no.
May 27, 2008 at 1:21 pm (encounters)
Dublin ? Rome ? London ? or paris ? Jerusalem maybe ?
no
Tel Aviv ? your hometown ? Berlin ? a corner in hyde Park? My bedroom ? your tiny kitchen stall.
No
no place for us. or time or soft words. or change of moods or harsh comments or songs you write me
or letters I send you. or hope or wishful thinking or need or demand. just no. no. no.
not even one more time.
yet another
May 25, 2008 at 9:39 pm (encounters)
thought
mistake
desire
doubt
misunderstanding
wishful thinking
hope
choice
need
hug
reason
sin
friend
story
I don’t know why when tired is when doubts rise.
and would I do with them anything.? yet another question to ask
scents
May 22, 2008 at 4:27 pm (encounters)
The smell of Tel Aviv is a smell I miss. I became an expert in city sniffing , and Tel Aviv is one of those smells you simply cant find in Europe. you can find the smell of Rome very addicting once you’ve been to this city and termini fumes challenge your nostrils with this big town attitude of the ancient world. New York smell is the river and wind between the high towers creating a smell that makes you end i n the near bar having a martini and share your life story with a complete stranger. London varies between fried food and green trees and it is still confusing me. Paris surprised me by being like a few other big cities stinking of urine and cheap cigarettes stashed to your nose alongside memories of goat cheese and fine wine swirling my mind with those blue eyes that smell me. but Tel Aviv is something else. it is an eastern smell for sure but with a twist. A the combination of fuel and cars and rushing people , with sounds that come sometime from the heart and not just from verbal use. mixing sounds of Hebrew and Russian and homesick people who walk on those crowded sidewalks full of cafes and kids in prams demanding their moms attention in this holy language. sounds of people communication loudly mixed with never ending car horns of those who wish to withdrawn from the chaotic city to the less noisy suburbs or simply find the shortest path to the beach where the ocean is bringing a new fresh smell of freedom. that’s where i feel happy. truly happy , next to the ocean which I rarely go into, simply sniffing the waves watching their vivid movement and gentle storkes of the sand , looking at complete strangers laying on it as if I have known them forever.
that’s where smell and sound seem to be one . I only need to close my eyes and imagine them running in me renewing my pulse and opening my heart again.
I imagine I breath it now when you take another glimpse of the water, drink it with your bue eyes and sing for it an english tune
Thinking Anais
May 15, 2008 at 10:59 pm (encounters)
Anais is sinning again
while I;m having my ananas
saying a word in French
and thinking insanely of us
as seen in my unseen thoughts
she can be herself madam nin
while I count to you in 4 languages
and yet commit another sin.
one or seven does it matter if I’m Judith or Christin?
pray with me for I had seen
the vision for you
and for me to what should have been
Anais Anais , can I wish for his
out to be as his in ?
new dialect
May 13, 2008 at 7:36 pm (encounters)
sexubambaboopabulakanokkadoola
listening to who is there making all that noise. boomspetstrachspetsciaoooo
first hour of freedom , of volume that gets on the walls and distortions of high values
to my soul
can you understand me Mr european manners? bibaloola bibabaloola,
can you make use of my inner chaos , my energy of middle eastern riots
my need to be heard?. swwwing.
can you use your balance to make me more harmonious for mankind?
after all I have alot t o say , and I make sense once in a while
bitbitbit, by bit I click the right cords of that musicmachine in my computer
playing a tune to suits my mood and yours too, sakasaka toddd mmfff
drums in the background , rushing towards your arms to bend like a guitar in the hands of a master.
shibishibi glinglen spowwt, playing a new dialect and the sun goes to sleep.
digodengo digigodengo. digodengo digigodengo spowwt
a visit to the park
May 3, 2008 at 10:03 pm (encounters)
a tree. a long wrinkled body that tells a story, eyes that pop from its twisted figure. share a tale of harsh life. I want to hug that tree and you too. will I ever dare to to learn your language?. trees can talk like men, a short logic of a log. I walk slowly to feel the earth, if I hurry my steps are flying over the ground missing on the small memories that other footprints left,. earth is obviously feminine, paying attention to small details and absorb the tears that comes from above. my metaphors are for both of us . I have to share them or Ill explode.there is no room in me to so much knowledge, emotions and questions. men and a tree have a talk, the earth is expecting to become wet again, little wind is playing a sweet melody to chestnuts, a silly dog is running in the park, he smells my desires and my fears. I feel warm.
