Tuesday, September 27, 2005

suffocation



my family is a family full of love, but love can suffocate. living in my parent's house for now is a difficult reality, because there is no privacy. living in a kind of "kibbutz" (collective settlement) atmosphere, means there is little privacy. everyone knows stuff and things are passed like water. people here, especially my mother, just can't shut up. i find many things just passing to her girlfriends without my consent (not too much sensitive stuff, but still).

as i am a very privacy jealous man, i want to keep my room and my life as private as i can. this is why, i bought my own computer with my own money, so i can get a hold of something which is myself in this goddamn world. but it's still - a fucking kibbutz family, and so happens that my father and my older brother are using my computer and won't leave it if i need it. when i get upset they start to get insulted.

it's hard not having a bargain card. if i insist on my rights, father gets insulted and says he gives me so much and my brother threats to "pay" me some day. i don't think they understand, my insecurity and my need for a private shelter as a place to escape. although i feel terribly lonesome in my life, i need my quiet hours away from my family, as they are a suffocating element.

resistance is futile.

my work consists lately of a lot of pressure. but oddly, i don't get pressured at all. except - when my brother, who is in charge of me (yea, a boss) at the work place (long story) is working with me. i can't design when he's sitting at the back of me, watching my moves and commenting remarks. again, get that terrible suffocation feeling. as I'm the designer, work falls on me mostly and currently he has no work, so he comes to my room and bothers me. thus, i get very irritated, touchy and bitter. when he comes my design ability drops. i just can't think straight. and although I've told him for a thousand times not to interrupt me and that it bothers me, he just won't listen.when he come around, i get to know (after many sessions with the therapist) my unwillingness to get orders from him. i say to myself that "i hate him" for several times, and then i hate myself more for my defects and psychological issues. he's no saint, and he has his parts, but it's mostly my fault. this confuses me and makes me just sad. i hate myself.

the main problem with this wrong and ill family-work system is my kibbutz family knows, by his "reports" what's going on. so even if i do want to tell something, they will know it already. and then they'll start asking detailed and annoying questions i don't have the power/will to talk about. i don't like confessions by torture and if I'll want to tell something, it has to come from my will, not their inquisitive questions.now off course, everyone in my family were naturally "born designers", and they sure know how to do all of the stuff and that i waste time, so they allow them self to constantly bullshit my mind with advices, telling me i waste time doing minority stuff, like designing, and that i should end that work and send it to print already.well i only work 12 hours a day, and i only ended production school and first year in visual communications studies. what the fuck do i know anyway....

i just hate my family so much lately (besides my little brother, whom i love very much). i just want to make them stand in a row and slap them. naturally, i love them so much, but their lack of ability to give me the basic privacy, just made me into a very negative man. last week i just felt suffocated and tensed from hearing my parents voice.

yesterday i learned how stupidity can reach new heights. my father again had lectured me about what should i do and that I'm wasting time as usual. i replied that i don't want to hear another word, and that i worked 12 hours and that I'm tired, i don't want to talk about it. i said that he doesn't know anything about my work. he doesn't know that designing and production are a very long and exhausting procedure, including many corrections of text, colors, alignment and composition. he doesn't know that production needs hours and hours of painstaking care to every small detail and that so many can things go wrong.then he said that I'm not a master to my own life (still, I'm 23 years old, that's gotta mean something), and "when he sees me doing a mistake, it's time for him to take the saddles and decide what to do".

that really hurt me to hear this, to understand that he thinks he can say stuff like this to me, that he doesn't see me as an independent man.and in a way, that's just shows the true face of this family's mentality. there are no individuals, we are part of a collective.i need my individuality.

i spend much time explaining to my big brother in work too about that a magazine containing 96 color pages with designs and ads takes time, and that accidents and mistakes do happen, especially if there is so much on ones mind and especially if I'm doing a work that is normally done by a whole studio.now my parents are going away to Prague for a couple of weeks, and was so pissed off because of all what happened. i just count the seconds till they go. nevertheless, when waking up one morning i decided two things:
I would not tell or discuss or hear any work related subject to my parents no matter how they will insist, knowing it has a price.I forgive my father for saying what he said, and I'll part from him with a kiss because they are leaving. i want to confront him, i want to yell at him until the sky will shiver, but they are going away tomorrow.

