life board

Move the pieces in the right way
Everything is mathematical
No illusions here, no emotions

If you feel, you may fail.

The queen and the king,
Expecting in their positions
The servants,
Do the work.

Everything is mathematical
Be cautious, be patient
Stare at me, do not blink
If you do, you may fall.

This is all about being on this side
Or the other
No middle terms
Unless I move quick
And checkmate.

homesick

Israel is far away from being an ideal country. It carries a burden which only a few people may understand. My experience in Israel was more than rewarding. A reward that took me a while to appreciate. Israel contributed to my personal development more than I would ever know. It taught me about loneliness, real desolation; it showed me what it was to feel alone. It blasted to my face the fear of desperation. It helped me grow. It gave me unconditional friends. Israel gave me the strength to stand up on my own feet. I was at home, even though I had terrible moments. With 18 years old, by my own, I didn’t have a clue of what I was supposed to do. But it still felt like home. I felt it that way; and it is extremely painful to miss home. That conflicted and beautiful land made of sand, blood and persistence gave me more than anyone or anything else.
If there is place with such a significance for me, that’s Israel. It’s the perfect ensemble of the old and the new. The perfect point where conservatives and liberals movements meet. It is the place where the three main religions in the world get to exist together, in peace or without it. It is the way it has always been. It is the place where my grand-grandmother lived and was buried. To where my uncle fled, 30 years ago, for a better “future”, from where my mom, with 16 years old, was “kicked off” because she wanted to stay there, fiercely, but never got her parents’ permission and was put back in a plane, realizing than an soldier was stronger than her will; where my grandmother went to live to fulfill an old dream. And where I went to fall in love with it, and from where I left because I was short of courage.
After this explanation there are a few things that I would add. Despite having thousands of anecdotes, the essence of all is only one. It was home. Because I lived there, peacefully in mind and spirit. Because you internalize the fact that in Israel, every day counts. Everyday counts.
There are a lot of things I could tell you about Israel and my relationship with it. But I will tell you that is like a bride and a groom, who did not marry, but despite all they still love each other in a secret language, a language that was always there. I just had to remember it.

Maybe in another time I will tell you a little bit more about it.

All that I know is that when I feel caged in here, I go back home. Because it is all that I have until I find a new home. For the time being, once in while, I go back to sunsets in Tel Aviv, to the dorms at the Hebrew University, to student parties. I go back to the sand and the stone. To its sea and its sun. To Jerusalem hills that surround history, my little story.

ethics and moral …WHAT?

my brain is dried. I’m still studying Ethics, and a do not have a clue of what to do to stay awake. I’m with Tired and Sleepy…yes; two little elfs who come over now and then. So…exhausted with Ethics, with the theory and history, and the the rules that constrict our “human” acts…I decided to make a break, if that is a good thing to do. Of course, good is relative. I was searching something in the net, and as usual I got lost and ended up reading about of one of my fauvorite American film director, writer, musician, actor and comedian: Allen Stewart Königsberg, or, as we know him: Woody Allen. One of the most charismatic characteres of this century; he has made of paranoia and neurosis, religion and relationship interactions an art. Here is where I came acrooss some of the quotes of a movie called “Love and Death”. excellent movie by the way, if you enjoy and get to understand Woody Allen. “Love and Death” (1975) is in many respects an artistic transition between the two. It is the last of Allen’s movies that tries to get as many laughs as possible, but despite this it contains a lot of commentary on philosophy and this balance is possibly why Allen considers it one of his best and most personal films. Diane Keaton and Allen, as Sonja and Boris, Russians living during the Napoleonic Era, engage in mock-serious philosophical debates. And here is where Ethics and my fight against it made a turn, at least for a a little while, until I get back to the “official” and “correct” theory. Here are the quotes:

Sonja: Boris, Let me show you how absurd your position is. Let’s say there is no God, and each man is free to do exactly as he chooses.What prevents you from murdering somebody?
Boris: Murder’s immoral.
Sonja: Immorality is subjective.
Boris: Yes, but subjectivity is objective.
Sonja: Not in a rational scheme of perception.
Boris: Perception is irrational. It implies imminence.
Sonja: But judgment of any system of phenomena exists in any rational, metaphysical or epistemological contradiction to an abstracted empirical concept such as being, or to be, or to occur in the thing itself, or of the thing itself.
Boris: Yeah, I’ve said that many times.
……………
Him: Come to my quarters tomorrow at three.
Sonja: I can’t.
Him: Please!
Sonja: It’s immoral. What time?
Him: Who is to say what is moral?
Sonja: Morality is subjective.
Him: Subjectivity is objective.
Sonja: Moral notions imply attributes to substances which exist only in relational duality.
Him: Not as an essential extension of ontological existence.
Sonja: Can we not talk about sex so much?

……………..

Sgt: Next week, we leave for the front. The object will be to kill as many Frenchmen as possible. Naturally, they are going to try and kill as many Russians as possible. If we kill more Frenchmen, we win. If they kill more Russians, they win.
Boris: What do we win?

……………..

