history test, were wiped from my head. i remember i felt even when we were forced as kids to sit in the blazing sun and watch the ceremonies, that this isn't supposed to be like that. that this connection should be coming from inside of me. that this connetion should be emotional.

lately i was going with my class to "yad vashem" museum (that commemorates the hollocaust) in order to learn more about these events, so we can design posters that will be exhibited in the museum. in the entrance was michal rovner's video art. it's a movie that is consisted of many parts patched together in a perfect "photoshop" like way, taken from original movies that were taken prior to the hollocaust. it showed parts of the jewish life in europ prior to the hollocaust. tiny pieces that make out the whole, that emphasise this entire world that was tragically lost.

when i was faced infront of this innocent, exciting, whole world, and understand the proportion of this loss, the amounts of lifes, emotions, people, taken, i bursted in tears. i cried for the victims. i was connected. no yellow patches, no cliche's, no detailed witnesses of cold and hunger and death, no victim's pictures.
only this experience of what was before. only that they were and now they are gone. now i can truely understand whay it's called "hollocaust". when i saw and heard children in a school singing "hatikva" (which is our anthem), even if i was crying, i felt i was bursting even more with tears. my cry was honest, it came from down below. i understanded.
and then i felt that the entire hollocaust education i went down so far, was null and void in front of this work. one work could do what the entire didn't.
i can't really say i blame anyone in the educational system. i can't. it was something personal.

we left this video art and guided through the rest of the "yad vashem" museum that was really interesting and impressing, but for me it wasn't as real as rovner's work. me and my friends got out of the museum, telling black jokes on the hollocaust and laughed in order to cope. we asked from the teacher if there is enough time to see that work again, and we did. we saw it again and i bursted into tears and cherished it. then we got out, exhausted, telling more jokes and laughing. and to me it was good to connect to the trauma, but celebrate life afterwards.

when i walked in the Tel Aviv museum, enjoying the art, i remembred of that fact i understood lately that i get no pleasure of school design project, and much pleasure from making art. how the school experience is a coctail of short success, insecurity and failure.
i remembered how instead of homework i "run" to make art.
i felt as if "it" was calling me. how being an artist, expressing myself, be true to myself is calling me, like a siren. i watched one of michal's instalations that contained rows of small figures moving in courdenance projected on two big slabs of stones. i remembered that design studies were a kind of stepping stones to art school. how design was more a trade for life than a desire. and how i got into it more and more, and discovered the enrichment and pleasure of typography. but art was always there. a passion, a goal, a shining sun. im not regreting about the design studies. i love it. but i really want to be an artist.

i won't quit school. although im in a crisis, i love it. i love design, but i love art even more.

Could have, should have, would have

a week has passed over since the passover holyday and it was quite hard to harness myself to do some of the enormous projects laid upon us. but now it's less stressing to do the homework because time isn't lashing you to be creative. i discover i have some will power and i manage to do some homework, but it's far less the advantage i really want to. there is this entire graphic identity for my college, designing a bottle label that i was too much stressed to do, doing two drawings that i've been avoiding in fear of mediocracy, a whole advertorial campaign about teens helping each other, a site about bolywood's music, etc etc etc. and all of that will be (yea right) squeesed into this week. so now im more scared.

recently i talked with some friends about all my homeworks. my friend said that she's happy she's not a student. for me this was something like laughing at me (but not such a big deal). it's because somehow, when i look further this week, i really can't see myself studying and enjoying. and furthermore i ask myself - do you want to be a designer?

earlier - in the first year of my design school, i had a clear vision of what i wanted to do. i excelled in everything i did, i invested tons of effort to be the best in projects and between fellow students. along that came a great inferiority feelings that came with my failure of acceptance to other, more popular schools. for me it was a tragedy that drive me to excell and to prove the world i can do it better. between students i was and still am a some kind of genious. i wanted to succeed so much.

now im so tired of the im no success, more fears the psychotherapy session i had wiped this will to succeed and left me a kind of partly ruined but more truthfull man. i faced some of myself, my worst self, my buried seld. someone that underneath the polished layers of marble felt like sewer soaked earth. now i can see the truth, but i feel weaker.
lately i had REAL trouble of being creative and successful. some works were good, sometimes bad and mediocre, and sometimes the fear of failure has kept me from advancing in the phases everyone had gone through in the class. many times i brought no sketches to the class, and it hurts you.

