Dare?

Well well well my dearest kitty (joke follow-up required) this is probably the last (or one of the last) notes you'll receive from my dreadful apartment in Ramat Gan. I'm not very focused at the moment, finding my way through tiredness, lust, excitement and fear... and surprisinly not sad.

Tomorrow in the afternoon (how I'll be able to hold until then?) I'll be leaving my apartment actually. I'll be moving into Mirjam's old house, daring into the big city, a new neighborhood, next to the sea, etc. I'm no real estate man so don't ask me further question... I might end up answering like in the Little Prince, remember the book and the comparison between the 200.000 francs and the red roof? There you go.

I doubt whether this is the right step to follow at this very moment, remember my phone calls of this morning? Well go figure. This is not little Holland you know... but Suzy and me seem to get along... probably something will come out of it, I'll promise to myself to make it all the way to visit her and take her for morning walks, despite myself. Or not so much despite actually... I guess that's something I never really had and still it's worthwhile dreaming, don't you agree? I mean if Anne and Peter could, why couldn't I?

What I thought an eventless day became a chain of unexpected endeavours, just like in Elliot's book. I'm still reading her you know? To my surprise I found out the Middlemarch is not included in my book so I guess I won't finish it in the end, oh well... some books are not meant to be read, some others aren't meant to be finished. At least it includes the complete edition of Scenes of Clerical Life, wonder what? I think Patricia would have a stroke if she'd met me today.

Then the day slept away in I don't know what... I think it was some food shopping and then ah yeah I tried to catch some sleep, interrupted by my several phones once again (as usual) and then a quarrel between my academic projects and my willingness to pursue them, despite my profuse passion. Of course I had some passional encounter you know? Whenever the journalist is not here, it's an old story. You already know about my romance with Elliot.. as the days go by I think our marriage grows stronger, not sure if for good.

Ah yeah I rememember what was in between, some chitchat with Tijs and then Liron... well needless to comment. Just pursuing the same old enterprise... trying to convince myself there's any zeal of talent in my diseased nature. I remember a quotation from George Elliot just read today, Bertha is telling... hummm I forgot his name... anyway you know who I mean that she needs no inventions to harrass his delicate sensitivity, for in order to deceive the poet you only need to tell him the truth. How ironically true, not sure it's the case with me.

Then Suzy, oh Suzy... it was a refreshing opportunity to reconciliate with myself through others without them knowing it, do you know the feeling? To reconciliate with my people and my past... to reconciliate with my own broken history, with my fragmented memories. That kind of friendships you attain in long train rides and in aeroplanes, but the trains are a much better example. At least they used to be in the Europe of my times, which was a somewhere frozen between the Acropolis and Budapest... probably Slovenia, who am I to say? I don't really remember.

I don't need to curdle up into the state of the affair, but it was just comfortable... and pretty sane. The peak of the Germanic spirit in one place, one language, different generations but a common spirit.... a common ground. It's nothing surprising... we the Jewish people don't seem to be glued to anyone but our own inner misery, the misery of being what we are and to see the world in the face of what we've made of it. But it's ok, there's also space for several pitiful remarks, the Greeks helped a lot.

I'm not really poetic tonight, the wife of the journalist isn't home either... it's just Ari, a bit thrill-free and very relaxed, very weightless. As surprising as it may sound I find some kind of boredom in all this calm... as I'm used to debate between the storms and the shades. It's just like being extremely well built for pain and deep thought, but not even fairly prepared to enjoy calm, always in unrest. Hummmmm... it's strange to say, I'm such a peaceful soul but suddenly well I'm bursting up... hour by hour.

Still something comforts me... I'll enjoy several days of silence and quiet, maybe not plentiful and probably disdainful even but I'll take the pleasure out of it. The journalist will return in the middle, and so will the wife and her only friend, Elliot.

Too many boxes to fill yet, so for now this will be it. I don't pretend to continue with my articles for a couple of hours... I'm in such healthy state of mind, nothing good can come out of it. If you think I'm mistaken ask history. The war of the Peloponesus? Have you read the interin between the volumes? Tediously boring, isn't it?

Talking about wrongdoing? Well not now... let's leave this for another day. I want to slow down a little bit and then just disappear... and turn up again in silver and gold, unweary and kindred. Tomorrow will come and also the day after... and the black ship will not get swallowed by the nightly dreadful breath.

I'm not compromising anything nor willing to play the cards with fate... just let me be one at a time and to live one life at a day.... the future is grammatically inaccurate so just let it come. Troubled minds and sorrows are well foreseen but why to evoke them? Just let them come...

The wife and Elliot went outside for walk, and Ari is home alone, Ari is home alone. Let it be, even poets strike here and there.