again
November 23, 2009 at 11:08 pm (encounters)
Tags: wild horses, susan boyle, rolling stones, mongolia
vitis and citrus
November 19, 2009 at 2:15 pm (encounters)
Tags: berries, citrus, clusters, grapes, orange, pallet, peel, stem, vitis
we sit in this small cafe in a central bookshop, holding a book and a blackberry, unseen borders between us and I wonder about our differences. 2 completely different types of fruits . like bananas and oranges.well maybe more like grapes and oranges to be accurate and. you’ll be the grapes , thats a compliment and Ill be the orange as you are un able to compliment me, unless I demand.
why can’t I wonder about our mutual characters? we obviously share some. I have to focus on drawing those from learning our fruits type closer. I google for our types. the latin determinations are important in your case , just to clarify our family names. fruits do share a few things in common even if looking completely different. flavours that tickles ones tongue when fresh, the fears of over ripping under the sun, the fragility clinging from high trees, the acidity when not happy with the weather around. the ship that brought them from a warm place ti an island that urge their presence. the need to retain as much knowledge within their shells. you withing your thin layer of grape skin , myself in my slightly thicker aromatic cover. your skin transparent and your knowledge is reflected through its variations to the world to pick and taste. mine is hidden under slightly bitter white layer, yet tempting the ones wishing to peel its covers to be sprayed withh my energetic wit. I need you to peel me once in a while from my over-cautious covers. I need to learn words to spice my zesty drops of citrus flash with other flavours around me. I also need to take a stroll through your berries and blow them around, get them away from their communal stem as if they may explode if not released to small molecules .
your over loaded grapes conscience clustered in layers is opposite to my selfish citrus simple stand. proudly growing from its orange flower , spreading a scent that overwhelms those who stand close to listen to its bloody drops . your turbulent curvy growth covers for the absence of a glorious scent. youre the crimson kind. velvety attracting its fans to listen to its deep tunes. I am unable to escape my origins . I come in shades of orange , but I supply a shallow encounter with taste and so should be only consumed in small portions . your shiny and smooth, gliding around when spread on a plate. Im shiny and dimple.
I try to hold your hand in that bookshop , surrounded by other fruits and vegetables of the human kind . not completely in ease with the decoration around us , Id rather take you to sit on one of the shelfs on the floor above us. discuss our differences in the poetry section where honest wordswill get me closer to your pallet.
a thought with no fruits.
November 11, 2009 at 10:41 pm (personal, thoughts)
Tags: cloud, gaurding, guiding, rainbow
somewhere over the rainbow
hides a cloud. and you are in its belly, shivering from the endless moist I shed over you. a cloud that follows me , overlooking the window Im looking through to possibly catch you. you hide well. but I can still feel you. youre guarding me this week I can feel that too. guarding and guiding .
fruits philosophy – we need those carbs
November 9, 2009 at 10:32 pm (personal, questions, thoughts)
Tags: addicted, carbs, jasmine tea
I guess I’m addicted. OK. I am. not guessing. admitting
addicted, admitted, to these English words, to my work, to men with challenges, to shoes, to day dreaming on long streets with dusty cafes. to my Jasmin tea, to melodic tunes and street noises, to my computer and to carbs.
carbs are an easy addiction to admit to. I need those to be fruity and doughy and colorful. Ive actually mentioned it in the previous chapter and so why talk about it again?. I’m addicted to repeating myself as well.
fruits philosophy – the forbidden fruit
November 7, 2009 at 12:28 am (personal, thoughts, wishes, writing)
Tags: apples, cherries, dates, forbidden, grapes, kiss, water melon, west bank
there are a few sorts of forbidden fruits
those who contain too much sugar (grapes, water melon) that may ruin my diet. those who are too hard to old peoples teeth(fresh apples, nuts). those who are raised in Israel and some people rather not buy them for humanitarian reasons they believe in (any kind of fruit that is exported from Israel). those who may seduce me from loving only him (extremely red apples, passion fruit , chocolate and cherries who were drowned in alcohol. and yes . you are too sort of a forbidden fruit.
I thought of the many reasons of why they are forbidden, and which reason makes sense and whether I can argue with that sense. it sums up with the amount or consumption method that makes the different. not much philosophy but still important to make clear. I found that cautious consumption of any of the fruits will prevent hard consequences and killing the diet. baking the apples or shredding the nuts and mixing them with some milk will revive old skin . dates that were raised in the west bank are still geography wise considered Israel or at list not yet another country and will support Palestinian farmers. very red apples I don’t like anyway . they re nice to watch.
Its only you I’m not aloud to consume. not even a tiny bite. not even one kiss.
fruits philosophy – pretending to be fruits
November 3, 2009 at 10:49 am (encounters)
Tags: museli, bread, brioch, pita, burekas, turkish immigrant, sponge, nuts
Does a german bread with raisins considered a fruit ? for my little creative routine here. lets say it is
its one of those special breads Pretending to be more than it was chosen to be when baked. a bread to satisfy basic hunger. a cloth to a well made sauce , a sponge to all my tears when I need a fruit to put some happy calories in my heart, but all I have is this bread. An excellent one tough. whole wheat and whole raisins and nuts. musli bread they call it and the international shop sell it to all its Turkish customers who deserted their native pita to real serious pastries when immigrating to Germany.
