Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Life from a grass P.O.V

Today i got up and dressed up. i remembered that last night, i was having hard time getting myself to study and when it was late, i just told my parents to wake me in 15 minutes, so i can do some walking exercise for a half an hour. i fell asleep and wasn't able to get up. in conclusion, i had something of an hour of studying, and no exercise. a failure.

i was talking with my therapist last night about all the things, but particulary about my dreams and about depression.

lately i had a dream. i was walking in the desert, then i saw a bunch of houses of a kibbutz ( rural community in Israel based on communal property). it had a yard with grass and a large eucalyptus tree (i really hate eucalyptus). on the houses walls, were hanged huge black and white pictures of Tilda Swinton. i find Tilda to be a very beautiful and interesting looking woman. Anyway, after the kibbutz, i was standing in the desert again and then i saw her. she was standing there, colored only black & white, her head was wet, (and although she was in black and white, i knew she was red haired). she was standing in a "Venus de milo" pose. she looked at me & i ran towards her, trying to reach her. but suddenly, the desert became flooded, and it became muddy too. it was hard getting to her, and i heard a voice recalling about "trying again and again to reach her, but more water came and made it harder, and she seemed to always be there but in the same time she was farther away". finally i got to her, and from then.... i can't remember.

my therapist and i talked about feelings that flood me sometimes, feeling of depression that are as equally "suffocating" me as doing nothing and staying in a mental vacuum. she was saying that i should fight my feelings when they come and flood me. that when it happens i should boldly decide not to succumb to my feelings and decide not thinking about it. it's hard, but possible.

but that night i was too tired to fight myself, this fierce and justified battle exhausted me, and i just played a sad song and felt sad.

i played the travis acoustic show in my young brother's quality amplifiers, sat on the floor of the corridor, and just listened to the music, enjoying the soft, caressing, and emotional vibes of the songs ("sing") as much as i could. i don't recall many times where i did nothing but listening to music (without doing something else like work or surfing the net, or walking in the streets, or waiting for the train or being in it and watching something like the view).

i sometimes like to come and lie on the floor just for the fun and the new perspective it gives you. you are suddenly staring at the world from the height of cut grass. even my dog, Milky looks bigger. sometimes i like to lie down on the carpet when i come from work and do nothing but lying near Milky. it has this soothing effect on me.

Milky was there too, near my brother's room, sitting and watching what curiously, on what my brother was doing(getting ready for the first day of school in his high school). her ears were falling backwards and she looked at us in the most innocent and cute brown look ever. i sat beside her (on the floor i already said right?) and caressed her. her wet brown nose is touching my hands, her "fleece" is soft under my finger. and her gaze was pointed at me. i could swear that i felt as though she likes travis or just as sad as i was (when listening to travis). i know this is absurd, and dogs do have a human gaze, and i have a good imagination. but that's just my feelings overthrow rationality.

and i thought, well - just lying on the floor, saying nothing, and listening to music. this is a moment of sheer fun and beauty.

Ma Fave












C
heck out this Travis radio live acoustic concert.

Grandma





Grandma is ill.

i always like visiting grandma. i love her very much, and even though her apartment is hot and her food isn't what used to be, it doesn't matter because i want to be with her. i go and i listen to her stories about everyday's life, about her childhood in Romania and about her rude and in-obedient cleaner. i don't like those cleaner stories, they bore me but i listen because i know that it gives her pleasure that someones listening. mom, for example, is getting annoyed by these stories and she don't like listening to her, so she is usually glad when i say I'll take grandma back to her household in Saturday after a dinner with us. i think it's hard for her, seeing her mother becoming a tape that repeats itself.
i do, however, like to listen to her stories about her childhood in a village in Romania, before she migrated to Israel. throughout my childhood i was listening to her stories, living and experiencing them with my imagination as if they were mine. i love her dearly.

