The Chronicles of Vendolusia

hollocaust.

2006-04-15T16:34:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-15T15:41:00.000-07:00

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 race.now 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.

happy as it is

2006-04-08T15:28:00.000-07:00

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.

not coming back

2006-03-27T08:29:00.000-08:00

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.

vanilla sky

2005-11-05T14:10:00.000-08:00

Tommorow 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.
terrified.

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.

Rainforest

2005-10-22T10:35:00.000-07:00

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.

A Trip to the Shire

2005-10-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

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).

Flowerbed

2005-10-19T16:08:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-19T15:58:00.001-07:00

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.

Happy New Nightmare

2005-10-03T06:33:00.000-07:00

Happy new year everybody.
i know i won't have one. i just know. as i knew i won't have a happy birthday, happy Hanukah, happy nothing. how can it be a happy new year, when i already feel old from the burden of just living.
how can it be a happy new year if i hate myself, and everybody is saying that i should love myself but i cant understand how is that possible. how can i smile when I'm feeling like this face in the mirror belongs to another man, when it's too much to even seeing myself in the mirror.

this is not a "save me" post. this is just for whining.

i know things will be better, i just don't see it around the corner. in fact, it seems so blurry and faint, like an old postcard.

i woke up in 7:00 a.m. breathing short and fast breaths, so i took my notebook and wrote that nightmare i just had. i was in the lobby of my building. in the electricity board, there was a mangled truck with a corpse of a child. i only saw his hand through the glass. when i got out to the parking lot, i saw another mangled truck with a hand of a man seen through the glass. then i got with my little brother under the building again, where there is a garden and some seats made from bricks. i saw a terrible spider looking insect, about the width of a melon, and he was walking toward me. i was walking backwards frightfully, while trying to hide behind my little brother and saying something like "oi", "oi". i wanted my brother to help me, but he only laughed at me and imitated me. i tried to escape that insect, but it was jumping against the wall, and then towards me, and then i woke up, breathing swiftly.

it reminds me a similar dream i had some months ago, with cockroaches swarming over my house, and i hystericaly cried for my little brother to help me, but all he did was to laugh at me and picked some of them, shoving them (to my horror) towards me, as though we were kids.
in the normal existence i love my little brother so much, and normally i don't resent him. most of my brotherly problems are with my older brother.

all this day i had to make some errands today, shopping for good prepared food for us to eat the next days. normally i don't have no problem cooking, but my little brother prefers new bought things. i understand him, wanting to go wild. he asked for some whipped cream in a can, Oreo's, pizza and all sort of things, because our parents gave us some money and said to us to go wild. me - i don't get excited over the money they gave us. the only thing i need is some quietness and space, and i know fat greasy food won't make me feel better in the long run. i have a simple need of quiet and space, my space.

tonight we have a family gathering because it's a holiday. i didn't bought myself any new clothing. i feel so ugly and so depressed, i don't want to buy anything. mom asked from my older brother to buy me some clothes and some new shoes. and so he went and i thanked him, but i didn't like what he bought for me. one shirt and a pair of shoes. i didn't like the shirt and i didn't like the shoes too, but i was too uncomfortable for him making all this effort and me not liking what he painstakingly bought (because i know that he spends much time buying clothes, so i appreciate it). i said i like the shoes but i didn't care how they look. i just can't enjoy that anymore. i can't buy myself new clothes. i just don't care about it.
this situation makes me walking in pants bought two years ago, and i feel like I'm too neglected. not much of a help to my enormous self esteem.

this family gathering is like the last place i ever want to be in now. all this food and those horrible boring conversations, and those even more boring question about how'sit going on and what about that paper, and my nice cousin secretly offering me to smoke some pot outside (and me refusing "because I'm driving" but actually I'm so depressed i don't think it will do any good). i feel shriveled, dried up. i don't want to do anything. i just want to be alone and watch the rain who hasn't shown in our country, (and sadly by the forecast - won't appear this year too).