Boris: Nothingness. Non-existence. Black emptiness.
Sonja: What did you say?
Boris: Oh, I was just planning my future.
…………….
Boris: (a) Socrates is a man.(b) All men are mortal.(c) All men are Socrates.

………

End of entry. Nothing further to add.

lullaby

When the night falls on us, after the tiring unscrupulous day, our body and our soul seem to be the protagonists of violent encounter. Suddenly, everything becomes real, tasteless; they recognize our fears of every shape that we have seen trough the day and the memories of what we still can not see. The fears, the night; the night, the fears. If we are with someone, the night it is then a continuous wave of the day, a play with no recess, a film with no errors.
But if the night caches us alone, then, what a threat. We run towards the dangerous possibility of turn into madness, we run into desperation. We take the risk of finding ourselves alone. The night drags us into questions, into the belief of death, and of faith. We question the how, the when, the why, the why me, and the why not me. The night is cruel, sometimes. I sleep besides her, with the light on so she won’t feel alone. And because I have met and interacted with fancies characters; it is not unusual that the Night comes to me in the form of a whore in snickers. I’m awake all night, waiting for echoes; but she only sits in a corner to rest.

label,none

The beauty of the unknown is strong and yet it breaks like crystal. It is wind in the air, passes trough, never stays. The beauty of the unknown is just music to my ears; it is a violin playing in a tunnel. Strong, strong, acute, strong and acute again. The fear that emerges from the unknown is even more traumatic than a broken note, more violent than an unfinished symphony, more frightening than the idea of death. My stomach hurts, my spine hurts, my voice cries. My voice SCREAMS. My tears are nothing more than the personification of my anger. And yet, I wait. I wait for my stomach to stop hurting so much. My womb is waiting for something that will not come easily.My stomach hurts my voice cries my eyes look around and search for something to come for something to heal my aching stomach.My hands are dried my blood is boiling my veins are getting darker my womb waits my head is spinning my hair bothers me my feet do not answer my shoulders are falling asleep and I swing forward and backward forward and backward for and against good and evil black and white blonde and brunette mom and dad heaven or hell music and noise sympathy and anger sadness and joy here and there beginning and end.

The silence
Breathing
In…
and
Out…

Again…

In….
and
Out…

And so, my love’s lion comes, as his voice comes, and his heart comes; thus, the unknown is even more beautiful than yesterday. He drags me back to love and I am myself again.

how parents screw up with your mind

I am not a mother yet, but I supposed it mustn’t be easy at all. But I know that I’m sensitive enough to know how can make my future children self-esteem to go from a point to the other. Well, parents, I announce you, you do not have a clue of how influential can be your “little comments”, your “opinions”, your punishments and rewards. They say “I’m doing this or telling you that for your own good”. But sometimes they just cross the line. For my stepfather, or father, or daddy or whatever, never is enough. One day you are the best daughter you may have, and the following day, you are the last piece of garbage you may find. And with my 25 years old, it still affects me in a way that puts out and shows the worst of me. My mom, on the contrary, she is always proud of me, she still says that I am a special person in ways that I do not know; and sometimes I believe she just says that because I am her daughter, her little daughter that saved her from suicide. I thank G’d for that, because she chose to have me, she chose me over her. That’s a heavy burden too. Because that makes
me worry about her all the time. Don’t missunderstand me, I love my mom with all my heart; I’d give my life for her, in the same way she sacrificed hers because of me. She did everything in order to raise me properly, she gave me the inner road for which I move, confident. But there is no division, no frontier that separates her life from mine. I used to feel that as a blessing, we both have undergone millions of awful situations, as a team, we are a team; but sometimes I feel so caged, so fed up that I feel that my life doesn’t belong to me, I feel that I live in function of others. I don’t feel free of living my own life, of doing what I want to do, because there’s always something else. Maybe is due to the fact that I strongly feel that they, my parents, hadn’t finished resolving their own issues. I have to recognize that I worry more than I should, but if I don’t, they will give me something to worry about. When there are family problems, all and every member of it have their own responsibility and fault. I know when I’m wrong, do they? I know when I mess things up, do they? What I’m trying to say here is that, please, please, please, be responsible with your kids. I’m
old enough to know that things in my family won’t change, but I know that I can make things better. There is nothing creative about this entry, unfortunately. Only pure anger.

I’m calm in comparison with the emotional state with which I began writing this entry. This is supposed to be a journal.

lonely hearts club band

The most influential an significant band from all times. Two of the four are gone. But they are still alive. I grew up listening to The Beatles, thank you mom for that. For me December 8th is not the I-do-not-what-Virgen-Mary, for me is a new anniversary of John Lennon’s dead. And yesterday was the 40th anniversary of the realease od Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band which was a shock wave for many people, breaking all type of musical structure. It was and is one of the emblematic, if not the most emblematic album of The Beatles. I can imagine…back in the 60’s, grasping the 70’s…if it did blowed my mind in the 90’s…i do not even want to think what it would have produced in me back in those times. Simply shocking.
Now I will tell you an anecdote: my mom had all, I mean all The Beatles’s albums, all of them, neatly saved and legally bought. When she met my dad, she “gave” him ALL OF THEM. note: I do not know my dad. But when my mom told me proudly that she had all the albums, I innocently asked: “where are they, at grandma’s?” “No”, was the answer. “your dad has them”. Nooooooooo. I cursed fate. Anyway, I thank my mom from the bottom of my heart to have introduced me John, George, Ringo, and Paul. Still today I listen to The Beatles, and I travel back and forward to anywhere I want. They are timeless. They are great. They generate every type of emotion one can think of. So, happy birthday Sgt. Peppers, and thank you for braking the structure.