when last visiting my grandma, a few days ago, i felt something was hidden, but quite wrong. her glance was like she was staring into a void. her eyes were a little shut. nothing very out of the ordinary, and we did have fine conversations as always about her childhood in Romania and about her rude and inobedient cleaner. but something i felt about her, brought me back a few years ago, when meeting an old relative who i always saw as a kind of grandpa.

my grandpas are not amongst the living, (the grandpa from my mothers side passed away when i was 6 years old, and the other passed away even before i even was conceived), and he (his name was Tzvi, meaning "deer" or "antelope in Hebrew) was one of those grandfather characters in my life. he was always nice and kind and wrote poems about me, starting with the rhyme "le yaron ha yakinton" ( meaning: to Yaron the hyacinth). when i met him in the last months of his life, his eyes were same as my grandma's - a little bit shut, like he just woke up from a sleep, only that he was about to get into a deep sleep of which he won't wake. he died in his sleep. tzvi was what we call in Hebrew (roughly translated) "the salt of the land" - one of Israel's bravest and dearest persons. apart from being a major figure in the Zionist movement in Romania, he also was one of the many pioneers of Israel, and an important executive in the ZIM shipping company and the founder of it's branches in Africa (or something like that). a good man overall and an ever interesting man, filled with stories and experiences. his (well he was married - so their) house was full of genuine African masks and collectible items from Africa and the far east (many of them were ivory artifacts, made way before ivory poaching was illegal in Africa), and heavy wooden furniture.
a real "salt of the earth".

today i was eating lunch with my brother. we were full and sat and talked. the cell-phone rang and mother was talking. she said that grandma doesn't feel good. usually she's always in pains, but this time her moth was open and she was suffering. the doctor said she probably has breathing problems, but found no reason to hospitalise there. i guess he/she subscribed her something. it's amazing how medicine can be sometimes used not only to fight death, but to prolong a suffering.
now, I'm not a man who sees doom and catastrophe, but i certainly feel the end is close for her.
a year back, i told her about a dream i had, where i found out she died and cried miserably. she smiled and said, "you have to know i had a good life, and I'm ready for death to come". and i thought to myself, well, I'm not ready yet, but that doesn't matter isn't it?

as i was digesting the food and the recent call from my mother, a weird man came, shoved his hands into my pickle plate and asked if he could have one. i said "be my guest", with a slight smile. life can be sad, funny and surreal at the same time. a kind of Roberto Benini feeling.
i was remembering how in the "shogun" book, blackthorn rescued toranaga from an earthquake. his expensive suit covered with dust and his favorite priceless swords falling into the abyss. then, they sat on the ground, and laughed. karma.

death has not knocked on her doorstep yet, but i hope i will be ready. i think I'll visit her soon.
i hope I'm mistaken, and my sensation was utterly wrong,
and if I'm right, i hope she will have a pleasant death. like tzvi.
a suitable painless death, for a wonderful person, whom I'll remember. all my life.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Today


("Dark Forest" - By Dark Forest)

nothing has changed.

the heat is making living harder for me. its all too complicated and i feel desperate when i stand alone in front of all the factors together. fighting myself every day it's a daunting task.
when i woke up, it was just too much like yesterday. i feel so alone but writing it down it looks like the words on the screen are screaming out of their commonness. it's like so many people wrote it, that it just doesn't matter.

i find too many things slipping and strangling me. and above that stands an overall sensation of helplessness. i truly feel like always, like shouting something that no one hears.

and with this feeling i open the day. it's like I'm eating an egg of insecurity and a salad of loneliness and depression, spiced with a touch of fatigue. but the work is so busy, that i get to come over it around 12:00, and be a productive man for the rest of the day. it's not that i don't wok, it just means that it's hard designing when depressed.