in the other hand im more easy on myself. failure sometimes seems like something normal that happens sometimes. sometimes. im at a transitional phase.


im quite happy that almost no one reads this blog (besides of cute deity ^_^) . that meens that im less worried and obsessed with how many people actualy red my blog. there is no critique, and i can continue writing my mediocre writing, my fears, my problems (and with a slight dimention of censurship), and enjoy being mediocre.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

happy as it is

it's now the beginning of the passover weekend. two weeks of un school days, and although it's filled with projects, i feel more at ease. i just hope i'll have enough inner power to do stuff and not waste time.

i found out that im not pleased of my creativity when im designing/creating for a customer, for school and when there are qritiques awaiting. i most happy when i create art for myself. in this last year i learned how not to look at myself and say - "why can't you be more productive, why can't you create more art, there are many things that i should do, etc...". nowadays i let art come from inside of me when it wants, when im happy or sad. but i don't push it. it comes.

im never happy from my schoolwork as im happy with my art.
and from this perspective, all of the designs i do for school are the oposite. im never happy, never confident. sometimes im so afraid of not succeeding - that i can't design. this is my crisis. in the first year i wanted to get all grades straight A. but it was rather exhausting. i had to pretend im a superman, a god who knows anything, and that's maybe the reason i lacked friends from school. now im in a crisis, but slowly im begining to feel more comfort with whatever comes, good or bad. im still in the process, and my competitiveness and jealosy prevent me from creating and deepen my horor, but i fight.

today i went with my brother to a TEE market. we saw awesome t-shirt designs, cool kids in highschool with immense talent and wonderful strokes. i can't say i saw something new. but alltogether i can't say a bad word. i enjoyed seeing the designs. but i came with no will to buy anything (i guess that i don't like markets)- i enjoyed waliking with my little brother. i bought two cool shirts and my brother bought two lovely things.

later we went by foot from abrabanel street (where the market was, in "haoman" club) to the old city of jaffa.
i like that place. it has the spirit of palestina in a way, before it became israel. old buildings with pointed, gothic like arches and soft stones. interesting people - israelis, arab and tourist from around the world. the flee market - my kind of mall - was closed because it was sabbath, when most stores are closed. i like to go to the flee market. you can find any trash you like in a descent price. i once bought a tiny pea-green ceramic vase, some cool old books for my collages and really old bottles for a very low price. whenever i want to pamper myself, i take some 30 shekels atmost and go to the market. i pass on the passages that are cramped with old sales men with really old stands that are filled with every kind of cool junk you'd ever want. old memorabilias, tiny sculptures, soda siphon, old machinery, festively colored cloths, strange clothes, piles of hats, etc. they are too goddamn errogant and expensive. instead i go to what i call "the slums".

on a specialy cleared part of the market people are welcomed to spread their goods on the floor and trade stuff in low price. this is a kind of end on the economic food chain. the boutiues are the first, then the mall shops, then ordinary shops on the street, then those stands owners on passages, and then the jaffa fleemarket's slums. but there you can find good stuff in a low price.

i continue with my brother. we buy some juice in a nearby juice stand and walk upwards, towards a small section which contains some of the old city, and is widely toured. we stare at the meditteranean and enjoy the view. i enjoyed the east so much, and heard in my mind some fine songs of egyptian artist which i love, like muhammad sultan and om kholthoum. we went throught the small ancient alleys and harbour.
this place, tel aviv and jaffa, i feel so natural here. i feel as i should live here in tel aviv. such a magical place. it's alive and sizzling.
now im quite happy.
im not worrying about homeworks or failure or sleep. i enjoy.