all the next day i felt like a boiling pot with a welded lid.finally, as i write these lines, i bursted against my decision and i told him everything angrily:
that this family is suffocating and that i know better because it's my profession, and that they can't respect privacy, and when enough is enough. he was insulted again and said how i ruined his desire for the trip tomorrow, and mother said it's not the right time to say such things and that something can happen to them, and eventually i feel as though i hate myself even more.

off course, i still love and forgive them for all those stuff mentioned above, but it's hard living like this. sometimes it's much easier just to stay alone at work until it's late rather than working with my older brother or coming back home.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Paper Hunting and House Cleaning

I went last Friday with a friend for some paper hunting. a paper hunting is just a search for some cool, cheep, and interesting papers, that can be found in old books and magazines. you just have to go to yee local flee market. if you'll go and search for stuff at the passages and trailers, you'll find that things are unreasonably high. but if you'll go to the "slum" areas of the flee market, where sellers spread their contents on the floor, you could find cool stuff very cheaply.

i have a craze for stuff from the 40's-70's, stuff with a distinct nostalgic feeling of Israel's first days. like for instance, old memorabilia, empty glass medicine jars, cool pottery. in my last visit i bought two "Sifoulux" (soda siphon bottles).

anyway i started the day in Tel Aviv and walked along "Levinsky" street, taking pictures with a stills Pentax camera of the shoelaces and shoes stands. the street's sights and it's colorful people. i met her near her apartment, and so we went.

the day was hot, so hot i ended with a skin burn. im so sun sensitive. i bought a fruit beverage, and then we just entered into the market, sucking ourselves into this interesting nostalgic reality.

we took a break from the heat, and entered into a space that is seldom being used as a gallery space. the only good things i can say about the exhibition that took place there, was that we were there together (which is a fun thing on it's own), and that it had a mineral water stand for visitors. we quenched our thirst and returned into that world.

all the way we saw old records, books, cool stuff we didn't need and talked about the creative possibilities we can have with these materials.
i paper hunted two hard leather (or fake one) cover books (one bible with unknown Hebrew type and the other red leather cover Portuguese book ),
one old but mint conditioned album that can used as a portfolio (with black pages),
one book about Gustave Dore's drawings,
and finally - one gorgeous (about a fist size) pea green pottery vase from the 60's. it's so cute and small, and it was all too cheep. i think i spent more money on beverages in that hot day than on the actual stuff i bought.

we parted after that cool hangout, and i carried my way home with all the luggage. i looked at the clock and i read that I've been walking for 4 hours. good for me. later that week, i found i managed to actually loose 1 kilo this week due to this and my long efforts to be a good dietary boy. yeepie!!


when returning home i decided to execute the cleanup. this process is a one that i have been dealing and deciding with myself and in therapy for a long time. i felt suffocated with too much big stuff i purchased over the years taking place in my room and finally i gathered some mental strength to do so.
in the recent years i started buying less and less. i rarely buy for myself nowadays, because i understand that i have all the music I'd ever need, and also that my large acquisitions (like art books or stuff i don't need) were basically a disguise, a compensation for other needs that are not fulfilled. over the years i notice i find myself strangled with too much stuff in my tiny room, and it was hard throwing because first i had a hard time to admit my mistakes, and secondly, my family gave me a hard time when i was willing to throw stuff.

i threw
- two didgeridoo's
- 1 African wooden bow and 12 arrows in a round bag covered with goat skin and fur
- 1 bomb shell from "Yom Hakipurim" war (70's)my uncle Bright as a war spoil
- 1 large wooden mask (meter height)
- 1 large wooden mask
- an old "Kinori" radio from the 30's. bad condition...
- 1 rain tube (bamboo cane with tiny sticks pasted inside. when you put little corns there, and close the lid, the corns fall and hit the sticks and make a rain noise.
- 1 wooden standing budha figure
- 2 large strikingly below average quality speakers, that my father promised me he'll fix and attach to my computer so i'll be able to hear music with speakers.

when i threw stuff, people from my family started interfering, telling me i should have done this or that, calling me hasty. i don't want those things, and for all i care I'd love to give them away, but property loss is a hard thing for my family to grasp, and my little brother offered that we'll sell them in a flea market in one of those free Fridays i have. directly I said - i don't have a free friday, my fridays are a precious commodity. it should be strictly dedicated for FUN. and believe me - i saw those flea markets sellers sweat the Niagra Falls under that hot Israely sun, until someone bought something. i don't want to waste a Friday on this. but i was too weak to argue, so i lowered all those stuff, packed, to the lower shelter in my building. theoretically, my brother wants to sell them. but i know that now it's sealed and shut forever. and it won't go into my room again.