i remember a meeting of the class at the "Soho" restaurant. people were talking and having a good time. now, i have a slight hearing problem, that made communication with other people on a noisy background a real problem for me. but it's much more then that. when i see people talking, knowing i should participate, i feel as though I'm staring at the reality out of a window, unable to "go out and play", like a sick boy. the reality is happening in front of me, people are talking, but i am just observing from the inside and not a real part of that reality. and furthermore, when i try to talk, i often fail to say something meaningful.
i was thinking about it; here is an evening out where i should enjoy, and all i do is thinking about weather should i say something, and something meaningfully, and why am i wasting my cerebral power thinking about something to say. people were nice, and the sushi was great, but other than that i felt as if i want to go away.

i finished reading "Shogun" by james clavell . (SPOILER) it was a magnificent book, i was totally united (emotionally) with it and i was very educated from it. but the end was such a sham. it was horrible. a kind of literary version of deus ex machina (and maybe not exactly, but it has the same annoying feeling, like someone lacked the inspiration/will to find a proper ending). it's like all the book and all the events were planning to an event, (the war) that was described in one simple, dry and historical paragraph. in the last pages i kept measuring the size left for the actual depiction of the war, but the pages got shorter and only in that paragraph, i found what i wanted to read. besides that, i truly felt that many facts and events, important for the grand finale, were shamelessly cramped into the last chapter as "future plans" in one of the main character's head (Toranaga). i felt so disappointed. sure, the book was awesome, but the end just blew it.

and in this words, i seal the post and go to sleep.

Monday, August 29, 2005

a foggy city. (fiction)


















(monet - house of parliament)


Today i woke up and looked in the miror.
i tried to smile, but what's the use? that face peeping on the other side again didn't look as though they really belong to me. my eyes were swolen of sleep deprevation and worry.
i have to design a tourist newspaper ASAP and it worries me, and i have a paper to give in my course, and i need to get on my diet back and do my exercise. but it's not just that. it's just shitty in a general way. i feel disconnected.

now, when i greet neighbours or talk to someone, and it's just hurts to put that mask on.
i have so much to do and i feel disoriented. all the day passed and i often flee to the toilet, so i can read or write, anything but dealing with files.

i started hearing an audiobook i got from lilly, a very interesting one called "american gods"by Neil Gaiman, and i feel thankfull for the oportunity to disconect and run, but still able to do some work. it's sucking me into it and it's hard to disconnect from it, even when my boss comes to talk with me. when i go to lunch, i read a book just to avoid talking.

later in that day, i found out that i passed an open university test with a grade of 70. it was that bad. obviously, that didn't make me more happy. i felt worthless.
im not someone who shows his depression outwards, and i guess no one notices, and that's good for me. i rather not talk often, but i need to talk in order to work with other people. i want to talk, i want to let it out, just not to the ordinary people.
i dont have the strength to answer inquisitive questions, work, study, breath. i just feel as though i just want to curl into myself.

but today i just can't. i need to go the diet meeting and wheight myself so i could see how much i got fatter, and then get my shock that will get me on the slim and anorectic diet horse again. i need that frame or i'll fall apart.