Monday, March 27, 2006

not coming back

I dont know.
im really dazed and confused.
several month has passed from the last post and the second year beginning.
i've earned good grades and good projects, but i noticed that i invest too much, and too late. my tendancy is to postpone the making to it's last moments, and because in my mind my projects have to be grand and impressive, i wear myself down and others who help me.
im exhausted. broken. alone.
im in a crisis. i lost the spirit and the will to create.
well - not exactly. when there is a new project, i get so tensed up because i want to do good. that tension is often paralising, horrifying. and the horror is like a wheight too heavy. and so i run away, to waste my time on stupid computer games, and to my art, to a place with no feedback, no croud, no cynical remarks or wills to be the best. in my art im myself, and that's why it's flowing.
and in the meentime the dead-line is coming, streaching like a sword on my neck, making me more despaired and unable to be creative. my negative competitive side is whipping my mind, but im failing to carry on.

im running away in my mind, just like in previous years when i wanted to run away mentally. in my imagination im in india, riding on a little scooter with some girl who loves me. it's hot, and we hear hindi bolywood songs, laughing and enjoying at them.

when we were making collages of angry faces, my teacher told me that im having trouble to connect to my anger. yea, i hate to admit that a teacher is right when throwing psychological statement, but he's fucking right. my therapist said too. i guess i was angry in youth, when i found out that school is a growing place for the wicked and strong, not a learning place, and no one can do a thing. i think i wanted to forget my anger. i don't have the strength to be angry. i just want peace and love. but lately i do feel angry and bitter, of the shit im feeling and give myself, and the traps i make and fall on every time.

i feel angry about everything. bitter about my therapist, who failed to talk to me when i had paralising panic. i called her and asked for two minutes of help. i asked for some helping words, something like "breath deeply and calm yourself". but she said she doesn't believe in those things, and offered me to come over for a meeting. later i talked to a friend (which i will wright soon), and he managed to sooth me, like my therapist couldn't. i know i might be exaggarating, and that i should have gone to that meeting, but still i was bitter. my therapy is stuck on the same thing. every week i come and talk about me failing my diet, my loneliness, my crisis, my parents aasking me to get a job. and she (rightfully) sais i have to make a choice, to start acting for a better life. she is right, i know. but it makes me feel bitter and hatefull about myself, and as a concequence, about the entire world. that event when she didn't/couldn't help me, was a kind of a turning point. lately i was contemplating on leaving the therapy untill i get a job, and this was the day i decided that i got to quit. i feel so stupid for doing this, and while in a middle of a serious crisis. but want to quit. a year and a half of therapy is more than enough.

but a few days ago was a little turning point in this year. in the blackest day of the year - my birthday, i found out true friends who care. they didn't knew it was that date, but i quietly said something about it when we were walking on the flea market, they all kissed and hugged me. three people who showed their care not by just congratuating me, but showing a real care. they were nice to me before, i just didn't notice that. somehow, i just cant believe someone is loving me and looking me beyond the exterior. it's because i don't love myself. from the moment that i told them, the whole day turned into a celebration day, and we all headed to eat somethig although we lack the money.
in this year i've earned a real good friend. i built this relationship with great pain and indurance, i invested in this and he did too, and i found out there is someone who looks at me with love and adoration, as much as i adore him. he calls me and i call him, and stone by stone, we are building a good friendship. and that's a good progress in my standarts.

i made this post while time is getting shorter to make some sketches for an entire project due to this thirsday. i want to run away. i just want someone to just call me and say - happy birthday, it's going to be allright, how are you doing? don't worry.

I made this postcard while having that fear, that panic. i dare not call this a panic attack, but it was rather scary and paralising. i was not paralised in a phisical way, only in a mental way. it was like being in a deep pit, and every option i thought about was null and void. it seemed like nothing, nothing can get me out of that pit.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

vanilla sky

ommorow I'll go to Tel Aviv and begin my second year in graphic design (visual communications) studies. i feel so terrified. even though i was one of the best students in the first year, i feel terrified. i feel like I'm too floating in my spheres, and now the studies will be more practical and more down to earth, and less artistic.
the new illustration class is in Tuesday, and i feel as though I'll be a terrible illustrator and I'm disappointed at myself for not trying to practice some illustration. i feel as though i had almost no vacation, because i have been working on that newspaper all the vacation. im terrifieAd of getting 85 grade in typography like i did last year, even though i tried harder.
im terrified with being with people in the breaks between the lessons,
sitting with my eyes almost blinded by the sun,
being with people but not being able to hear what they are saying,
watching their mouths moving,
feeling uncomfortable,
exposed and naked,
not having anything to say,
covering my belly,
feeling fat,
laughing when everyone laughs,
asking "what did you say", trying to get closer and bend my head so my ears will be closer and still not able to understand what was said.
im afraid of sitting in a class and have one of those gas pressures in my stomach that makes sounds and go up to the throat until you are occupied with fighting it.
im afraid of standing in the hot, dark, and crowded drawing class, not able to understand why i cant draw well when in home i draw good.
im afraid of remaining lonely and not being able to make good friendship with one of the students in my class. my "Friends" that only interact with me on school, but won't socialise with me unless it's an event of the whole class. im afraid of knowing that some of my "friends" went out during break to smoke a pot and didn't bother to ask me. it's not that im so hot for a ganja, its that i hate to be excluded.
im afraid of being mediocre, im afraid of sitting hours and hours on a project, all stressed inside and making a mediocre project.