Press Release

2005-10-01T05:16:00.000-07:00

Thursday. i woke up and knew that that day is a beginning of something new, exciting, and scary. for three months i have been toiling over the designing of a 96 color-pages newspaper for incoming tourists in English. this was my first work in this magnitude, and obviously i was quite scared of messing up the whole work. during the work i have learned so many things in designing and print production.

i can't even count the numerous working hours, over times and fights with my brother and my parents that were experienced along the process. at the end of the design process all i can say that most of it was worth it, that i need some rest but overall i want more.

to my joy, my parents flied to Prague, leaving me to rest quietly before the hard and stressing parts of the printing experience.

when making the newspaper i got a job that's normally done by an entire studio. i was an art director, a designer, and a production assistant. i was even an editor for a little bit, because our editor was such a bad worker that always tried to make shortcuts and do as much work as possible. i got assistance from a freelancer woman who helped a lot, in designing and production, but in some stage, she just couldn't take any more pressure (and indeed there was) and cried to me on the telephone that she's quitting and that we are making too much pressure on her. later i was told that she had a hard time lately. oh well. i hope she feels better now, but i won't like her to be my assistant on the next issue.

there were so many things i have forgot from the time i learned in a print production school three years ago, and i had to learn it all over again. i didn't learn to make the final files closure of the files until a Wednesday.

in Thursday i was due to print the final test before the grand finale. in Hebrew, the name for the test is "heetek shemesh" (meaning "sun copy"), but I'm not sure what's the name in English. this test is a low quality print, that is printed (in the print house), cropped, bonded, arranged together and placed just like the final result should look like, so the designer (in this case - myself) could see how it all looks and to find mistakes.

i drove to "Hish" printing house in the industrial area in Hulon city. on the way i played songs on "shuffle" mode, fishing some good songs along the way. the disadvantage in shuffle is that songs are lost forever if you don't write them, as the mp3 screen doesn't show the folder the song is in. if the album details are in the file they are presented, but otherwise it's a tricky thing. i remember many good songs that are now virtually untraceable.

Mercury Rev's new album is cool, and especially that touching Across Yer Ocean.
sage Francis sends me a bomb threat over a voice machine, seasoned with the best profanity a man can think of, alongside a beautiful sampling of a happy optimistic music, played in the background.
and for dessert -

A song called "Lost property" by "The Devine comedy". it was from Orbital's "Back to Mine" album (they have a good taste)
at first i thought it was Travis, as the singers sounds the same (they do, in a Tom Yorkish kind of way).
in that song the singer describes a list of inventory, a lost property, but he does that in a way that every single item seems to have a deep and profound meaning, a sad memory for each object. it's one of the most amazing song i had the chance to bump into.

anyway - back to reality..
In my hands laid the precious cd's with the newspaper files. i bothered last night to burn the "post script" files as well as the PDF files, just to make sure i have a backup plan if the PDF files turn bad. i tend to be very scared and cautious in my work. if i think of it, the print designing for me is a scary thing. so much things could go wrong. it could be your mistake and it could be just a temporary error that dropped out of the sky just when you were closing files for print. it could be that you forgot to do this or that, or just wasn't too concentrated. that's why i tend to relate to the files as ticking bomb, and almost everything should be thurally checked. alltogether - you have to love your files too. like a child. you have to tend for them , make sure that everything is ok, treat them in a gentle, kind and patient way, to listen to their errors.

as always, this kind of event comes in a pressing time. new year's eve is very close and we want to start the print ASAP because there are many tourists now.
if the newspaper succeeds, more advertising areas will be sold, and that meens that i'll finally get my godamn sallary. my boss has no money to pay me and i only stayd because this newspaper is important to my portfolio, and for a faint promise of a sallary. and you think your bosses are stupid.