-----------
We closed the wooden door of our dwelling, and walked across the street. a new holy day is beginning.
we were all dressed up in our finest clothes, put our hats on our heads and wore our finest wooden shoes, that made a deep and dim sound when we walked on the slippy pavement bricks. it was a little bit cold outside and the sun was out there, half seen by the fog. the streets looked now slightly blueish..
we continued along an avenue, the kids running along, passing their hands alongside a black metal bars that fenced a garden. we got into the park and passed through all the gardens.
when we got to the canal that had a dock in the eastern side of the park, we took a boat ferry. the canal was white and pure, and the wet white stones shined in the thin light. the narrow space in it was enough for two boats to pass. we sailed between streets and under houses, until we reached the eastern terrace of the city. water were pouring from the cliff and the canals and became waterfalls that fell in pools of the lower terrace. i paid the ferryman and then we went directly to the praying mantis guild. the old man went to the stables and dragged an obedient praying mantis. it was quite tall and slim, and because I'm from the middle terrace, I'm not a frequent user of these marvelous but dangerous creatures so i was a bit afraid.
the guild's man put a big harness on the mantis's back, enough for four people and for a driver that pulled the strings controlling the animal.
Ifa, my little child was afraid. i cant blame her, but i managed to calm her down. the driver got on the harness and another man helped us to get on the harness with the seats. the beast has risen and started walking towards a platform at the end of the cliff. then, as it seemed as if we are doomed to plunge down, she turned around, and started going down the cliff, using special grappling points that were carved in the rock especially for her needs. as we went down, i saw Ifa smile and gazing at the view. as other customers gone up the cliff using a mantis, we greeted them.
finally we got down and the praying mantis continued walking in the streets, amazingly not hitting the people or the stands that were acustomed to it. we got to the boardwalk gate, and the driver left us there.
first, we entered and chose to enter a shrine. the shrine had a special place for achieving harmony and peace. it was a large hole in the marble floor, and underneath it flowed a big waterfall that fell into a deep pit. the water poured not from one direction, but in a round and even way, making the waterfall perfect and round. a little bridge suspended from the outside of the circle to the center of it, allowing you to see the phenomenon in it's full glory.
we got out from the shrine and went across the paved boardwalk. it has a little stone hedge that sands at the edge of the boardwalk, to prevents people from falling into the abyss.
the beauty of that boardwalk is that you can see foggy clouds rise quietly up from the deep cliffs. you could actually "touch them".
it's always slippery and foggy in the boardwalk, and i held my kids tight so they wouldn't run away and disappear in a few meters in the fog. so they wouldn't fall.
my wife hugged me and looked at me. i held my kids up so they could see the marvel. ifa'seyes were widely open, and she reached her hands and tried to grab a cloud. between the clouds, i could notice bits of the lands below, lush green areas that spread as far (and as much) as the eye can see. i knew i should be at peace and harmony, but all i could concentrate of was a distant and menacing feeling feeling that the bricks of the pavement don't look so stable.

we continued walking along the view, passing other travelers and wind pipe artists who play soft and quiet melody, in order to enhance but not damage the harmony that this place possesses.


might be continued.. :)

Sunday, August 28, 2005

random fluid thoughts

and beauty, so much beauty. the human orgasm and sexuality is a beautiful and rare thing. this site is a launched artistic endevour (it's not a commercial, but a recomendation) which it's goals are to show the true beauty of numerous people, cumming. well, it's not the actual cumming rather the depiction of orgasm in the human face and sound and it's beautiful, and so true. i enjoyed watching the promos very much (i dont have a membership).
for those of you who will shout in a wave of puritan self ritousness, this is not pornography, because pronography concentrates more on the pumping actions and all the nuts and screws, than the complexity and beauty, of the whole machine. pornography in a way is art, but more the art of pleasure than "visually intended art". pornography deals more in self and fast endulgment.




play .wmv

play .mpg

visit beautifulagony.com


__________________

now, you must excuse me, all the few and dear reader(s) that i have.
I'm starting a random flow of thoughts, and i don't blame you if you want to "get out".

it's amazing what fatigue can do to you.
lately I've been working hard and i find myself ending a work day in late hours and my weekend was mostly (other that a few bright and shiny hours) in work related subjects. i feel uplifted because i feel important and that I'm going somewhere, it's a good cause. this is a kind of a beginning of a peak, in the frame that i have set in my life. i can't hold on without the routine.
but it goes along hand to hand with the tiredness, like a prisoner chained to it's guard. i feel depression hovering above me like a wolf upon his prey. when I'm tired, i feel as though I'm blind, and big parts of the time just flow like slippy snakes from my hands and i can't really notice it until it's too late.