but altogether i feel that through therapy, i got some tools that will help me along the way. it's about a week ago, when i made a decision in my heart to fight my depression attacks. to smell it when it just starts and not letting myself sink in it. sometimes, i guess, it's too strong because you don't really want to fight, but altogether i have recorded some victories.
it was Sunday, when i realised that the month is over and i'll probably won't get any money from that mutant worm employer. i was quite bitter and almost sank into a sea of bitterness, fantasizing on slapping him or even killing him. i was so disappointed. then i had a talk with my father. i said i want the first month of school to be work free, but he replied that i have no money in my bank account, and that the school and medicine are too expensive for those kind of privileges. that also reminded me of the current situation, as much as i wanted to stop thinking about it. those hate fantasies ran again through my head, this time even harder, and all my thoughts were devoted to hate. a week before i discussed my therapist about me not doing that little thing i should do - which is sum the bill for my salary and give the document to my employer. i realised that i should do it, with or without the prospects of paying, and not letting myself the privilege of "passing the ball" to his hands (meaning - it was quite comfortable from me to make him even more evil, than to do what's necessary).

and so i gathered myself made the bill and gave it to him. he tried to lower my salary and called me a liar, but my brother helped me and talked with him, and so they agreed on a certain amount which was somehow respectable. i thanked my brother many times, although i really don't like getting favors from him because he uses his favors as a trading card. never the less, i wouldn't have made it without him. later (and back to the second paragraph) i was walking in an avenue, swimming in an ocean of bitterness, fighting with myself.
"i wont give in to bitterness
i wont give in to bitterness
i wont give in to bitterness"
i screamed in my mind over and over again, until - the devil passed away from my thought. it was a minor victory. i discovered i can beat that devil sometimes, if i really really want.

later, i found out that with a big effort from me to eat right and do regular exercise, i lost a bit weight which i added during the holiday. another victory.
even more later i found out from my brother, that the chimp boss might get money and might pay us tomorrow, on Sunday. i try not to get too optimistic and think about it as though it's just another false promise. in this case, i wont give in to optimism in that case. or at least i hope so.

today, i got out of bed and noticing someone forgot turn off the sub woofer in my right ear. sounds triggered a constant bass hum. the only solution i had at the moment, was to stich a foam earplug to stop hearing there. i constantly felt weird, being deaf in one ear. oh well, i said... but in my mind i kept being afraid that troughout raves, partys and heavy music consumption, i fucked up my precious ears. i just hope it's nothing but an infection.

i went to see an amazing anime movie called "Howl's moving castle" with a friend, as a kind of compensation for my lack of vacation.
it was one of the most amazing and deepening movies i watched lately. when i saw that elaborated, detailed, wonderful world created in front of my eyes, i suddenly remembered a very important wish i have forgotten long ago. it was "to realize (to execute) the worlds that i create in my head". it all started when i saw movies like star wars and the "storyteller" series, and read the Greek mythologies as a child. i wanted to do that to, to create worlds. in time i forgotten that wish. it was buried in the obscurity of "can't", "there are many like you", "you ar not special", "you need better skills", "you need a steady profession in life" etc. but now, seeing that movie, i suddenly remembered.
after the movie, we went to a cafe and i felt so floating. both the wonderful movie experience, and that strange hearing effect because of the valve stuck in my ear, made me feel like I'm in a dream, like things are not so real. we sat and talked. i drank a long espresso with lots of foam, and a tiny cookie. she drank a mug with "Americana" (well, i think), which is coffee all the less, with three cookies and some milk on the side in a little cute porcelain pitcher. it was all so fun for me. a perfect opportunity to concentrate on having fun. we talked and even when i talked about the fact that school is tomorrow, i was less bothered as I'm usually accustomed to. i looked at the street of tel aviv from the cafe window, bathing in blueish and golden-brown light of saturday afternoon. "i love you, tel aviv" i thought to myself. "i don't want to go away". when we parted and i drove back, i noticed the perfect vanilla sky. i saw soft pastel shades of yellow, orange, purple coloring rich and fat clouds that were so dreamy, amazing, and sweet, like sweet vanilla pured on a hot milk foam in a long glass.

