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Double Matress

Double Matress

On the way on my bicycle I stopped and took a picture of this walking mattress and then the guy put the mattress down and looked at me from afar. It’s not exactly an exemplary behavior, Rachel, I thought, to take a picture of a person and not offer any help. So I came closer with my bicycle and we put the mattress on it in the middle and walked like that for 3 or 4 blocks. On the way, while the guy is holding the mattress and the handlebars from one side and I from the other and every now and then we reach a dead end and I apologize to the people “sorry, we’re shooting an independent Tel Aviv film here only without actually shooting it”, the guy told me about all the stuff he’s going through, about his excelling in a certain field, and the army that made him go astray, and the broken family, and about the sadness, and about this week in which he’s starting anew, and about the advices he got, and this guy is almost a baby, a hunk that just sprout out of the military service and came to conquer Tel Aviv, reveals to me through his words while walking that not with the mattress he needs help but apparently with this thing called life, and I am ashamed on the other side of the mattress, about the barriers that grew in number with the years, about the fact that I wouldn’t tell him on a 3 blocks walks everything that needs advices on my side of the mattress, and when we get to the destination he puts the mattress down, and I feel that what the barrier and the sliding wheels allowed this unexpected and barrier free conversation of ours to become cannot go on existing the same way now that the barrier was lifted, because my attention blossomed and felt protected thanks to the partition, and that only through a miracle tonight on the very same street were found both a double mattress and someone who’s looking for someone who can listen.

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The Social Agenda of Positive Thinking

The Social Agenda of Positive Thinking

Today as I walked out of the little room that’s called the office that’s located inside the big room that’s called the building that’s located inside the giant room that’s called Tel Aviv that’s located inside the imperceptible room that’s called modern living I browsed through the tiny room that’s called my iPhone and read that a giant research found out that Pessimists get sick less and have a 10 years higher life expectancy that Optimists. Without entering the question whether I’m optimistic about the chances of the research’s findings to be reconfirmed as genuinely correct, one can say that the findings made me very happy, and made me optimistic to a degree, to a great degree if to be accurate, to a degree that is great to a life threatening degree, if to follow the research’s findings, with regards to the evolvement of matters in the realm of the social agenda of positive thinking. You see – in medieval times, when they threw the witches into the water, and they didn’t drown, and then they called at them with a megaphone from the lifeguard’s hut “Ah-ha! You didn’t drown, which is a sign you’re a witch, which is a sign we’re going to burn you!’ and then they put them on a bonfire in the city plaza and burned them – then the city people didn’t say to their local witch while she was waiting on the bonfire “look, if you’d think more positively perhaps you wouldn’t be burned now”. No. The medievals let their girls burn in quiet, respectably. Why? Because people once had compassion. There was simply compassion. Or for example- when Stalin made the great purge. So yes, millions of people were murdered, tortured, sent to labor camps, it’s not something you can hide under the rug, at least not without having a few protrusions. But did Stalin come to the gulags and tell his forced labor workers “look, if you’d think positively perhaps you wouldn’t be purged”? No. And why not? Because Stalin was too busy? Too preoccupied? Too active? No. If Stalin had wanted, believe me, he would have found the time to get to the gulags and lecture to his prisoners about positive thinking. But Stalin didn’t do that. Why? That’s right. Because Stalin had compassion. Yes. People back then had compassion. I’m very optimistic about that era.

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Grandma’s Fridge

Grandma's Fridge

When I opened the new fridge yesterday after I had arranged the jars and the vegetables inside I suddenly recalled my grandma’s fridge and felt as if I was standing in front of it. It was strange that of all refrigerators I recalled grandma’s fridge on the occasion of my new fridge. Not only is it not new, but it no longer exists, and grandma herself no longer exists, and her non existence is growing older. Nothing about that fridge stems from my fridge, no matter which way you look at it, but a light bulb was lit inside my head when I opened the new fridge’s door and it lit the space of my memory. Lately I’m trying to catch flickering memories as soon as they arrive and quarry them a little, get inside, stay in the moment, even if the memory is not a moment, find a way to make these memories become more than glowing cards that are lifted for a moment and immediately taken down. I try to expand the memory by arranging grandma’s fridge. Here must have been the pickled eggplants, here were some cut vegetables, here there were eggs, here must have been cheese, here necessarily was the milk, here probably there was a pot or two. I’m arranging the memory of grandma’s fridge like an empty apartment that people are about to be hosted in and that has to pleasant so that the pleasant things that make a place a home can happen inside. I’m trying to arrange the memory of my grandma’s fridge so that all those things that make a thought into a big wide experience can happen inside. But it doesn’t happen. And even if I’ll arrange the fridge exactly as it looked on a specific day on a specific spring on a specific year many years ago, the memory will close down exactly in the rims of the fridge, and the lightbulb inside my head will turn off, and I will remain standing in front of another fridge, organized and lit, looking with wide open eyes at the things that haven’t yet grown old.