Friday i met a particular wonderful person whom i known in the virtual life.
i was facing the ocean on a staired platform, near the tel aviv beach. yea, wind began to flow. sunset. then a sudden slight smell of a delicate perfume and a voice, and the a warm hug from a beautiful woman, and then i was sucked into another universe. a long expected meeting. we talked and walked and talked, and walked and created art and talked more. and it seems like the world just stopped for a minute and let me have fun for a change. all along i felt great, but i was afraid that i can't be really honest like i can be - on the web. but, as we talked, facing each other and forgetting the sun, my defences just poured from me to the ocean. it was just pure fun. even when the fuckers towed my car.

lately, sometimes it's just making me tired just to open my mouth. when people want to talk in the messenger, or i have to send an email to someone i barely talk with, i feel it's like i lack the strength. even the notion of calling to ask my about grades from the open university is making me ill. but with her, words just got out freely from my mouth. now im afraid that i was too honest with her, and i might have looked too enthusiastic, too innocent, to honest, and my eyes were too "hungry", and that i was too childish for her, and that this and that.

from the majority of my connections with the outer world, i have learned that I'm not fitting to the general rules and tactics of the universe. i want to make a connection, but i show too much of myself, and most people are deterred. eventually this leaves me very insecure of just about anything in life and especially in my social life. i don't know when im too little or too much, and it just seems that fucking up new relationships is the most common scenario for me. it's my honesty that made me so fragile.

now is the time for the moments where the insecurities are sneaking in to me. all those fears that occupy me sometimes appear and rule me, like i was a puppet in their hands. even writing those lines is frightening me, because i feel now too honest, knowing she will read this.
but i also feel that i shouldn't be ashamed of nothing, particularly in vendolusia and particularly with her. i just felt good in those moments with her, and that's all i can say for myself, to shut those fears behind a door.

and I'm happy that i can write that in a blog and letting it out.

i was listening to sad music. i like sad music. it's like hearing someone agrees with you and even comforting you across the ocean.
today i listened to funkstorung. funkstorung are an electronic composition from Germany. their music is an odd, cold, clean but unpleasant and have a distinct electronically sound. when listening to most of the Disconnected album. i think it's like watching a couple of robots live, love and despair themselves in a cold and clean ice house, disconnected from any reality. i can see abstract shapes born and die above a frozen lake. you can even see that on their video clips* (in their site). off course, there are some other "tones" like hip hop, and other "more alive" tones, but most of the music is weird and cold, just like i like it, containing electronic glitches, jazz, violins, pianos, and vocals by a great singer called enik (or eniq). enik sings with a lot of regret and memories, or at least that's what i felt. its so personal and listening to him, it's like seeing a sad movie and sinking into it.
returning to their music really makes me shiver a bit. its horrible yet immensely beautiful at the same time, inhumanely weird but comforting and human at the same time.

i know this sounds pretty incoherent, but I'm right now thinking about fragments of life, unaranged and pasted one upon the other in dis-harmonic way, peeling un-aesthetically and half transparent,distorted and distorting the layers under them. each one of them is a little blurred movie, with twinkling lights. they are layed in groups, in rhythm, like someones playing a deep and entangled jazz theme, reminding me of Cinematic Orchestra's tunes, and each one of them is moving inside themselves according to their own rhythm, repeating a piece of memory, over and over again. I'm picking one of them. it's torn a little piece, but it's colors are vivid. i can see one of those moments when I'm looking in the mirror, and not recognizing my face as my own, but seeing only an outer shell that don't fit the consciousness that lurks inside.

oooh. brrr. the air conditioner is disconnecting me from the hot reality of the hot Israel. I'm disconnecting myself in my icy world.


* funkstorung has published a triple media for their disconnected album. in addition to music, you get a cool designed book and a DVD containing amazing and cutting edge video clips made from various fan designers, including our Israeli Jew-Boy.

Friday, August 19, 2005

At Any Cost!

At any cost

There is a large notion of instabilty in my life. i had a rough start, but i won't deepen myself in things that happened. i gotta move on and to try to improve.
i set myself hard goals, and i can't always succeed in them. i want to reach for the stars, because if i won't do my best, i'll hate myself. i hate myself most of the times. im my own worst enemy. sometimes, when i can build somethingin one hand, the other hand will ruin it.
and i think this creation comes to express my general feeling on lack of stability and security in my life, the lack of self security, and the general feeling that im flawed, and one day my shiny image of my total achievments will collapse like a flawed tower.