I'm quite happy about my paper hunt loot, because they take little space, and most of them are consumable.
like for instance - when i woke up in the morning i found my beloved dog ate a part of the fucking leather cover of the red Portuguese book that i bought in the paper hunt. i bought it because i liked the cover and wanted to use it. and now it has a hole. yet another hole to my collections.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

le jardin d'Eden


The most important thing when designing an Israeli Sex Banner is good music.
i chose Depeche Mode's singles. it works great when it playes "master and Servant".

and suddenly I started remembering why i started Liking Depeche Mode. it all started with a girl that i knew (and sadly not in the biblical term) when i was a soldier doing my time in that depressing olive green israely army. she was something else. special. she had the most unique face. mysterious, dark haired with cat-like face, who could turn any straight woman to a hot lesbo, and the pope into a fanatic following of her. off course (to me off course) she didn't gave me a chance. it's not that i tried, i was too fucking shy. but she really treated me as an ordinary and slightly stupid person. which in a way, i was. childish and totally not prepared to live by the rules of my age. it hurts to think about it, but when recalling that time, i can clearly see all the humiliations i had to bear when i didn't understand myself and the world, and vice-versa. i remember a distinct feeling of being ordinary and boring, and not interesting at all. i didn't know i was special. it was all too hard. it's still is, but somehow i try to grow and survive.

the only magic moments i had with her, was when we shut the fuck up and watched the rain piercing the ugly Eucalyptus trees and those rotting old asbestosis buildings. the world seemed so beautiful and ugly at the same time. she was one of the few persons who liked the rain as i do.

she was into 80's, and especially Depeche Mode. she would go to to 80's, Depeche, and EBM nights in the Lilenblum club at Tel Aviv. sometimes i would go. i thought it was just for fun but actually i wanted to see her, to talk a few blank sentences that faded in the smoky air and crashed on the wooden floor. later i understood so many things about myself. one of them was that now like that i like 80's and Depeche music on my own, and that i like(d) dancing to drumn'bass and breakbeat.

times passed, we both finished our service and i grew.

later i would keep a faint relationship with her. i once found a picture of her, from one of these party pictures published in the net. she was sleeping on a club sofa like a sleeping beauty, her hair spreading like spider webs. it was so beautiful yet unreachable, something like the Garden of Eden, that made me want to cry.

Nowadays the love has faded, but it still makes me sad to think about her and know that it would all go back when i might meet her. i heard that someone i knew from back then, was lucky and now they are friends. and in a way im slightly happy, because it's no longer my burden, and now he's happy with her.
___
Two links - wow & WOW

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

The Day of the Zombie



Woke up at the morning. the sun is shining and the birds started their gospel in the humid air. "hhoooaaaaaae..." i was yawning in full throttle. Oh gosh, i feel so tired. there's so much to do, and i have so little time. i would be glad if the day had five more hours or so, so i can sleep like a normal human being and have more PHUN.
eeeeh, who am i kidding. if the day 29 hours, i would probably use about 24 hours to write/paint/read/walk/watch tv/ fill in the blank.

I fell like a zombie. my eyes look like someone pressed them deep into my eye sockets and sucked them out with a vacuum cleaner. the day that I'll understand how to organize my time and not linger over things (sometimes stupid, sometimes productive) is the day I'll be happy.

i walked to the work, hearing Turin Brakes - Jackinabox. when i got there, i turned the air conditioner on and wrote a long email. when i was about to add my signature, BANG - blackout. i go outside and see a guy on a scooter with a Electricity Company hat, holding a strange device that looks like a very old and big calculator. they unplugged the electricity in my employers home, and the problem is that we work in his home. therefor: we had no place to work, other than our home (just when the newspaper im designing is getting finalized).
my boss is a complete no good. he is bankrupt and he keeps raising his bills by doing every stupid thing a man can think about. i havn't got the salary of last month. the only reason that i continue working under this jerk is that I'm about to end a whole tourist newspaper i gave my soul to design, and even if he wouldn't pay, i'd still have that newspaper as a portfolio. i need that newspaper more than i need the salary, although some money would be nice getting in addition. yea.