i walked into the print house and gave the files to the production assistant, while making sure the files are OK and good to go and i also gave my phone number, should anything go wrong. the pre-production department manager said that the test should be ready at 12:00 o'clock. sadly, i had no where to go. it was pointless returning to work, because by the time I'd come I'll have to go back. i couldn't even go to my grandma (from my father's side) and step grandfather because i was told by my boss that the work could end faster so i should stick around.
it was after all, a dusty and rotten industrial area. what the hell could i do for three hours? i told myself that a creative man can occupy himself in the most boring places. so i took my camera and took pictures of the interesting and rotting parts.
i returned in 11:00 o'clock to the print house, only to find out that nothing started, because the manager didn't bother to notify me or my boss that the work stopped. the print house owner gave no permission because of money problems. one of my bosses, a very stupid man, failed to make sure things are ok, and on the other hand the manager didn't notify me. i was a little bit angry because time was precious.

the good thing is that earlier that day i nagged that blockhead boss to move his ass and come around and maybe hasten the production so i can get it , make some changes and send the final result to them. so he was around and fixed the problem, and the test was due to get finalised in 14:00. bummer.

i said to myself - fuck it, and i went eating at my grand mother's nursing home. all of the time i called to make sure things are moving and there are no further problems.
when i asked my grandma if there's enough food or should we eat out, she said in a very polish way - "there's enough. come!"

i got back to the print house, hungry because my grandma and step grandfather are used to eat food that will only fill a bird's stomach with a galon of oil for every food crumb. gladly, i found out that the work was almost complete.

i returned to work, made the corrections and sent the files in a cd (because there were too much to just send in email) via one of my unreliable bosses.

it's now the weekend, and i relax and then i refuse to relax. pressing and releasing. there's just too much that can go wrong. what if they will replace the wrong pages, what if my boss fails to give them the files. should i go and give it myself? should i have sent the whole files instead of just those pages that needed corrections?

i feel (and there is much diffrence off course) that print is like delivering a baby. on the mother's view - you've done all you can, and now comes a painfull experience that could go wrong. on the father's view - you walk around from side to side and there isn't much to do but to feel anxious and to smoke another one (but i don't even smoke). i know i should watch out for what's coming and see if there are colors missing or something, but im not sure what i need to say.
it's all so new. i don't know what to do. my first child.

Sunday will probably be the day of the final battle. the pawns are ready.

suffocation

2005-09-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

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.

Paper Hunting and House Cleaning

2005-09-26T13:32:00.000-07:00

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.

le jardin d'Eden

2005-09-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

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

The Day of the Zombie

2005-09-20T12:09:00.000-07:00

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.

some pho'os

2005-09-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

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...

wunderbar Wochenende

2005-09-16T19:41:00.000-07:00

(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

2005-09-16T14:25:00.000-07:00

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...

for those who are no longer

2005-09-05T14:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-05T13:46:00.000-07:00

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.

DAMN

2005-09-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

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.

S.A.D.

2005-09-01T10:40:00.000-07:00

("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...

Life from a grass P.O.V

2005-08-31T23:21:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-31T09:13:00.000-07:00

Check out this Travis radio live acoustic concert.

Grandma

2005-08-31T05:41:00.000-07:00

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.

Today

2005-08-30T14:58:00.000-07:00

("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.

a foggy city. (fiction)

2005-08-29T09:35:00.000-07:00

(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.. :)

random fluid thoughts

2005-08-28T13:22:00.000-07:00

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.

At Any Cost!

2005-08-19T15:00:00.000-07:00

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.

a BIG red one

2005-08-17T13:20:00.000-07:00

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

the Typo Presentation

2005-08-16T07:33:00.000-07:00

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.

the aesthetic ugliness in it's glory.

2005-08-11T15:04:00.000-07:00

In 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

2005-08-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

(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

What if Darth was one of us?

2005-08-09T13:38:00.000-07:00

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)

The hermit and the temptaion

2005-08-08T23:19:00.000-07:00

(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? :)

Prologue

2005-08-07T14:30:00.000-07:00

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.