Wednesday, August 17, 2005

a BIG red one




A BIG RED ONE with absolutely no design can still be a work of art, just because i said so.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

the Typo Presentation




I had a really bad dream that was mostly forgotten.
in the dream i went to the design school I'm studying in, to present my typography assignment for the end of the year.
the school in the dream lied inside an old industrial building (not far from the truth, but more filthy and deserted) in an industrial complex area in "har zion" avenue, near "shoken" street. the inside of the building was dark, old and full of filth, puddles and dust. the floor tiles were so filthy.
light had barely peeped through the broken shutters. i walked in and i was alone.
then - i found myself in a "classroom" which was a long and black corridor, which resembled to a theatre rehearsal room (with black painted walls) with a few naked light bulbs. i went up the corridor and i saw the other students. the atmosphere was like an art exhibition. people talked politely, steeling suspicious looks aside to see who's coming. i went to the end of the corridor and there was a very small room (actually more like an extension of the corridor because it was part of the corridor). it had white walls, low ceiling, naked light bulbs, and a wooden door colored in gray.
i met there a man that i know from my teen years (in real life) and is a moderately known design personality. he made it on his own, didn't learn design, and he is very nice. and i consult with him often. (further on the dream:) i greeted him and he gave me a polite greet, but then looked aside in a snobbish way and walked away, as though he's ashamed of me or thinks i am not good enough for him. i met some other class mates, including a friend and other female classmate i always was nice to and she was always snobbish and un-nice to me. they looked on the white wall. there were lied some of my classmates's works, that featured their logotypes (made in the typo class in real life). the atmosphere was tense and i was twice. i got my works out of the bag, and i saw my work was framed with a special wooden frame with extensions. the frame is very similar to a frame i know from real life, and reminds me of those ancient Japanese gates found in shrines. my mother bought for it to frame a Chinese calligraphy paper that my brother brought us from Australia. i like calligraphy and i like that frame, but anyway-
although the frame was special but un-needed, i found to my horror that the paper inside the frame, under a clear glass attaching it to the frame surface, was wrinkled, torn and old, and was placed there in a neglected way. my logotype was supposed to be printed there, clear black on a clean shiny paper attached to a kappa surface (a plastic foam surface that is used to present works on). the logotype there was supposed to be the finished one. but i saw stuff similar only to sketches, not a finished work. i went pale and got into anxiety. i was horrified.
and then, the typo teacher got in the room from that door.
this is all i can remember, or maybe it was the awful end of an awful dream.
i don't expect the readers here to truly understand the importance of typo class for me, or the whole crazy being that is me, but it was horrible.
currently I'm avoiding the temptation of the dream interpretation until i talk about it with my therapist.
I'm in a very depressing and hard time in my life. I'm tight and i made myself to postpone major test and presentations (of summer class i take in the open university to gain a degree aside from the design studies). it was me who created this situation, and thus i enlarge my self hatred.
alptarumified,
Dark-Forest.



Thursday, August 11, 2005

the aesthetic ugliness in it's glory.













I
n this article i found in the web,
it seemed quite strange to me.
here's a drawing (on the left) that reminded me of a talented illustrator called Lopetz. knowing Egon Schiele's work before - there's always a surprise. this time was a work that is not very typical to Schiele, and i was sure it was Lopez's work until i saw the full article. anyway, now the illustrations in Lopez's site have been updated, so i have no concrete "evidence" to show you the resemblance.

anyway- never mind.