because things are shitty, i took an extra shitty job. now I'm a freelance sex-flash-banners designer. i design small banners for sex site with a link to escort services phones. i use some words like HOT, THROBBING, ONLY EIGHTEEN, etc... yee ordinary fairytale intro.

it's shitty, and the work as well, but at least i can get some money and that should close that overdraft.

most of my money is going to medications and the heavy college payments. i was planning to please my material needs by buying myself some art books, maybe some clothes. but i guess i won't. i would concentrate, as i always did from when i started the design studies, on enjoying from the simple things. the simple joys like painting, hugging someone who loves you, creating something, and maybe getting some money.

if it weren't to the Soulseek i would be a sad(der) man. music is my soul food, and without it - i
wither. for me, the Soulseek is a culture revolution for the money-flow challenged. my life has changed since i started downloading, because i can really concentrate on the beauty of music rather the beauty of the album cover and the hole it makes on my wallet. if it weren't to Soulseek, i would still spend too much money for Cd's.

i spent all day working at home. but that not all peaches:
at noon the fucking plumber got earlier than what agreed. we called him so he'll take care of my walls that looked like the developed a strange wall decease very similar to smallpox. pipes leaking inside the wall= paint rots and peels=blisters all over the walls.
he came and made a special deafening noise so i can work peacefully. it's know that high decibel construction drones can really contribute to the work environment and improve the production.

at the end of the this noisy root canal surgery yee olde plumbee did to the walls and pipes, i ended up with a hole in my room. yea - my room, the only private place and refuge i currently have (live with my parents) - has a hole. it has a door, it has a wall, but there's a whole hole in my wall!! (rhyme for a poor man), which apparently kills my chance to get some fucking privacy. and my privacy is one of the most important possessions. the hole is a watermelon size, with a nice view to the living room. i should take money from all the peepers (maybe it will kill the overdraft). the plumbee says the fluids from the broken pipes will dry in about a week.
a week.
I'm so thrilled. now i have to jerk off at parks and public toilets because my room is an architectural exhibition.

and with this literary Finale,
i bid thee farewell, and go to do some exercise.
Yaro.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

some pho'os



recent photos of the stencile im my little town
the stencil is actually taken from a dream i had. i dreamt i designed this bunny sign with a computer, and when i woke up i just knew i had to design it. after a long process of trying to recover the exact shape and to actually design it on the freehand (you can see the exact color from the dream in this blog headline) , i decided to spray it in tel aviv and in my little town. i've been thinking to myself that now my dreams and the reality are mixing together.


































the old painting:




















































and the current work...


























































im now in the "definetly don't like it phase". the colors seem all wrong, the head is somewhat weird et cetra...

Friday, September 16, 2005

wunderbar Wochenende

(My German may lack the correct spelling, but anyway and sadly i have no German language knowledge).

it's Friday, yea Friday, and I'm dealing with stuff like questions and Friday night (and overall) loneliness, i normally dealt with in Friday (and overall). but lately i just too busy studying and my mind was full in other shit.
well, the word is that there is a massive rave in Tel Aviv, at the industrial district in the "Hamasger" street. people are probably dancing their life out, enjoying like i did about a year ago. it should be a massive rave with a suitable background of warehouses and garages. a rave like a rave should be.

well, I'm not there. as i was dressing i suddenly felt afraid and tired. afraid i will feel lonely in that party and wouldn't have fun. just suffering.

i think i talked about this here in this blog but I'm sure I'll be forgiven for repeating myself. senility is always nearby.
and it goes something like this (quoting from an email to a friend:)

"well in the beginning it was amazing. pure, and innocent joy of partying, and i gladly came alone with no problem. i would succumb myself to the music, uniting totally with the beats and vibe. but later i got drunk in one night, so drunk that in a complete blackout and somehow managed to return home with the help of a good soul that took form of a taxi driver. i think it was the worst night in my short life. in the following months i got sadder and fatter and more stressed, and the school took most of the time so it was a good excuse to stop partying.
and i found that when i got to parties, i would dance but the joy has faded. something like 85 percent lost. there's a constant feeling hovering in the air when i go to parties, a feeling of loneliness and sadness. it's just became complicated. i would go and dance for an hour, say hello to the many people i know from the scene i was going to, then go into my car, turn the air conditioner to a freezing temperature. so freezing that the windows of the car became blunt with "steams", and it seemed like my own freezing private little hideaway, and i would spend the rest of the time and the way back to the hom, making dialogues with myself, just to hear the voice of another loving human being.
i don't think i lost my party fun forever. I'm a party man forever. i just need to find my happy thought and some faerie dust. "

naturally, i guess i started fearing parties and hating myself for getting sad when i should kick ass and enjoy myself. it wasn't a result of that awful night, but an ever growing awareness the the troubles of my life, to the complexity of it all.
this Friday was about to be spent at home near the computer, and i just felt disgusted by that option, which re-occurs so many times.