Sometimes when being asked what’s my favourite thing to eat I answer with no hesitation, pastries. Anything with dough in it , rather fresh but also slightly aged I cant live without. Sometimes I think the answer should be fruits. It will be extremely boring to have life without fruits. Especially those who are not pretentious and stare at you from clean windows of transparent plastic covers, already sliced and cleaned and well behave. fruits that pretend to be healthy and wise and fruits.The fruits that make me happy are those who doesn’t pretend to be fruits. Those you have to stretch your arm to reach them, that you have to get your nails dirty when pealing them, that you have to bit your tongue if a surprise is hidden in their skin and you discover they have not yet reached puberty. fruits that you can imagine their smell walking down a frosty street.
Pastries strangely, I love them all. Fresh brioches puffing sugar on my nose, dark old thick Russian sour dough breads I buy in the market and ear for days, little pretty tartlets dancing behind glossy mirrors in French bakeries, chocolate fudge cakes sliding from too little plates in an American diner, Fresh pita swinging over a chumus in Jaffa, my mothers heavenly tiny burekas that burn my fingers as a punishment for my non patience manners. I love them all. Even the day after.
And I love you too.this dark bread on my table whose a bit dry and pretend to be a fruit to cheer me up when I’m sad. Who tries to be a sponge to my thoughts and my tears , who hides hard nuts in its flesh that keep me surprised and challenged and at the same time hurt when my teeth encounter them. After all I’m a Turkish immigrant who just has to get used to its muesli bread.
fruits philosophy 3 – Important fruits
October 30, 2009 at 1:37 pm (personal, thoughts, wishes, writing)
Tags: banana, conspicuous s, important, strawberries
some people think they are important , holding a banana in my hand , I admit I dont like those who think they are important. I communicate well with those who knows it. for me it’s either you know you are important to your friends and family or youre humble enough to challenge that conspicuous statement. only those who are truly humble, (I know 3 in this world and one is dead)are the ones I wish to make fruit salad to in the morning.
being the other kind , I know Im important to my friends and family, but Im not always sure admitting it is a virtue. I feel I may be perceived as the ones who think they are important and those , as said, I dont appreciate. like beautiful perfectly shaped strawberries , with no flavour and completely not belonging to the season. my admissions are getting worse lately , as well as my longing to summer fruits, and so I rather think of them instead.
my funny clementines
October 29, 2009 at 8:36 am (me, personal, thoughts, wishes, writing)
Tags: clementine, stem, wisotsky tea
I peal them carefully not to injure the fragile flesh of a citrus infant.
the international shop, down the road, managed to bring those fresh from the tree. with the stem and leaves still attached. I can imagine the tree that gave birth to those. still containing blissful youth and raging splashes of sweet Juice. when touching my tongue, I’m happy. I never have enough, can do 3 or 4 sometimes at one go. my hands tinted with the skins oily texture, creating another layer of memories of winter cloudy days with a mug of wisotsky tea and home made philosophies on our blue sofa. I eat my clementine. sipping every drop that smells like home. I look at my tinted hands and head to the shower. I dont ever want to wash my hands from your memories. but I must .
the philosophy of fruits
October 28, 2009 at 10:11 pm (introduction, thoughts, wishes, writing)
Tags: cheese, grapes, import
the things I remember the most from my vacation in France besides women and their street manners is the food I had, in particular the pastries, the cheeses and the grapes.those beautiful end of summer, early fall grapes with much flavor dripping to my throat when I bite them and feel there cant be anything wrong in this world.
I write this while holding perfectly shaped yet tasteless British frosted grapes. imported for vain as they don’t create memories to the one choosing to eat them. only longing to other grapes.
fruits who do not create memories should not be imported.
mornings
October 27, 2009 at 8:59 am (encounters, introduction, personal, thoughts)
Tags: fragile, morning, fresh, transparent
the beauty of early mornings is by pretending they know you’re mood.
transparent as my fluid eyes, breathing the awakening world with short shots
of hopeful beginnings . fragile freshness reflected from my neighbors window. is it me ?
one more. I miss the yellow sunrises of a decade ago. when safety and warmth encountered me and I didn’t have to look through the window to realise its morning
when
retard and fat
October 23, 2009 at 12:44 pm (me, thoughts)
Tags: blonde, dictionery, retarded, vocabulary
I’m tired of not being brilliant in the language I live with. The last 3 years I’m struggling with good level , limiting my ability to correspond intelligence the way I’m used to . Yes , one can tell he or she overcomes that by being more sophisticated and clear when bringing their thoughts to the paper by using other methods of communication to convince whoever they address . But I just want to come up with vocabulary that will kick the brain of some of my friends here, and that sadly doesn’t happen . I do not have the time to invest in reading the dictionary. shame yes, as my shelf does contain some space for that book. honestly I do not have the patience and brain capacity to learn too many new words. My brain is shrinking while the rest of me is expending. Now I’m depressed. Next year I am moving from good to being retarded in the language I’m going to live with. An infant will beat me in a small argument over Ice cream. Maybe its time to colour my hair blond and pretend I’m a tourist from Poland.