in that movie i saw a good demon who was fighting other demons and armies, for the sake of the world and his loved people. it made me think that in my daily life, i can really compare myself to a kind of a soldier. i fight for my sanity and happiness. i fight against my demons, my fears and depressions, my weaknesses. i fight to do exercise and not eating that cookie in front of my eyes. i fight to remember taking those injections and pills on the right times, that are necessary for my health. i fight to love myself a little and to live with myself. i fight with my "why can't you be like" questions and the "you don't worth shit" thoughts that drive away and diminish my true creativity. i fight to make better art, and i fight to be the best because the only self esteem i have, is when i prove myself that im not that bad. i fight in therapy to open those wounds and fight even harder.
im fighting to save Vendolusia.

Saturday, October 22, 2005


The sky were grey and when i walked with a warm shirt that has patiently and devotedly waited for the me to use them in those cold days. just like i like it. im looking on my bare work room. because this is not a pleasant work environment, i didn't want to hang cool stuff for inspiration on the wall. in this room, which is a kind of attic with a diagonal ceiling, there is always a kind of norwegian lighting, a kind of pale sunshine and a cold feeling with light blue shades (although sometimes it can be quite hot there). nowadays, its even more norwegian. i could swear that i'll go out and find an iceberg nearby. i guess i would love it if the place im working was nicer.

suddenly i hear a faint but growing known voice. rain. i try to open the window to smell and breath that air, but the old window won't budge. i look beyond the window and i see the parched land watered. all of the buildings nearby are private and filled with all kind of vegetation, trees, and flora. among the village trees i spot some porcupines, one of my favorite trees.
on the percupine i looked and saw some moving and bright stains. they were PAROTS!

yea, parots! three or four of 'em! they were'nt of those small types either. they were probably wild ones from the rainforests. brought here as pets, flew away by chance and now live in my town and it's outskirts. feeding on whatever they can (like palm fruits that are in abundant in israeli towns because the palms are planted as city beautification on traffic islands and parks. gleaming with bright and boldly colored yellow and green with touches of deep blue, hanging and moving on the porcupine, dealing with their affairs as though they were hefty museum keepers anxious to close things and go home. i guess they were fixing their next.

there are some bats that live around here freely too and roam the nights. i guess it's part of the charm of the countryside.


instead of working i dwell in the easyness of writing. im happy while listening to "Selling England By The Pound" by Genesis. usually, i don't like getting back to my old progressive rock albums, but i guess this was an exception.

i was knowing the words and the tunes as if they were my memories or dreams. i shed tears on those innocent moments portrayed in tracks like "Dancing With The Moonlit Knight" and the stunning intro of "I Know What I Like (in your wardrobe)" . i get goosbumps when i hear that amazing guitar solo in "Firth Of Firth" and sail away with the lyrical flamboyance that remind me of the time i was listening to progressive rock, some years ago, when i was serving my military service. back then i would actually feed my desire for music by buying the albums with my humble army wage. i used to hear my favorite progrock albums and watch the painting of Jacek Yerka at the same time. the surreal and changing lyrics and music were very addequate to Yerka's painted worlds.