so around one o'clock or an hour later, i dunno, i just took my stencil (which lost it's virginity in a stenciling tour with dear Lilly) and some red spray and went outside. playing songs on the mp3 player on "shuffle" mode, i just went along my tiny city. normally everyone here has boring life, and most of the people go to sleep after their routine junk-TV-watching- pistachio-cracking- habits. only the teenagers live and prosper under the bright moon, they are too away from any decent place which has an entertaining area for their age, so they gather up and do almost nothing but killing their lungs, smoking shisha (hookah) in the parks or on the kiosk tables, killing time, and talking about all that's high and noble in the world, like - beautiful women or music.

i pull the stencil and spray once, and i like it so much. i spray elsewhere, and one more, and another and then many more. by then i tagged a large portion of the city with the bunny sign from my dreams. i like to spray it on electricity boards and walls, and even dared tagging some old commercial center's walls. its art.
i think I'm making that dried-up-smoked-sallami-town a little more interesting. i even tagged a big ad (not so stable, but still fun). that's so fun. it's liberating, because i made this stencil some months ago and it was just standing there like a virgin penis and waiting me for some action.

meanwhile in my mind i notice i enjoy and i forget all the shit that i felt. i walk around the town tagging walls at the main streets and in the dark side streets, and then quickly putting the stencil in the bag, being careful not to allow the bag to stick to the stencil (which happens of course).

the local polizia is passing by but they don't notice me, or notice and not tagging me suspicious. i look younger and much more naive and childish than i am. i know that it's a matter of luck and that if they'll stop and ask me some questions, they will notice the red paint on my fingers, and the foul smell of the spray. but that's a part of the process, which I'm returning to.

i return home and i feel good. i play Ian Dury & The Blockheads - Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick and laugh. this song is so stupid but that's why i like it. then i play nick cave and the bad seeds - songs for a November night.

by now - this weekend kicks ass.
stencil photo will be published tomorrow.

In the process again

I just went through a hard period of tests and work, and now all i got is work, so i can see the light at the end of the tunnel. in that period i would return from ten hours of work (in the good scenario, but usually 12 hours) and start to study mountains of uninteresting materials for the exam, but today was the day of the test, and now i feel better, more free of needs. i can create art and write letters and posts, and have my free time, and if i had someone to love and fuck with, well it was all peaches.
without my free time i discovered, that i become a shadow of myself. life is complicated as they are, and one more load is way too much.

last days i returned home and ran to my room, running from anyone and anything. when returning home all i wanted was to grab my food plate and run to my quiet room. my mother asked me if i want some salad and i just started to cover my face and move inconveniently like i was seeing cockroaches. i was definitely tensed to hear someones voice, and she was surprised (and perhaps insulted) by this reactions. she just sat and didn't say nothing for a moment. my father later came and asked a casual question, but i started moving inconveniently and covering my face again.
what's happening to me? maybe the big exhaustion and tiredness has got something to do with it.

and in this Friday i had to bring it all to the therapist and i was afraid i just can't, I'm so full of shit i just need a rest. but i think now, after the test was a good and surprising ordeal, i can come and say all that in my heart, even those hard feelings and deepest sensations i can even dare to think about. every time I'm in a therapy session, its like opening and disinfecting a wound. i open and clean until it burns too much, then i have to wait for my next time.

i have a feeling like my problems has turned more hard lately with the therapy, but i know it's a phase and this new constant awareness, self dissection that i do to myself in every day, is so hard and i feel flooded in a new and threatening way.

the test was one of my latest fears. after getting 70 in a test i felt i was a winner in, and after another when i didn't study enough for, I'm too pessimistic for something good to happen. even though, had so much stuff to write in the test and i feel good about it. but again, i don't believe in anything.