truth or dare
October 22, 2009 at 2:48 pm (encounters, questions, thoughts, writing)
Tags: truth, Obama, nobel, dare, prize, peace
some thoughts that crossed my mind after the Obama Nobelgate.
politics had alot to do with the art of games. an art I wish to be always a bit more advanced in.I talk and think more than play, the political science student that was not daring to go all the way with her thoughts and chose the field of informal education to cover her true desires of winning the game, not just explaining it. dont get me wrong I love my Job and my communit. only I wish sometimes to do other things too…. but lets go back to Obama , the Nobel people and us people.
I was in France when it all happned, smelling vacation and trying to improve my french by looking at the headlines of Menus. but I hang with soem educated people and those tend to read newspapers too. real one with pictures!!!. the French daily magazines are very stylish as expected and i found great pleasurelearning the local way of thinking through their Caricatures . this way I do not dare to go with my french learning all the way….but I still get the news. one of those, of the classic left wing way of thinking much Portrayed in european magazines reflected the dialog of peace between the actors in the middle east and obama as the mediator facign them with this humble look. the israelis were not holding an olive brunch, no surprise. the palestinians were smaller and confused looking. no surprise either. I was tough surprised I mactualy holding my virtual pen and write in my head a few thoughts that finally find the virtual screen too.
I think that the nobel prize committee was playing truth or dare when making decisions. they went on the dare, thats normally considered as the brave option, the more spontaneous one, the stronger sassy choice.
when we played truth or dare in primary school in Givataim I almost always dared. but than I didnt do always what I wanted. I was afraid of the truth back than. of admitting it, as I always loved the wrong person. the smart one , with blue eyes but impossible behaviour. it was very unpopular to love that one let alone admit of loving him in a game. I didnt realise that the real daring is to admit that this is my choice of Heart, so I dared instead and kissed the boys I didnt like
the committee members are afraid of the truth too. they rather kiss the wrong guys , the popular ones. the one who may be very special and cool and seem to be suitable for the prize of the nobel kiss, but they are not always the one we really love.
it may be a smart move tough. as I never thought of writing my impressions of that prize before. I actually think now of the reason of why to give it in the first place, of why kissing the popular guy may for the long run enable us to face the truth when we are slightly older. Realising the truth after daring when the whole world discuss it is a healthy dialog
I told him ,the impossible that I love him last week. I think I may finally face some peace in the future.
October 21, 2009 at 12:11 pm (children, encounters, questions, thoughts)
Tags: Le Petit Prince, visible, invisible
Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux . Le Petit Prince
than why is it that my Heart only loves the visible ?. the invisible he forgot how to love .
Frenchwomen and french cities.
October 20, 2009 at 7:47 pm (encounters, introduction, me, personal, questions, thoughts, writing)
Tags: avignon, beggar, cigarette, city, Lyon, paris, pavement, st Lazare, suede
Lyon. walking out of a smoky cafe in this trendy town, a lady with new high boots . suede, medium wood hills, a light camel colour with brown zipper that climbs from her ankles to her knees. fall. she steps out of the cafe holding her matching bag and her posture as if shes the new queen of Rue St Vincent . Women seem to be happier with new shoes. proud of their new walk. their new thrill of their new conquest, of small steps, of smaller feet.
Avignon . 3 polish girls and a cigarette are sharing a table left to mine. coffee and cigarettes goes together in France, like mussels with white wine, they complement my appetite of words, a random Provance tourist who happen to like blue sky and clear air. the 2 older guys from the table on my right chat in loud english (one with an obvious american accent and the other of german origin, but could be scandinavian too) about Sarcuzi and his choice of women. they long for those blonde young students , capturing their peeping eyes through the smoky fumes merging with the fumes of my hot cappuccino.
Paris. we walk fast through the wide boulevard leading to Gare st Lazare. the Parisian street wish to sleep before the new week rises from behind new big clouds of fall. the corners of the pavement are covered with yellowish leaves that compliment my hair . you hold my hand tight. dont worry I wont go anywhere. Im yours.
Paris 2. same boulevard. a woman with tired face is sitting there looking at those last passengers of the weekend. holding their lust and their hopes and a bag of good bread. she sits there with plastic bags surrounding her, seem like a whole day shopping to me. she wears white training pants and a coat . her tired wrinkles matches her tired badly colored hair, she has several golden bracelets and white sports shoes.Her current sit is a temporary chair made of a box. a few coins shine from the little handkerchief lying next to her feet. I wonder about what it takes to become officially a beggar. too much shopping ?
Je tiens à les embrasser tous. femmes et les villes
question
September 30, 2009 at 8:35 pm (questions, thoughts, writing)
Tags: admirers, clapping, fans, loyal, muse, poet