thinking about it, this album presents the rise and fall and the pathos of progressive rock. it has a strong emotional side, but alltogether a thick wall of flamboyance and bombastic aspiration that eventually seemed to be depressing. in this album there are amazing parts that are ruined by fancy-dictionary words that were gathered with no general idea at all (lead singer Peter Gabriel complained about it). there are also some badly sounding synths (mellotrons and moogs) virtuoses that really (to my oppinion) break the harmony that they sometimes achieve. if you look on the general picture, you could see a magnificent building, tore down by it's fancy, horribly detailed, heavy decorations. one of those virtuose pearls that just have to be mentioned is Peter Gabriel's unique theatrical talent, which allows him to be a british accents collidoskope and an amazing storyteller. just listening to "The Battle Of Epping Forest" makes clear what's the real genesis of those days - Peter himself. there are parts that you just dont need the music. peter fills the void with his stunning talent. in "More Fool Me" there is a kind of profecy. Phil Collins, the drummer, on a good vocal and simple (and non pretentious) love song. later to be Phil Collins, the lead singer and then the stadium filler monster and multi milioner superstar of the 80's.

indeed, a rear and unique ear candy for those who have a slightly patient ear.

Friday, October 21, 2005

A Trip to the Shire

OUND MYSELF in a big field of peanuts and miniature 'tatoes (what are 'tatoes, master?), yummy!
while i watching Milky won't try to eat some, i picked some from the ground, broke the shell and ate two peanuts.
the shell looks like a nice yellowed straw basket and there are many of them, peeping beneath the gardenbed's earth. the field was about two football yards, and you could see people coming silently to pick some of the peanuts and 'tatoes left from the harvest. i saw two Arab women with black cloths and head dressing, two Thai workers with hats and gloves (although the sun wasn't much today), and a mother and her children with nylon bags. a horde of pigeons roamed the field for free good food. milky was indulged to chase them, although she failed to fly in order to catch them. i know that in the bible, and consequently between Israeli farmers, there is a certain kind of law. It states that a farmer should leave a small amount of his harvest unharvested for the poor to gather it straightly from the field.
although not roasted, those peanuts were tasty in small quantities (and makes you severely thirsty), and give a slight earthy taste. i suddenly had a flashback to my childhood. i experienced on eating sand when i was a wee boy. i can still remember the sand's taste. it was actually tasty, with that aroma of soil after the rain. i wasn't aware back then of worms and diseases, i was just worry-free and enjoying what Mother Earth gave me.

me and milky move on. we reach a village's small graveyard. it's a nice graveyard, full of vegetation and shade. it has this nice cuddling feeling, unlike the usual mass graves site my grandparents are buried into. those are somehow always hot, dirty and shadeless. but this graveyard had this serenity of a meditation. it's a small village on the outskirts of my home town, and there are few to be buried, and so the graveyard remains small and welcoming. i never had problems of being in a graveyard (but never had the desire to). it's living people and pain that scare me.

there are some unrecognized types (fonts) engraved on the tombstones, which make that place even more interesting. i directly could spot the known fonts, like Drogolin, Hatzvi, Koren. some of them are bastardised version of known fonts (deformed or changed a bit), some of them are old but new to me. they all have that smell of nostalgia that i love, of things that get older like books.i should go a take pictures of tombstones types some day. that should make an interesting project.

we continue walking and i can see a small nut tree forest at the distance, over the large fields. i feel it's a long walk for milky and she's tired. her tongue is waving outwards and her eyes are wide open. i know she's exhausted, but i know she likes it so much that she drags me onwards when i get tired. we walk in unknown territories, finding new paths just like Frodo (in the Lord Of The Rings) used to do before the whole adventure started. in a way, we took a trip in the shire (but unfortunately the views here are less stunning). the nature is making me feel good. i play in my mp3 player an audio book of Ulyses by James Joyce, but turns out the tracks have a sort of error and they are played in low motion, which upsets me. i was starting to enjoy it the Irish accents and the story itself. i really like audio books but i also feel as though i should be reading and taking a shortcut.

i was a little lost, but when getting out of an unknown village security gate, i realized where we were and so we returned home, happy and tired. at the end i found that we walked for two hours, way much than my usual, but I'm quite happy with it. i feel as though i filled my quota, and in addition i feel more serene and tranquil (which is the same i guess).

Wednesday, October 19, 2005


Here's a post I've been writing for the last several weeks. writing some sentences, here and there, collecting an mixing time segments. finally i managed to edit them into a whole post but it was deleted here somhow and i collected it again, so i hope it's okay...