after returning home i let myself relax, watch TV and create art (not together).
i grabbed a big painting i stopped painting before a year and decided to finish it at last, now that i know that i should finish things i started. i put that painting on a stand. it's quite tall, something like a meter height. i look at him and shut the fuck up, examining every single detail. it was hard, finishing a painting that was so different. like the picture of Dorian Gray, there was a great deal of me in it. but since then i was changed so much. i could literally see, the freshness and innocence of the soul that didn't experience all the vast tsunamis i experienced this year.

i understood that if i was to continue this painting, well, that impression will be gone, but i had no problem. this is the changed me for better and worse. my roots had deepen and my branches trying to reach to the sun. i also knew this year is just a start, a first step in a long journey. i felt that i was deeply changed this year, but I'm still waiting for a certain event that would change everything again.

in Tibet there are Buddhist temples and monasteries where each year they make a map of the universe with colorful sand. they toil for a great deal of time and then one day they come, and in a ceremony they wipe out all that they have toiled for. the universe is a temporary element. nothing is forever, everything changes and dies and lives. by changing the painting i wipe out my old life and start a new life for better or worse.

I'm listening to The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead, and first of all, i stand before the old man in the painting and talk to him. i tell him what has changed and must be changed, and that i must close things so i can open other. i point out the weak spots in the painting and telling myself ii just don't care if I'll ruin the painting, because things must changed and that i don't like it as it is.

then i paint with thick brushes, ruining the face and painting with acrylic paint that allows me to keep working in a certain rhythm.

i know that I'll love it and hate it and love it again, then make a beautiful advancement that looks like the end of the process, and then ruin it (mistakenly, again with a single brush stroke). and then I'll get angry and touchy because I'm so emotional with my art. I'll even yell at the colors that they don't blend so good as i wanted (with humor), and then I'll finally create something finer, more beautiful, and finished. but it will take the time.

---
not relevant -
the 80's kick ass. they just do. 80's music is so powerfull.
the 80's kick ass...

Monday, September 05, 2005

for those who are no longer

a few last words for the victims of Katrina and the USA goverment.
i bow my head in respect to all those who are lost and to be lost. and although i don't do politics,
i hate with all my heart, the ineffectiveness and careless ways of bush's regyme.

shamefull.

an israely reporter called Boaz Gaon tried to help some fugitives and give them a ride to a safe place. a few cops pulled him aside, and aimed a guns to his head. they didn't let him take the travellers. i don't know why. all they wanted was to live.

it's all true. the victims, the babies and elderly rotten and half eaten bodies floating in the water, the cops shooting people who loot because they have nothing to eat.

may the victims and their relatives have rest in peace.

Emotional Musicology Pt. 1

I'm very emotional when it comes to my music.
by saying "my", i mean the albums i have downloaded over the Internet, heard over and over again and developed an unbreakable relation with.
i spend most of the time hearing music and a some audio books. it's just so natural for me, that sometimes hearing the right kind of music is like hearing myself talking. buying albums is hard, because most of money i earn in the designer job goes to school payment or medications. so i don't really get the chance to own an album, but it's not like I'm poor and innocent. I'd rather not have huge piles of Cd's.

i noticed that when i had a large collections of Cd's (which i spent most of my military service salary on - a good idea of how much do i love music), i was materially attached to the Cd's. i bought many Cd's, some of them were bad but the most were good. some i bought because of nice package.
now , in the enlightened soulseek era, i can hear as many albums as i like and expand my knowledge beyond the restrictive terms of living in a small country with a low currency value. i can allow myself to grow outwards and inwards. like a tree reaching it's branch to the sun and it's roots the the core of the earth. as i listen to more music i find more music that i really love, and i find that loved albums are making me evolve as well as being liberated. i can discover feelings, sensations and inspiration with new music.
inspiration is a must for a creative man. i draw much inspiration from all the things around me. but the biggest inspiration is music. i think about music in a graphic way. when a friend let's me hear some music sketch and wants more than just applause, but an honest opinion, i have no professional composing or sound language to explain what i want to say, so i explain it in terms of colors, clarity, color effects, sharpness and blurriness etc.
when i really love a tune, i can already see it's manifestation in graphic terms. colors and lights and motion. that's how my brain talks. Vasily Kandinsky, for example, was a painter who wanted to express music, by using the painting medium. he used abstract colors and shapes to express music. a noble cause for sure. once you understand what his motive was, you can really understand his creations buy "talking" with your inner self and sensation, that tells you what the painting really "sounds" like. but there's no guaranty to really hear what Kandinsky meant. after all we are different people. I'm not too keen on his art, but i understand.

