fruits philosophy – the forbidden fruit

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 3 – Important fruits

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

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

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.

truth or dare

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.

Frenchwomen and french cities.

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

a flat line. again.

what should a poet do

to bring  an audience to watch his muse?

to flicker an echo of clapping

on her glistening skin, released from the

greedy hands of her many admirers.

to brush a wave of breaths

sliding on her shimmering hair, released

from the husky tongues of her loyal fans.


hungry

fasting is a good time for thinking. talking to  the teenagers in the synagogue today, they all at one point dragged the talk from what do we need to be forgiven for and the different games we are aloud to play in this very special and sacred day, to what do they intend to eat when they finish the fast. yes it is true that when the stomach is empty, the mind takes a walk in different kitchens, looking for the ultimate succulent dish to bite into. I can only think of terribly non kosher delights that comes from Germany and Paul youngs perfect brownies. is that how people start assimilating .  by respecting their tradition, but not completely following the logic of being hungry.

I have a  few serious questions to ask myself when coming back home today from Neila and the big meal

the oy vey factor

I don’t think they will ever ask to me participate in any talent show.  I wont be able to produce a  talent that is evident and acceptable besides my Jewish wittiness  that never perfects itself as I don’t stick to one  language too long. so Ill have to have my own talent show. a talent by itself , see where Oprah is now days. Ill create the OY VEY factor. Jewish kind of a  talent show which will  focus on how badly you had been with your family. and your natural sorry.  how many upsetting moment did you experienced with them, and your pleading skills. how many  wrinkles did  you add to your mother’s forehead. how many  white hairs did you grow on  your dad’s head or possibly how much hair  did he  lose because of  your oy vey behavior. Ill have to  share  with the audience the faults of my life ,  the men I slept with ,  the women I ignored. the rebellious (late age) actions I  took on myself,  the drugs, the  alcohol, the shoes, the addiction to the good life, the friends I  disappointed, the garbage I never  recycle ,  the wedding I never take, the spelling mistakes I didn’t fix to be possibly considered dumb. I wont be the only one to share of course her oy veys with the  world. whoever is tired of his  own behavior will be able to share its tale. non Jewish too. tough they wont  have any credentials for yom kippur collective sorry. they will just  humiliate themselves in public.  because its only us  that are  really sorry. for all the bed things we are blamed for by the world . we truly are  very sorry. so sorry we  wouldn’t mind by asking for  our family forgiveness in live broadcast .yes . this shows gudges* wont  include God or Oprah or Simon. its about your own parents accepting your apology. Tough.

* gudge – as in highland talk http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=gudge  / judge – as in your talk.sometimes mistakes makes us wiser. no grudges to any comments

gift

I admire some people. those with a gift I didn’t receive at birth.

a good voice

analytic brain

long legs

self discipline

a few more, but now I’m talking about you.

I had tried to work on some of those qualities , and discovered as I’m getting older that I overcome natural lacks with hard work and natural self belief. its much easier to be heard when you are tall with strong voice.

I also discovered  that I rather just admire you with patience, a gift I did receive at birth and seem to be useful more than ever.

shana tova

I wish us a Shana acheret,

a different year.

one that is  beautiful and  honest and brave

kind of Indiana Jones type of a year,

only real.

connecting

Im watching over the internet one of the best things I had ever experienced on Israeli TV. its called mechoobarot , or connected , attached if you’d like . in our modern world of loneliness in front of  computer screens we are somehow attached to  our  emotions too, connecting with the outer world better cause we get the outer world staring at our eyes inches away and telling to our faces everything they wouldn’t tell us standing on a Queue in Sainsbury .

the story line follow 5 women of  different ages, preferences, Ideals  and statuses sharing  their everyday life in what seem to be their true and extremely authentic exposure of the challenges they have as women, lovers ,  daughters , mothers, friends, very honest people.yes its a girls kinda film. but brilliantly edited and includes many sentences and conversations that manage not to find the cliche. I feel a lot when watching this. I  cry  a bit, smile, think, wish, even feel that Im falling in love with some of them who  normally I would consider as  complete strangers, or even strangers that I cant relate to.

Like Eyal.  Miri’s husband who is a celebrity Chef with a serious pose of self love and admiration which  I made fun of in the past. didn’t like those patronizing people with pompous talk that average people don’t get and intellectual people despise when comes from a cook. but mostly I didn’t really understand why he  had to talk in the first place. just make flavors and smells and shut up.  people called him insane and  weird and made nasty remarks when reading his pretentious life philosophies on tomatoes . I tasted his food in my early 20ies when I discovered I love the good life and it was  excellent I  admit. the  resteurant name Ocean was one of those places you only go  on your birthday if you happen to have friends in Jerusalen that like that good life  too. I was Naive back than and most of my memories where excellent before my heart was broken.

I started reading his new age cuisine philosophy again when Miri and him started a joint column that  included his lovely recipes, some of  his strange philosophies that were spiced with her kind and loving and healthy writing. I felt that I  want to cook again. to create flavors to my  many words. be a  bit more earthy slicing an English  tomato and thinking  maybe someone will love me  like they love each other.

now thanks to Merav who kindly and smartly gave me a peep in this TV project I discover through his wife’s camera his beautiful  smile when falling in love with her every minute of the day they spend together. how can you not fall in love with her I wonder loudly. reamrkbly talented people should fall in love with like wise as well , Miri is a genius of human thoughts. She makes cliches into poetic thoughts, plants it in the heads of the people who read or watch her and makes us better. I want to be like her when i grow up. on the episode I watched today, she shares a thought of how she becomes prettier through Eyal’s lenses.  It’s the way he looks at her and captures an image of beauty that was once his own private image through his own pupil and now its an image shared by  thousands.

I  thought of  Joe and how beautiful I was in the photos he took of me, and how little I respected that as I  felt so not pretty at that time and lonely without Guy around me to make me beautiful with no mirrors or lenses, just 2  people reflecting love . and how I look in the last photo shoot in a London or Paris park, when you looked at  me as your muse, your  lover  and healer and I felt desired but  scared.  I like myself watching the mirror more and more, whats wrong with looking through yours  ? maybe I should take a better look at those photos again and start appreciating what I have.

http://hot.ynet.co.il/home/0,7340,L-7540,00.html

מחוברות

healing? thought 3.

this is not really a  thought , I discover once  outlining words on the web screen.

its more of a realization , an understanding . like  a man who became blind one  day and finally realized he can see in other ways.

its also not so healing. its even upsetting. but mostly challenging .  like the blind man rather see colors but thrilled when finding out he can smell them better.

and so ?

I don’t love you  anymore.

I forgot what is to love you

I only remember we loved so much,

it left me enough strength to love others

Today

the 7 good years begin today. Trust me, its written in my diary.

I pointed it out in my annual  countdown ,

so the time will pass quicker, and Ill have something to look forward too.

the 7 good years begin today. Trust me, its written in my Cristal ball.

I polished it well on my seasonal cleaning,

so the hope will look clearer, and Ill have something to dream about too.

the 7 good years begin today. Trust me, its written on my forehead.

I scrubbed it well on my daily cleaning

so the wrinkles will dry softer, and Ill have something to be proud of too.

healing.thought 1

some mornings  its fresh. a butterfly sizzling shiver, a wind battling my hair, a falling crispy leaf announcing the fall

I like to wake up to such mornings, strengthened by nature being more fragile than me. searching for your dark blue eyes to complete my healing.

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