'm walking along the street with Milky, my female dog and playing "The Picture of Dorian Grey" (audio book) by Oscar Wilde, smiling to myself when i stumble upon one of Wilde's witty and beautiful language pearls. he is truly a master of words.
earlier today i was invited to a family dinner at my aunt. i couldn't avoid my urge to unite that audio book universe with my boring existence. all along the dinner i looked at people attending the dinner, describing them to myself in my head, in that special way people are described in the book. especially at those fancy dinners Dorian grey used to attend. nevertheless, i couldn't arm myself with that cynical and ruthless way Oscar Wilde (or lord Henry) so perfectly describe people. i took an active part of the conversation, dropping pearls and sentences as though they written by lord Henry himself (again, minus the cynical seasonings).

overall, going to those dinners is somehow okay, though i rather be somewhere else. i guess it's a state of mind I'm in lately. suddenly, beyond the corner i see some people i recognize. they were old friends, whom i left so hastily back in the end of junior high, at the brink of puberty and pain. a man makes a move in his life. good moves make a short glory, but bad moves stick on you for a lifetime. this false move will accompany me through the lonesome high school days.
naturally, i was quite surprised. i would rather avoid this meeting. it's too painful, to see that I'm all alone and they have each other, and that i ran away and took friendship like these for granted. the first word that came out of my mouth was "all of you", like it was an ambush planned by my past. we started the casual "Hi, Bye" conversation. they asked and i said all is well, and then said i should be going. and so i left them.i felt humiliated, as though i haven't managed to get better, to show I've changed and I'm better. i failed to lose weight or show any significance of change. i felt small, fat, alone, childish, stupid. all those emotions came back to me. all the way walking in a laid back and satisfied way, as though to convince myself and perhaps them if they watched, that everything is okay. curving my lips to a forced and crocked smile, posing on an overall expression and body language of a happy and laid back man, with no worries.
a few minutes ago i was enjoying myself and smiling, but now my smile is fake, my skin is shivering as though I'm frozen, and my ears heavy and deaf. i turned the mp3 player off, walking with my dog to other routes to avoid meeting them again, and opening my eyes, should i spot this group at the end of a street.
later i came back home. i really love walking with my dog. that way i can really enjoy being in nature and alone and with her, away from the confinement of my house.

i played a wonderful movie on the DVD called "Finding Neverland" and i enjoyed it so much.Milky is sleeping besides my legs on the couch stool. i caress her and hug her, and then i kiss her on her Little brown head. i shed tears when i watched that movie, again and again. it has parts that are like my life. in similarity to the movie, people call me detached and a "floater". i float with my mind to fantastic realms because reality isn't that interesting sometimes.
i feel as lucky to be aware of that sensitive side and learning to live with it and be proud of it. there's a blooming bud inside of me, and he takes much time, but slowly its blooming and i understand more about myself. i feel exited and very emotional when i see signs that talk to my innocence, my childhood. it could be a teddy bear or a legend or a lost children's poem from the past. it makes me emotional. i feel exited and very emotional when i see something that talks to me in a pure emotional way.

i recently remembered one poem from my childhood, and was stunned to it's similarity to my present status and the my lost ability to enjoy parties. it's called "Be'arugat Hagina" ("in the Garden's Flowerbed') by one of Israel's most respected poets, Chaim Nachman Bialik. i made a rough translation of that poem that was a part of my childhood:

In the Garden's Flowerbed, around the barrel,
a Cabbage and a cauliflower were about to dance.
the beetroot saw this, and so he joined
with him came Ms. tomato,
and joy grew!

(rough translation i said)

only the poor pea stood aside
leaned on his cane and never made a move
"how can cheer, how can i dance,
and all of my pods, they are all empty..

(I'll never make it as a translator, but i think you got the general idea)

lately, i had a dream where i changed a design of a certain feature inside a train. i was discussing ( in that dream) what is the best way to design that element and it changed in front of my eyes as i was inventing new ideas. one of the design was pretty similar to a lobby, designed by Antonio Gaudy.
I love his works, he's a real genius. i saw a TV program about him a day after that dream. funny, isn't it?
although he was very religious, and maybe because religion is a strong thing, i can just feel his life in his creation. he really embeds emotion into his works... those parts, where i can feel the strong emotions coming of any art, and triggering a deep emotional response in me. i understand what the artist "talked"about, or at least i understand what i feel, because an art piece can trigger different emotions and interpretations in different viewers, social conceptions, and time.