When i first saw Schiele's amazing drawings in books i was amazed and by the amount of power and the beautiful ugliness and sexual vulnerability that he embodies. Egon has left aside the perception of beauty cherished by the art-nouveau artist. he deliberately shows the ugliness at it's most beauty. under his brush, people are ugly, full of contempt and malice. they are distorted and rotten. their flesh is sucked and shrinked and their skin is almost a corpse like. they look vulnerable like kids, exposed to their bones, showing their true painful and childish body. showing their true passions and sexual being.
sexuality isn't repressed here - why should it, if its so beautiful?? he liberates it and shows it in it's ugly glory. what is really rotten is the general perception of beauty. we live, we feel, we die, and we are nothing but bones, flesh, blood, and feelings. natual. he shows the viewer the normality of a sexually driven man. his women are both repulsive and arousing. in a few flowing, dynamic, and jagged lines and sparse colors, Schiele is expressing more than a thousand words.





















(the last one is lopetz's work)






Redheads


























(Egon schiele - sitting-woman)

Well, i know my blog is not exactly the New-York-Post in terms of readers quantity, but if anyone cares - i fixed that thingie which prevented from people not enlisted to the BLOGGER, to comment.



there's something i really like in the European look (not the eastern European, but more western European). i like the pale skin. it reminds me of old Renaissance paintings of the European aristocracy. in my country, Israel, and in the western civilization, tan is considered a feature of higher socio-economic status, because a tanned man is considered wealthy enough to fly to expensive places like Hawaii. i don't like tans very much, and i try to avoid tanning and keeping my skin whiter (partly because I'm sensitive to the sun). in Thailand for example, as well as old cultures prior to the modern time - tan is regarded as a feature of lower socio-economic status, because a tanned man was probably a hard laboured farmer, who works at the field under the sun. this is why you could see Thai workers coming to work in farms in Israel. when they are out, they cover their faces and heads with hats and cloth, wear long sleeve clothes and put gloves on their hands. tanned people will have hard time marrying in Thai. recent studies has shown that ordinary skin, which is not too much tanned but has the right amount of sun exposure and vitamins, is healthier than tanned skin, and has less danger of developing cancered cells.


and now for something a Little different;
Although I'm now on a busy part of my life, including work, studying for a test and loosing weight, i wanted to talk about a subject quite close to my heart.
if i was to imagine my perfect woman, i would tell something like this:
(and if you need a soundtrack to this part, try "please" by "lamb")



"Somewhere, up north from my hot country, so north that the days end fast and the nights are not so black. where there are many green hills and the wind is sometimes lashing itself onto the rocks, there's a long wooden pier, that penetrates into the sea like a passionate tongue.
if you would walk along that pier on weekdays, you would usually hear the laughter of the families with their kids running about, and the parents walking by. you can smell the sea and the fish&chips shops, and see the couples kissing and laughing bashfully next to the fence, huddled together.
but this day, well, it's all closed, and it's cold, really cold. all you can hear now, is the squeaks of the old wooden beams, and the cries of the grey waves. the sea is quite turbulent, and the cold wind made all flee to their little houses, with their warm teas and their little dogs lying quietly near the fire places.

but She doesn't care. she stands there, moving her body quietly with the rhythm of the waves. she goes there when solitude is a wave too big to withstand.
she wears a long black coat and a thick striped scarf.
she has a red flowing hair, that has a motion like water pouring from a jar. whenever she moves her head, or when the wind is blowing, her long hair moves smoothly with the loose threads of the scarf, and releases a faint smell of flowers that hush the salty smell in one's mouth.
her skin is pale, very pale, and she has a freckled, delicate, almost fragile mask of jade eyes, and a deep sad look pointed to the horizon, seeking, waiting. her eyes are constantly stretching afar, tracking a faint signal in the distance, then lowering them self in a moment of lost hope, scratching the wooden floor. then she returns to watch hopefully at the horizon. maybe one day, one bright day, a ship with white linen sails will carry her loved one within it's bowels."


yours,
Dark-Forest


Tuesday, August 09, 2005

What if Darth was one of us?



