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en attendant que Kippour passe, certains ont trouvé le temps de me lire/
, peut être s'agit il d'un passe temps "agréable" -) j'entends le vent d'automne souffler dehors
dans un long gémissement, il vient s'adresser à ma fenêtre. Que cherche t'il à me dire ?
je n'ai jamais eu de guide dans ma vie et ce depuis mon plus jeune âge. le rôle fondamentale des parents qui défaillent. ce qui ne manquait pas de me manquer tout au long de ma vie, provoquant par là une recherche sans effet : on ne trouve pas d'autre guide dans sa vie que le sien propre, dans son fort intérieur.
ce fut pourtant une blessure narcissique essentielle dont je ne remets pas encore aujourd'hui, malgré une prise de conscience progressive que Moi, et seule Moi suis mon propre guide.
prisonnière d'un modèle d'enfant admirant une figure / parent Dieu (ou déesse), je n'ai cessé de faillir dans cette quête. ce qui commence par l'admiration n'a de cesse que de faillir. ce qui a commence en défaillance de taille n'a de cesse que de finir en faille.
et voilà; aujourd'hui, dans une approche minimaliste, je reprendrai le chemin des cinquante Premières pour que mieux les quitter et poursuivre ma route, fusse t'elle aussi dure qu'à mes débuts. en tout cas, peut être que sa singularité - à ma route - est elle de croire tous les jours un peu plus, à ma propre voie et voix.
Roy: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the darkness at Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain. Time to die.
who deos remember the extraordinary depth of this movie? who deos understand the insondable depth of cinema, of theater ? the more I grow in time, the more I feel that God put us there to look at his creation ; to listen to the beauty of its creation. Blade Runner by Ridley Scott renders with extraordinary depth of the fondamental questions we, as its spectator, do ask ourselves all life through.
in a horrific context of fight between humanity and mechanics, Roy the super android renders in a few words during the last whispers of his life before death - since our very basic question is after all when do we die and why are we so in love with life ?- the beauty of a mystical existence : the very essence of God ?
on the more nostalgic side of life
I was always on the more tragic side of life
I was always on the more desillusioned stare on life
I was born in this culture
and I was nested in this culture of nostalgy as if in a nest of young chicks
Now that I am an adult I realize that it has not leave me
and that I will live it until the end
joy , pure joy will always be tainted with a certain color of death
but the different is this slight nuance of suffering not ending on self pity
just by the stare of myself in the mirror
that I will shift on life, with its same essence of discreet dispair
that things of life, love and death hurt in silence
while in silence, others are suffering with no bodody else listening
while they should be listened at so much more
somewhere, somewhat, others are living and dying in a horrendous way
and we are only filled with our own little tragery
are very soft tragedy
a tear permitted on the side of the eye
as large as the atlantic ocean
but so much more modest
so let's love our little corner of joy
with a little nuance of tragedy
nesting in our little heart
anyway, nobody is listening
why should they
we merely listen to one another
it is a culture that disappears
like civilizations
we donnot exist anymore
and for what ?
to learn one day that we live in a different reality
a totally different reality that the one we are used to
all life through
so we should listen to
"I Love Her But She Loves Someone Else"
When a man of my age shaves his face in the morning,
Who is it that stares back and greets him?
The ghost of his father long dead all these years?
Or the boy that he was, still wet in the ears?
Or the terrible sum of all of his fears,
In the eyes of this stranger who meets him?
So his glance rarely strays from his chin or his jawline,
To face up to the truth of his soul,
It's the eyes he avoids so afraid to acknowledge,
Something strange, unexpected, out of control.
There are times when a man needs to brave his reflection,
And face what he sees without fear,
It takes a man to accept his mortality,
Or be surprised by the presence of a tear.
It was only an arrangement, a practical arrangement,
I forgot the first commandment of the realist's handbook,
Don't be fooled by illusions you created yourself,
And fall in love with someone, when she loves someone else.
Like a covering of snow on a winter's night,
It glistens and it sparkles in the moonlight,
But it's gone by the morning, how quickly it melts,
You still love her but she loves someone else.
And where does that leave you?
You self-styled man of vision.
You feel stupid, you feel angry, are you losing your mind?
To destroy the one she loves, does that become your mission?
Like a pantomime villain with an axe to grind?
To regain your self-respect, hold your head up like a man,
Use the ice around your heart before it melts,
But you're not fooling anybody, you're only fooling yourself.
Like a covering of snow on a winter's night,
It glistens and it sparkles in the moonlight,
But it's gone by the morning, how quickly it melts,
You still love her but she loves someone else.
למקלדת בעברית לבל לא אשכך את השפה ואת מהות היותי אף חלקית
כדי להפוך לעיתונאית טובה עכשיו אני חייבת להתרכז בפשה אחת אחרת לאצליך להמריא שוב
אך אבל כמה טוב
בוקר טוב ישראל
i am living with a computer geek
so of course everytime he touches at my computer somthing goes wrong
lately, I bought a wonderful Imac 27 with everything inside but as soon he tried to clean it the keyboard started to write another language
so hebrew is still not an option ...
I am living off his wage and airbnb since I am a dinosaure for the work market here
still we manage to have a little money at the end of the month
a thing which was of a wonder even at the beginning of each month whn I was living out there
672
from 672 up to more than a 1000 gaze to my blog
i wonder who is out there looking at my lines
still planning to take it out its shell and do something about it
i am lost without it
Paris
blablabla dans blog
un peu au téléphone
trop déjà
je suis encore un pied ici un pied ailleurs
il est pilote de l'air dans tsahal
impressionnée et flattée
marié
une ex maitresse trop aimante
çà encombre
"un avion de chasse, c'est comme conduire une voiture, çà devient automatique "
hmff
haoumnam ?
rencontre
dans un hotel
paris
bourré d'israéliens
hivrit
déjà dès le métro j'entends la rue qui devient un peu tel aviv
et puis les gardes du corps
pas discrets du tout
qui entourent toute cette armée de privilégiés
episode 1