music i like the most have an ecstatic effect for me. it's like an orgasm, but it's not. it doesn't contains the sexual-raw-natural yet devine essence, it's more like an amazing sensation of true and careless joy. if i would to believe in god, i would say that orgasm is a unification with the gods, and music ecstasy is the more earthly manner. but i do have the rush and that sensation that goes up my spine, like goosebumps i have when a known and loved song is starting. you just know things are going to get historical in a good way.

i remember meeting the guys from hybrid. i tried to say to them what i really felt. putting to words the true sensation i have felt and the true shocks of the foundations of my emotional (and musical) world, was like trying to paint a masterpiece with a sharp knife. the words came from my mouth, passed through the gate of excitement and paying their tribute to the taxes of my English stuttering, then passed through a heavy cloak of smoke and the loud club noises and finally to a cocaine and alcohol infested ear (theirs. yea).
i felt happy for meeting them, and i think they got the general point, but the true and pure message (or at least as i felt) wasn't passed.

to be continued in a few days.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

DAMN
















A few links that deprive sleep from my eyes (literaly, i should go to sleep!) curtesy of the blind janitor (hebrew site)


+the new video from my beloved Franz Ferdinand . an old-new cool 80's-ska-Madness-drunken-english-hooligans kinda look, same music. it's not a groundbreaking advance, but i liked it. rockin' da haus.
+DAMN. this amazing illustrator made this groundbreaking artwork for that devine (redhead) Roisin Murphy (plus the video). i'll never touch a brush again. i meen - DAMN!
+check out this taleted photographer.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

S.A.D.






















("Knowledge of Self" - by Dark Forest)

L
ately I've been listening to the Doves and especially a special track called "Almost forgot myself".
listening to that song is like reading a chapter about myself. i know these feelings are purely in my head and might be far from what the writer's intentions, but it seems so true to me, it just makes me sad. the contrasted range of my feelings, the happiness mixed with sadness and the flood of feelings that really makes me forget myself, and the downward spiraling into the depression abyss. high and low. it hits me so hard. it just makes me want to cry. again.
i get a same feeling from hearing "Almost forgot myself" and pink floyd's "Time". that feeling of time passing by in my life, consuming itself and i stay as i were under the sun, i fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.

i read today something that really surprised me.
i was always depressed in summer. i feel weak, tired and miserable, and until i read about it, i felt it was something that only i might have. but apparently there is that thing called Seasonal Affective Disorder. it's found more commonly with people who have winter depression, but the winter depression has a little brother that works on people like me in summer.
its not like I'm not depressed at winter, but summer is extra hard. somehow i feel better in a sick way, that other people know what's this summer depression is all about.

i have a small sensation now, how all the words in the words in my blog are made from various forms of "loneliness" and "sadness". it bothers me that readers might think this is boring, but then i sooth myself and explain to myself that this blog is not a traffic oriented blog, and that i can write to myself the way i want to, and feel free about it. it's one of the few spaces i can do that in life.

i shuffled the track in the mp3 player and fell on the devine Eric Trufaz's latest album Saloua. his music is a whole world. a sheer emotion stream. then i got the urge to hear more jazz, so listen to Miles Davies - the jack johnson sessions. hearing jazz just makes all the cacophony of life seem natural and understandable.

today i just listened to sad songs and just let myself sink even more that i am when i usually open my eyes lately. again, i just couldn't fight it. but maybe now, the weekend is over and i can finish my paper, and maybe do something creative and fun. lately i don't have much fun, (but for a few moments). it's not just that i worry about the upcoming test or the newspaper I'm designing, first time in my life (and in an area that is very stressing to me - PRINT). it's all of my feelings that overwhelm me. in most of the times I'm having a hard time enjoying. for example, i used to go to partys every Friday, and dance all night, but lately i just cant come to a party without feeling an extreme sensation of loneliness.


Doves - Almost forgot myself

So close...
You're wasted again
I know, somehow...
I lost myself...again

Making me high again
I almost forgot myself again
It hits me so hard
It kills me again
Today

So close
Yet you're wasted again
I know, somehow...
We'll find ourselves...
I don't know, I don't know

Then we'll be high again
I almost forgot myself there
It hits you so hard
And kills again

I almost forgot myself again
I almost forgot myself there
It's hitting me hard
It moves me again
Again...
The Chronicles of Vendolusia