the Fear

esterday i returned from a walk with Milky, my dog. we walked across town enjoying the cool air of the new winter that came. Milky is fearful of big dogs, so cleverly she does the opposite of what i do when i meet my fear. if she is near a big dog, she attacks that poor creature with ferocious hell hound barks, showing her teeth to him as though he ate her parents. when she starts making those scenes i can barely hold her. her frenzy berserk-like blitzkrieg attacks come in great contrast with her cute looks. she looks like a teddy-bear, but i guess looks can deceive. I remember dear Yoda saying "Fear leads to aggression..." nevertheless, she is nice and cute most of the time.

i notice that when walking with her, i also wear her fears. i discover myself to be more suspicious, avoiding encounters with people and big dogs, walking away from groups of teenagers that sit on the park benches. i become fearful like her. when we walk in new paths i always look aside, searching a malicious free village dog or just scary bugs, or snakes that will jump out of the earth.

when we came home, my little brother and his friends watched a horror movie called "Saw". i used to love horror movies, as they failed to scare me and just made a plain thrill. but now, when i heard the shrills and the horrible shouts of the victims, i felt a bit obnoxious. later, when i peeped a few times to see what the fuss is all about, i was quite appalled. there was this guy cutting his leg off, and the other guy begged him to stop. the whole scene was gruesome. i felt horrible.

although i kill virtual people in the GTA (Grand Theft Auto) game almost a day in a week, this felt just too much. no longer have i enjoyed watching people suffer at movies. what has changed in me? in the latest months my self esteem and security has dropped and shriveled. i fear more and i have more nightmares. through therapy i understand that right now I'm in a hard stage of the treatment. I'm opening my wounds and it's a hard thing to feel them opening and to look inside. i found out more about my bad sides and my good sides, my highs and lows, my rights and wrongs, my auto self destruction.

my dreams tell me about the sides in me that horrify and the challenges ahead. fear takes a form in my nightmare as cockroaches or spiders. i wake in the middle of the night, breathing swiftly. but later, when i interpret my dreams with my therapist, i understand the deep significance it holds for me. it's a battle at it's peak (or that's how i feel). there are so many things, so many lessons and challenges that are hard to deal with just by living. i had a real hard time to do communicative actions lately, to even think about going out or to answer to messages. it's not that i don't want the connection with the outside world, but things are getting more harder right now. it's a kind of survival test.


I went to the print house in Friday and we printed the newspaper that i designed and worked on for the past two and a half month. YAY! it was an amazing thing to find out I'm not stressed at all. i was focused, energetic (you know that energy burst before a really big fatigue?), and very positive. things turned out smoothly. i was amazed at how I'm not stressed. in fact i was more stressed in the iris (high quality print before the big print for color checks) than the actual print. the printers were nice and collaborative people. although they tried to hasten processes a little bit (it was Friday and they were due to go home when finishing our project), i could really sense that they know a lot. i added a pinch of cyan here, tried to avoid purple skies by lowering the magenta, and it came out rather good, with some beginner mistakes here and there. i really liked being there (although there were times between the plate changes where i had nothing to do). one of the printing assistant was a good music lover who really helped passing the dead time. at the end of the day, bounding was scheduled in Sunday and the first 1000 copies were due to be ready in Wednesday. it was all peaches.

ALAS! (PA, PA, PAAAAA!!!!!) we called lately to make sure things are going as planned, only to discover that the binding was referred to another binding house and thus postponed to (drums please:) Wednesday!! oh shit. well, it's so obvious, problems will occur. i should have been prepared. we got a promise but i don't feel that some of the printing house workers are reliable, and neither our bosses, so all the weight falls on us. typical but not. then - in Wednesday, the newspaper was all ready!

but again - ALAS! the print house manager stated to me in the phone that if that chimp (my term) boss of mine won't pay up, he won't get a square centimeter or a drop of ink of that newspaper. so things just linger and linger. i was quite upset. here's one of my chimp boss who had waited for his newspaper to be designed, and then when all is ready he fails to do his part in every goddamn step of the way, and so the newspaper is just gathering dust and he looses time and money. what a mutant chimpanzee!

i think the biggest revelation in these past hard weeks, was that i wasn't stressed at the print house at all. and for me it's a progress.
The Chronicles of Vendolusia