Well I start this blog note with a tiny bit of preoccupation for I haven't written anything of any worth in the last week or so.... Most of my notes (if not all ) have been a part of the annex, oh Kitty! dear Kitty.... if you knew of my glories! if you ever heard of my victories! oh dear Kitty... if you just could....
Anna Frank still having a holiday from me, she's resting in Neot Afeka and Elliot is also away these days, she and the wife of the journalist have gone somewhere... I think it's somewhere in the countryside... because in the end where would you find Elliot if not in the countryside? and Elliot couldn't be found alone, she and the wife of the journalist pretend eternal companion and pity from one to the other.
In the meantime the journalist is still not home, hence wife is just having some time off.... only Ari's home, a bit lacking of inspiration, lacking of strength, lacking of desire, lacking of anything worthy at all. Quite lifeless. These days I really have no patience for writers, no patience for singers and not even patience for simple tellers.... no patience for myself.
No patience for Raegen or Agnon.... and Elliot is not home anyway, and how can you read her anyway when she's not home? It doesn't seem to make sense at all. My language is also quite frustrated these days, no style, no paradox, no understatement... the richness of my wordly style faded away, is led astray.... it seems I really can't find a language which might be as expressive as I would like to, tempted to try Finnish but I think I have enough problems with the English, leave asides the Hebrew.
I do reckon the temporary move brought some changes into my life... I learnt to enjoy the management of larger spaces, to be able to walk around and discover and to feel a stranger basically, in my house, isn't it? No, actually it's not. Oh right! I'm just a passenger here... but somehow I really like the position, a passenger? That's the kind of job I wanted to have... but obviously I'm a pretty problematic passenger, in my silences, in my outcry, in my desperate anxiety....
I couldn't call myself really needy at the moment, not even bitter... but let's say I'm just slowed down, my brains toasted under the inclement Israeli sun and my soul just sosegated. I wish I'd bear the title of passenger for much of a shorter time but the cards were played against me this time or maybe I just did it myself. In the end something has to go always wrong, and this time if not me, it seems something around me has been placed for a shift.
I don't really have time to think about Ofer seriously for the wife isn't home, and we haven't talked in the last days... but it seems we don't have much to talk about... she seems to have grown up quite somehow in the last months... she wants to let things be the way they want, in a strange kind of passivenes before life.... so unlike her soul, so full of justice... so full of struggle.. always a battle... for the first time ever the wife, with or without journalist is prone to surrender. A wife that surrenders..... I don't seem to give much shit about the latest events of my life but I do feel it's starting to hit me... the disappointment is just huge, the frustration even more and the dreams always present... like a powerful reminder of other glories, of other days, of other victories.
I feel a little bit defeated, and not defeated by my intelligence or the lack of it, not defeated by love and not deceived by love... just defeated in general and a bit tired... already too grown up to think about disappearing but you know? It's not that I consider it but it appears on my subsconscious puzzle like a wild dream, like a Romantic dream, like an ode... just like Shakespeare. To dream and to disappear... how not dissimilar they are... it's a broad connection you know. Semantics will explain it one day.
I'm not angry... just a little bit hungry, yeah... right after I read our minister said there's only hardship in this country, because hardship and poverty are different things.... because poverty and hunger are different things... yet I'm hungry... but he might be right... in the end of the day I'm only a passenger in this country, a refugee.... a passenger in my own country, a passenger in my life... a refugee in my own life. But it's not all so bad... we're all ghetto like, aren't we all? And even quite American I turned out to be. I'm not even sad, just saddened. My face smells the defeat and also the taste of the next victory, life and me are not still even... but I'm recovering and in the end, as usual.... with or without journalist I'll pull through, because in the end.... I'm happy as a pig in shit ;-)
Yeah I know... I'm kind of fucked up brainy tonight. It's called lack of sleep, love, infatuation and thirst. Also lack of history, lack of present.... specially lack of present.
Ari
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