gimme a four

Yesterday, I passed phonetics II. That’s a fact. A positive statement, which carries a low fall tone. Great. It cost me a lot to get a four, and I know I was the responsible for Ms. Cosimano’s headache. Anyway, the four is there, printed and signed. This particular subject costs me a lot, I don’t know why; I started to think that something’s wrong within my brain and that something was not working properly. I still do. I think I have a rejection towards the subject itself, though when I read material about it, I find it very interesting. But when I have to be tested on it, I panic. My mind switches off. As it did yesterday. When they asked me the definition of “linking”, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. EAT ME. I know I grasped the four, but it is there. For me is more than just passing a subject, is the personification of a step that was finally made. Is the personification of me getting closer to some point which I still don’t know where or what is it. This four means that I finish this career more or less at time. It means that things are moving. Thank you for the four.

the lady of the bugs

I’m eleven years old. My hair is long and straight, but now is all dirty; my cheeks burn, my shoes are uncomfortable to me. I’ll take them off. The sand’s hot. My hair is too long. Mamma! I look around. No one’s coming. The sun is setting. I sit in a shadow spot. I wait. Someone is going to come and look for me. I’m thirsty. And I can’t cry, I’m too thirsty.
The sea is enormous. I can’t embrace it with my eyes. It roars. The sand is hot. The wind I hear. Little flat rocks. Everything’s salty. The palm leaves I hear. The wind is strong. It blasts my face. The sea roars and crushes against big rocks.
There’s a boy. He approaches. He is pale, he doesn’t say a word. We are expecting someone to come and gets us out of here. He is as dirty as me. He is thirsty too, but I tell him not to drink from the sea, because it tastes funny. He grasps a little rock and sits, I sit beside him. “Are they going to take long?” He asks me. I don’t know. We both wish someone would come and gets us out.
But no one comes.
There are little bugs all over us, they form the shape of a lady, but it is getting dark, I can not see very well. If I were older like my sister, I would not be scared, but I am. She has short hair; she cuts it because she says she is not afraid. But I have long hair, I’m still a child and I’m starting to shiver, because the bugs are all over us. The new boy runs screaming towards the sea, to drawn them. I don’t see him any more. The bugs with the shape of a lady march with me. They are all over my long, straight hair.

(Based on a workshop class about The Lord of The Flies, and an unfortunate event.)

this is me

I want to shine so badly, so fiercely, that I don’t know how to. I want to shine without letting anyone blind. I want to show them, to show you what can I do, what I can create with my very hands, with my mind, with all my self. I write, for me. I do not know when I began, but I do know that since I began writing I couldn’t stop. I’ve thrown few things, and burnt others. I have revised things over and aver again, in a rollercoaster, hurrying times in order to move the strings for something to happen. I have times where I lean to abstinence and times of addiction. With ups and downs, I keep record of the last 7 years; with that I can watch, rewind and forward my own life. And I say forward, because is very possible that what I write today will take place in my life later, as I said in an earlier entry (“words”) what you say inevitably will be heard by the whole universe; and things will start their own motion.
But even with the strength of all my convictions, I’m afraid of letting the world to come over my world. I’m afraid of believing that I can do it, and then realize that I can’t. I keep on producing, because is good for my soul. It is profitable for my soul. I have the courage to keep on showing myself, and what I do, with all the consequences that may bring.
Nelson Mandela said, “It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves,who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?” And he was right. As he were answering me he says:“….You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won t feel insecure around you.”
I do not want to shrink. If I shrink, I won’t be able to look myself, not even on dirt. I do not want to better than anyone…I want to be the best I can be. This is what I do. This is who I am, I reflect myself through this. I say and demand. I show my anger and my consciousness. My love and regrets. Of all the things I should be putting all my effort on, this, my expression, is my precious one.

2003

Because I am not sap anymore, running through no one’s veins, because I am nothing. Because I have been killed, and chased.
Because from above, someone’s looking down upon me
But from here they pull me down
Wise men will know what to do with me
After I die.

After I live,
I’ll know
That I haven’t learnt that much
That I haven’t loved so much
I will dare to say that days are nothing more than days which cease me
Many of you will withdraw, but I am staying.
Winds run towards blood, therefore, they come to me.
Rain falls, I don’t fear.
Because I am on my own, I’ve come to fill my days with faces and quotations
With anger and wants of crying

Then, with no more trance against my pillow, I’d deceive myself, fastening my eyes and opening them again.
I trick myself, I shout to the entire world that I’m closing my eyes, and I crack them again.

shapes

My hand,
the shade of my hand,
against the wall, defiant, ilimited.
It reaches the unreachable, the deepest point of thinking.

But in a close photogram,
it has the punishment of my own arm’s will.