Appearantly, darthy is a fully fledged israely!
(press on the helmet)
(caution - shitty bandwidth. if the movie doesn't load,
press pause and wait a minute, then press play again)

Monday, August 08, 2005

The hermit and the temptaion









(erotic statues, some temple in india. the way things should have been)

I recently finished the first year in visual communications (graphic design) studies in tel aviv, israel. i work in a little dubious studio that works mainly for small business, some of them are definitely from the "red" part of town (and by saying red, i don't meen commies) . as well as for other decent clients, we also design lousy sex sites and flash banners (advertisement in websites).
and im saying to myself - GOD! this is so filthy that it makes me nauseus.

i liked designing a sex site logo, that had at least a notion of designer respectfulness, but I'm really not keen of messing with that shit. it's not that I'm against sex - sex is awesome, sex is good for your health and it's burning calories. i don't want to sound like a hypocrite, but when i make a sex banner, it really stinks. it stinks because the customers are whore-houses owners. they are filthy monkeys and everything they do is dirty and the "make it cheep and fast" style.

when I'm in those business, even though i just design, i can really smell the stench that comes from these kind of jobs. it smells like semen and despair, and filthy places. the other problem is that some of the jobs come out REALLY shitty, because I'm suppose to fart as many of these banners in a day.

on the one hand i want to supply the demand, on the other - even if it's a sex banner - i want to learn something by experience. it's a part of the job, and it's money, and that's something. i always remind myself that all of my friends would never get a job as designers in the first year, (because they have no experience) and here i got a mildly respectable job as a designer. so i should appreciate that. and with the shitty things, as i said - comes many many wonderful stuff, like designing printed ads for big clients, and a big project - designing a brand new tourist newspaper (in English) so that's the art of compromise, i think. anyway - don't feel humiliated or harassed doing the sex banners, but i don't like it.
i think any experience is a lesson, and i also learned some things, from designing sex sites and banners.

but there's one thing that reeeeeally bothers me is this:
unless you are castrated, gay, or an alien (with all due respect to the alien public off course), this kind of work is hard for a straight man
i have to enter sex sites from abroad to download pictures to be used in banners (yea), and seeing all those sex images, young, hot and busty women in sexy poses not invented even by Satan himself, is making me superbly HORNY. it's like they are calling me -" f__k me! - I'm right here, hot and throbbing, damnit!". i get erections every two seconds, and i have to hide it with the keyboard XD (and in that term, girls are lucky. because when you are in the street in jeans [or worse - in soft cloth pants] and an erection starts, there's no where to run).
can you imagine 9 hours of work in this kind of situation, without the possibility of jerking-off in the toilet and letting it all out so i can be clear minded??? (the toilet [and the business] is in a private home, and is often dirtier than the latrines of medieval India).
how can i used my brain, when it's occupied with mating rituals??? why the hell i need to supress a natural need??
i feel like a monk in the playboy mansion.
this isn't human. i cant take it! XD


now that's a good tale to tell the folks near the cooler huh? :)

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Prologue

This is the first page, in the story of Vendolusia.
imagine yourself a world that quietly lies on a turtle's back.
the weather is mostly foggy or rainy, and darkly forested. when you gaze in the sky, you can see heavy and dark clouds, widely colored with blue. when the sunset's time is coming, those clouds are filled with wonderful, warm, and inviting pastel colors.
rising to the top, massive grey and red mountains. so high are those mountains, that their tops are disappearing into the clouds. at the foot of the mountains grows a mighty forest. the dark green forest goes on and on, until you can't see it's end. The trees are mighty and strong, and their roots penetrate deep in the fertile soil, reaching to the turtle's heart.
there is also a sea in vendolusia. rough, turbulent, dark gray-colored and freezing. the breeze is harsh with the white Beach's shrubs.
when i walk alone, along the beaches, i can smell the salty smell of the ocean, and the cold breeze that whip my face as well as the shore-shrubs, is making my eyes tear.
although i live and lived there all my life, i still don't know most of it, and there are many paths to be discovered. sometimes i allow myself to go deeper into the unknown, sometimes I'm too afraid.
The Chronicles of Vendolusia