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Duet for Candy and Flute

Duet for Candy and Flute

Today in a conference about Taxonomy and variety of species in Uni someone next to me drew out a candy. There were all sorts of graphs in the powerpoint exhibition, some I understood better and others less. With the permission of my esteemed colleagues I would like to suggest one more graph. Axis A: the degree of caution executed in opening the candy. Axis B: the degree of noise the opening of the candy produces. Please notice that the slope of the graph is steady and positive; the greater the caution, the stronger the noise. One can add an Axis C that will represent the event in which the candy is drawn. The apex of the graph (maximum caution, maximum noise) would usually occur inside concert halls during quiet and slow solo parts performed by flute or a soprano singer. The classical music admirer will take the candy out of his bag. He will quietly and very noisily unwrap the candy’s right wrapping. He will quietly and very noisily unwrap the candy’s left wrapping. He will grab the cover at its center and while shrinking his face in torment equal only to Young Werther’s, he will peal off the cover in a tempo of the slowest known to the music world, something between Lente and Larghissimo. At this stage it will be clear to the entire auditorium and to the flute player on stage that an upsetting mistake appears in the ancient notes facsimile and originally the composer wrote the solo as a duet for flute and candy.

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The Mandala in the Sky

The Mandala in the Sky

Yesterday was one of the prettier days this year. Like the habit of pretty days, and actually also like the opposite habit of gray days, the quality of the light sneaked in the morning through the slit that’s underneath the porch’s curtain to the slit that’s underneath the eyelids and from there straight to the sleeping brain, to report to it about the quality of the day that is forming outside. When I got up I was in a particularly beautiful mood and that was before I opened the curtain to see the beauty of the day. Towards sunset I went for a bicycle ride on the promenade and found a dreamy light blue silvery sea that seemed to have been processed for a movie about an imaginary planet. The sunset kept ripening and its shape was special and appropriate for the end of such a day. When I approached the port and then the northern promenade I passed as if over a well spaced fence over a long series of people who had stood still to shoot the sunset, to take some of it home. I also shot the sunset, again and again, staring with the eye of my camera’s lens at the big orange eye with the eyelashes in the sky. I never could understand how can the Buddhist monks draw their beautiful sand mandalas and then destroy them in order to practice perceiving nature as ephemeral. I would never be able to destroy a beautiful piece I created. And furthermore. I also was one of those people who stood there, on the promenade, to capture with their cameras the beautiful ephemeral painting that nature, the Buddhist monk, creates and destroys every single evening on the canvas that’s spread over the sea.

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Excell

Excell

Today was an exceptionally quality day. Although I reached the car too late in the morning it wasn’t towed and to show my gratitude I would like to donate 600nis to the association for towing stroke victims. Later on I went to do a thyroid blood test which is always scheduled for the early morning of the day before yesterday so that whoever wants to check whether his sleep patterns have gone wrong because of the thyroid would never manage to wake up for the test. Later on I went to the office and spent long hours in moving into an excel table a large body of data that I wrote on word and that any person who passed a first year class in using his little box would have put the data in excel in the first place. I truly excelled. Later on Moshe and Ludmila brought me back my computer, formatted from scratch and working so fast that a concern arose that they may have to format me too so that the computer wouldn’t pack his stuff and leave. Later on I took my car for cleaning and it was so dirty that when the cleaner came in with a rag through one of the doors he mistakenly thought that he had stepped out and immediately left through the other door. Later on I wrote a very orderly paragraph where all the sentences begin with later on and didn’t know how to finish it so rabbit. Later on I apologized for the rabbit and explained that it was a way to close a sentence without bothering the cow. Later on I apologized also for the cow and explained that I had a super duper quality day and so if I slack a little at the end it’s not like I’m breaking a vow.

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McDonald’s Kids Meal Research Submarine

McDonald's Kids Meal Research Submarine

McDonald’s kids meal research submarine, in its wondrous travels between stars and cats, came across a feline creature which possesses characteristics remarkably similar to those of the animal named cat which firmly claims he’s a cat and insists on adopting the habits of the cat. The research submarine checked the degree of the direct and indirect catness of the creature and took him through a series of tests and after collecting data and analyzing it by McDonald’s greatest toy researchers it came to the conclusion that the creature passes the criteria required to be defined as something which is 99.9999999% cat and therefore de facto a cat.

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